Page 70 of My Favorite Kidnapper

“I use fresh vanilla I scrape from the pods. The flavor is incredible.”

“The icing.” He licked his fingers in delight like a child. “Jesus, it’s incredible. Make this one again.”

He had eyed the cake when he was done, trying to decide whether he could eat a third slice, then decided to wait a while. He took some slices to Gia and Mario, who lived toward the back of the property, returning with a large smile.

“They send their compliments.”

Now he was gazing at the sunset. He was relaxed and quiet, his leg crossed over his knee.

He was a complex man. Handsome, arrogant, and in control. Tender and achingly wonderful. Funny. I was certain I was one of the few people who saw some of those sides.

He liked to make the decisions, and he was swift with his judgments. Yet he loved it when I challenged him. When I’d gone upstairs to change into my swimsuit, I had been puzzled when I walked into my room and found all my things gone. The closet was empty except for the boxes Dante had brought from my apartment. The bathroom was clean, the bed made, and the room was pristine.

It had only taken me a moment to figure out where my things were, and sure enough, my clothes were now in his closet. My toiletries in his bathroom. A pretty silk robe was draped across the bottom of the bed in a rich red with flowers on it. I had seen it in the shop and admired it, and I knew Dante had bought it for me.

Part of me was thrilled that my things were here. That he wanted me with him. The other part of me was furious. Something like this deserved a conversation at least.

When I confronted him, I expected his pushback, his smirk as he told me what was going to happen.

I hadn’t expected his unbridled passion. Or how being angry with him would light a fire in me only he could quench.

The way he commanded my body was unexpected. I had always wondered about sex. My friends talked about it. Carolina went on about it. The few guys I had dated never brought forth anything like what she described. The one attempt I’d had with a man had involved a lot of fumbling, some lackluster kisses, and him asking if I was “done yet.”

I experienced none of that with Dante. He knew how to touch me. Even his dirty words did something to me. He gave me the freedom to explore him. I loved the way he took control. Gave me some of it back. Enticed my passion.

Made me feel sexy.

And this afternoon had been beyond anything I could have imagined.

I liked frolicking with him.

Afterward, I had slept for a short time, waking up to his warm gaze and safe embrace. After a sweet kiss, he dumped me in the water, and I had my first lesson. I was quite pleased that I had learned to float.

“Relax, Bee,” he encouraged, standing over me, his hand under me, holding me up. “I have you. Breathe and let yourself relax. Find your balance in the water.”

“Move your arms and feet a little.”

“That’s it. You’re doing well.”

He was patient, talking to me, and then I realized his voice didn’t seem as close. I opened my eyes to find him on the other side of the pool and I was on my own.

“You’re doing it,” he said. “All on your own. Now stand and try it again.”

I had, and I was proud of myself.

We made dinner together and ate on the patio. The simple grilled meat and salad was delicious, and I noticed everything here tasted better. I wasn’t sure if it was the food or the company.

Or perhaps, both.

I set down my glass and found his eyes on me. Intense, golden, and suddenly serious.

“You were in foster homes all your life,” he said.

“Yes.”

He studied me, his gaze dark. “Is there anyone I need to pay a visit to for retribution?”

I was startled but shook my head. “No. I was never abused like some kids. I was just ignored. Overlooked all the time. It’s lonely growing up that way. Never belonging. Looking for a place.”