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“Oh. Sure. Sure, I’ll do that. Mr., ah, Mr.—”
“Russo. And there’s one last thing.” Dante spoke softly, in that same polite but unyielding voice. “I’m sure you understand that Ms. Sommers wouldn’t want anyone to know about her fainting spell.”
“Her fainting—”
“Surely, I can trust you to be discreet. People who work for me always are. And you do want to work for me, Esau, don’t you?”
Another audible swallow. “Yessir. I do.”
“Excellent. In that case, have a pleasant weekend.”
The old man nodded and opened the double doors. The wind filled the room with its icy breath as he scrambled into the red pickup, which disappeared into the swirling snow.
“The old man was right,” Dante said. “The storm’s turned into a blizzard.”
Tally stared at him. How could he talk about the weather after what he’d just done? Forcing his kisses on her. His caresses. If the janitor hadn’t turned up, who knew what would have happened?
As for his admonitions to the old man—did he really think they meant anything here? By tomorrow, this sordid little story would be everywhere.
Not that it mattered.
Without a house, without an income, she and Sam wouldn’t be living in Shelby much longer.
“Nothing to say, cara?”
She wrenched free of his encircling arm. “You’ve done what you came to do, Dante. More, thanks to…to that performance just now.”
His eyebrows rose. “Is that what you call it?”
Amusement tinged the words. Oh, how she wanted to slap that smug, masculine smile from his face.
“You are—you are despicable. Do you understand? You are the most despicable, contemptible—”
The world blurred. She raised her hand and swung it, but his fingers curled around her wrist.
“Such a temper, bellissima. And all because I caught you in a lie.” His smile vanished. “You wanted me three years ago and you want me now.”
“If you ever come near me again—”
“Don’t make threats, Taylor. Not unless you’re prepared to back them up.”
She wanted to scream. To weep. To lunge at him again—but none of that would change anything. Because of him, her life had almost come apart before. Now, it lay in tatters at her feet.
The only thing left was a dignified retreat.
“You’re right,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm. “No threats. Just a promise. I don’t ever want to see you again. If you come after me, I’ll go to court and charge you with harassment. Is that clear?”
He laughed. And, before he could stop her a second time, Tally slapped his face.
Fury darkened his eyes. He reached for her, a harsh Sicilian oath spilling from his lips, but she slipped by him, yanked the doors open and ran.
She heard him shout her name but she didn’t look back. The parking lot was a sea of white; the wind tore at her with icy talons as she fought her way to her station wagon, pulled the door open, got behind the wheel and slammed down the lock.
Just in time. A second later, Dante grabbed the door handle, then banged his fist against the window.
“Taylor! Open this door.”
Her hands were shaking. It took two tries before she could jab the key into the ignition. The engine coughed, coughed again—and died.
