Page 54 of My Favorite Kidnapper

I was so upset I didn’t watch where I was going. One minute, I was running, looking for Roomba, the next, I was airborne, grasping at nothing and hitting the surface of the pool. I went under, frozen in shock. I kicked my way up, splashing and gasping for air, going under once again. I had landed in the deep end of the pool this time. I couldn’t see where the surface was, the dark engulfing me. I inhaled some water, terrified. I tried to fight my way up again, but my arms and legs felt like dead weights. I began to panic, thrashing harder when there was a disruption of the water around me, and strong arms grabbed hold of me, pulling me up fast.

“Jesus Christ!” Dante yelled. “What the hell?”

I gasped for air, clinging to him. I sobbed in relief, and he held me tighter. “I’ve got you, Brianna. You’re safe.”

“Dante,” I cried, unable to think clearly.

He cradled me in his arms, carrying us to the steps. The rain beat down on us, the storm making me shiver.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he asked as he climbed from the water.

“Roomba,” I gasped as the air hit us. “I can’t find her. I think she’s lost.”

“Your damn cat is asleep on my bed. Where she is every night,” he snarled. “No matter how often I put her out of the room, she comes back.”

Relief filled me, even as disbelief set in. “On your bed? But she’s with me when I go to sleep and wake up!”

“Well, she visits as soon as you’re out.”

“If you hate it so much, then shut your door,” I said snidely.

He held me closer. “I leave it open for you, Little Bee.”

* * *

He set me on my feet inside the villa, shutting and locking the doors behind me. I was shaking from the cold, the shock, and the entire situation. Dante cursed again, scooping me into his arms and racing for the stairs.

“Water,” I protested. “We’re getting everything wet.”

“Fuck that,” he snapped.

He headed to his room, setting me on the floor again. I was shaking so hard, my legs barely held me up. He muttered something, going to the bathroom, snapping on a light, and returning with a towel. He stripped off my shorts and shirt, and I was too tired to protest as he briskly ran the towel over my body, his actions bringing some much-needed warmth to my skin. He towel-dried my hair, frowning as my body continued to quake. He wrapped his arm around my waist, lifting me as if I weighed nothing, and deposited me on his bed, throwing the covers over me. I shook, my teeth chattering, watching with wide eyes as he yanked off his sleep pants, dried off his chest, and crawled into bed with me.

“What-what are you doing?” I asked.

He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly. “Warming you up.”

Our damp skin molded together. He ran his hands up and down my back. Entwined our legs. Pressed my head to his chest. Murmured soft words. My shaking began to ease, the cold draining away as his heat dispelled it. My body began to relax. He pulled me closer, his strokes becoming different. No longer practical. More caressing. Intimate. He stroked longer, slower, drifting his hands over my buttocks and thighs. My shivering now had nothing to do with cold.

It had everything to do with his touch.

“You scared the fuck out of me,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I panicked.”

“You should have come to get me. I don’t know why the sensor lights didn’t come on outside,” he grunted. “Jesus, if I hadn’t come out—I can’t even think.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, stifling a gasp as he wrapped his hand around my thigh, tugging me tight to his form. So tight, I could feel him. His desire.

He gazed down at me, the dim light from the lamp in the corner letting me see his eyes. Deep, intense, and focused. On me. He rolled so he was hovering over me, his torso pressing me into the pillowy mattress. His scent was full and rich on his sheets, surrounding us. He surrounded me. He slid between my legs, fitting there as if that was where he belonged. His breathing was labored, his chest moving rapidly, matching the rhythm of mine.

“I’m getting your pillow wet,” I whispered. “My hair…”

“…will dry,” he finished, his eyes never leaving my face. A question was swirling in the depths of his eyes. His voice was low, rough, needy.

“Dante,” I whimpered, feeling his muscles under my fingers as I clutched at his shoulders, emotions overtaking me. Need. Want. Desire. All of it. I needed to be closer to him. I wanted his weight on me. I desired it all. Especially him.

“Say it,” he murmured. “You have to say it.”