Page 55 of The Billionaire Invitation

That she might need his help didn’t make him less inclined to stay in touch with her, but more. Because he could carry some of the weight for her. Being needed had been akin to a drug over the years, but why, when he thought of Honesty needing him, did it seem less of an addiction than a treatment?

“Ah, now Jaylyn is texting me.” Honesty tapped a reply into her phone. “Okay, okay, I’ll go! You Cranes are relentless.”

They really were, weren’t they?

And now he was beginning to wonder if that’s what he’d felt years ago. His father had relentlessly chased every whim, moving them to different states—different countries. His papa was truly a rolling stone—no moss on the old man because he never settled down.

Dante sliced into his steak, nodding at what Honesty was saying. He wondered if, after he left Chicago, she would be resentful or relieved. He’d been the one to step into her lush, green world and start hacking at the foliage. Maybe she’d be glad to see him go.

Leaving her once was the hardest thing he’d done to date. He knew she didn’t understand that. She thought he’d blown her off after three years together. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

But he wouldn’t ask her to upend her life for him—not again—even though leaving had been the end of them.

He wondered if leaving her a second time might just be the end of him.

CHAPTER TWENTY

After lunch and a dirty martini, Honesty was starting to feel every minute of sleep she’d lost last night.

She’d stifled more than one yawn as Dante had driven her back to her car at the office. Now he was following her home. His chivalrous offer was unmistakably kind—unmistakably him.

She also wanted him in bed with her. He’d created a monster.

A light rain began as she pulled into her apartment’s parking area. The clouds had swept in so quickly that the bold, blue-sky view from the restaurant seemed like a mirage. They had taken their time eating, then sipping on their cocktails, and finally, finishing with dessert: a chocolate tart she wouldn’t soon forget.

Sort of like the man following her home.

She’d decided, in between the dirty martini and the chocolate tart, to invite him into her bed. Talking casually while sharing a dessert had been comfortable, easy. Despite the ripple of discomfort she sensed in him. Maybe she’d imagined it.

Anyway, he hadn’t argued when she’d offered.

Navigating emotional quicksand was to be expected in a situation like this one, but for her it’d been more of a sandbox than quicksand. A simple dusting of her hands had set her right each and every time she saw him.

She chalked that up to maturity. She respected him and his career, and how much he cared about his family. She had been careful to maintain distance between him and her heart, though. That was what mattered most.

He met her in the lobby after he’d parked his car. They took the elevator up to her apartment. Inside, she dropped her keys and purse on a chair and went to the kitchen.

“Water? Tea? I have wine, but that doesn’t sound good.”

“I had plenty to drink at the restaurant, including the coffee and the water and the martinis. Speaking of, I’m going to use your restroom.” He stepped into the hallway bathroom.

She busied herself tidying the kitchen. Not that there was a huge mess, but she had opted to sleep in rather than clean up. She loaded plates and glasses into the dishwasher and turned it on. By the time she looked up, Dante was standing in the living room, his back to her. Rain dripped down the windowpanes.

“Would you like to stay?” she asked.

He turned to face her, his eyebrows lifting as if he hadn’t expected her to ask. To be fair, she hadn’t expected to either. “Stay the night? Or a few hours?”

“Either? Both? I’m not sure if light rainfall will turn into dangerous, tornadic conditions, but one can never be too safe.”

“I would protect you from any tornado that dared show its face.” He came to her, his mouth tilted in an entirely too appealing way.

He cupped her hips in his hands. She lifted her arms and draped them over his shoulders. Then he backed her toward her bedroom.

Her sanctuary. The last place she thought she would entertain a male visitor again. But Dante was not Boyd. If he had been anything like Boyd, she would have kicked him out of her life so fast his head would have spun.

“What are you thinking about?”

She shook her head to dislodge the thought. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”