Page 20 of The Billionaire Invitation

She spun to face him. “You have a reputation to uphold. I can’t imagine a Crane hotel offering a fellow Crane anything less than the best.”

“Oh, this isn’t the best. The top floor is private and belongs to my cousin, Reese. By comparison, this place is a dump.”

A laugh bubbled from her throat, and for a moment she was lost in Dante’s broad smile. Everything around her fell away except for him. He took two steps closer to her, his arm automatically going to her lower back.

Being touched by him, in spite of the number of years that had passed, felt natural. She leaned into the palm of his hand. When he lowered his face to hers, she tipped her chin to meet him without a moment’s hesitation.

Their lips touched, soft at first, in an explorative press. She sucked in air through her nose, her eyelids shuttering. She inhaled the scent of him: pine and leather with a clean, soapy fragrance beneath. It transported her to somewhere she’d never been, while making her nostalgic for what had been.

The attraction between them had never been manufactured. Her body had always responded to him: tingling, warming, and eventually loosening. Which explained why her mouth opened and her tongue welcomed his inside.

He erased the space between them, their bodies meeting, sliding, moving to the rhythm of the kiss. She was so into it, that when the pressure of his hand on her back lightened, she whimpered.

“Don’t stop,” she heard herself say into his mouth on a breathy sigh. Then her eyes flew open as she recognized what had pulled Dante’s attention. Another knock followed the first.

Room service.

“Your call. I can ignore them if you can.” He pressed a fast kiss on her lips.

She came back to earth, aware of her feet pressed firmly on the carpet, one hand on his crisp cotton shirt, the other clutching a wine glass. Shockingly, after the intensity of that kiss, she hadn’t spilled a drop.

The knock came again, and he tilted his head, inviting her to turn up the heat. When she hesitated, he said, “Tell you what. I’ll answer the door, and you take a moment to decide what you want to do next. We’re eating either way—before…or after.”

She watched his tall frame exit the room, admiring how his pants hugged his ass and the way his muscular shoulders filled out his shirt. When he was out of sight, she drank down the wine in her glass and set it on the nightstand.

She scanned the bed, imagined its sheets rumpled, the cashmere throw forgotten on the ground. Her center thrummed with need, and that reaction had no business being there given the circumstances. This was the kind of need that was carnal. The kind that insisted upon being obeyed.

Like a craving for a treat that, when ignored, would only grow and grow until you gave in and binged an entire box or bag.

She had learned the hard way never to restrict herself from what she wanted. Once she had craved a seven-layer chocolate cake with chocolate frosting she’d seen on a restaurant’s menu. The craving had increased the more she’d pushed it away. Until one night, she had driven to the restaurant two minutes before they closed. She’d eaten it out of the to-go container while sitting in her car, with a voracity she hadn’t known existed.

Dante was like that cake.

She couldn’t allow him to turn into a binge. He would need to stay in the once-in-a-great-while category.

She’d gorged on him years ago, and now here he was, as tempting as ever. But this time, she would not dive in face-first with little to no regard for her well-being.

She would dive in, without a doubt, but carefully. She would keep her wits about her. If that kiss had proven anything it was that she might have to work harder than anticipated to handle a night with him.

But what she wouldn’t do was deny herself, and then disappear into him like she’d been tempted to do years ago. He was right when he’d pointed out how well she’d done without him. But he’d been wrong when he’d assumed that she’d blossomed because he’d left.

It had taken everything in her not to contact him. Not to beg him to come home and fill the ragged, gaping hole in her heart. But she’d resisted, and it was healthy for her to acknowledge that as well.

She flipped her hair, squared her shoulders, and grabbed her empty wine glass. As she strode to the living room area, Dante was shutting the doors to the suite.

He turned, brushing his hands together and taking her in. Probably noticing her empty glass, possibly noticing the look of determination in her eyes.

“I decided to eat first,” she said, then held out her glass. “How about a refill?”

He grinned and hugged her close before stamping her lips with a hard kiss. “Allow me.”

Dante had requested the food be left on the coffee table, along with a chilled bottle of champagne in a bucket in case the opportunity arose. An array of exquisite small bites on gilded plates were arranged among low, lit candles.

“I ordered a variety of their best,” he told Honesty as she came around to sit on the sofa. He watched her inventory the offerings: seared scallops, truffle arancini, burrata with roasted figs, bite-sized crab cakes, and crostini with whipped ricotta and honey.

She plucked a fig and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm. What about dessert?”

“Oh, there’s dessert. The most decadent kind.”