Page 96 of My Favorite Kidnapper

I was certain he felt something toward me beside lust. It was there in the intensity of his gaze, the way he responded to me. How he acted. How he devoured my cakes, devoured me. His touch said so much without a word.

I touched the necklace at my throat. They had taken it off in the hospital, but he had put it back on after my shower when I asked. His little bee, he called me.

I was his.

And as soon as we were through this glitch, I’d make sure he knew that.

* * *

I slept most of the day. Dante made sure I ate and drank, but I would fall asleep again quickly. He was never far away, and if he heard me get up, he was right there.

My head was clearer the next day, and I got dressed and went to the kitchen. He was there, making coffee, frowning. “You should be in bed.”

“No, I feel better.”

“You’re still taking it easy.”

I didn’t argue. It hurt to lift my arm and my face ached, but the headache was diminished and I felt more alert. We ate breakfast on the terrace, the sunshine warm on my skin.

“Did I hear Richard’s voice yesterday?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“He was here?”

“Yes. He wanted to see how you were.”

“Is there, ah, any fallout from the other night?” I asked, unsure how to form the question.

“If you mean, am I in trouble? No. I’ve had a lot of associates reach out and say they wish they had taken a swing at him. Richard saw him yesterday coming out of a building. He was walking, so my beating was obviously not too bad.”

“What if he presses charges?”

Dante sipped his coffee and shrugged. “He came at me first. And considering you were the one who ended up in the hospital, he is lucky he is breathing this morning.”

“You hit him.”

“He threatened you. He was basically telling me what he planned to do to you. I wasn’t going to let that go.”

“But—”

He stopped me with a look, standing and leaning on the table, holding my gaze. “I will defend you to my death, Little Bee. Anything that threatens to harm you will be eliminated. No matter the cost, no matter what I have to do. You come first.”

His gaze was forceful. His voice low and furious. Filled with pain. Every inch of him screamed aching and torment. I didn’t understand what was going on. What was causing him such agony.

“Dante,” I whispered.

He straightened. “Finish your breakfast.”

He strode away, his footsteps fast.

Worry set in, nagging at me.

I needed to get him to talk to me. I simply wasn’t sure how.

* * *

He seemed calmer when he reappeared. We spent a couple of quiet days in the condo. He was never far away physically, yet mentally, I had no idea where he was. I caught him looking at me more than once, his expression unguarded and saturated in despair. Then he would clear his countenance.