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Chapter Twenty-Five
-Noemi-
MY EYES HURT AND MYback ached, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee was the only thing that could tempt me enough to let Dante see me with my blotchy face, snarled hair and rumpled clothing. I couldn’t have hidden from him if I tried, considering that the living area was open concept and Dante was just a few feet away drinking his morning cup. I had learned over the last few weeks that he was a one-cup-a-day kind of person. I didn’t understand that concept, but then again, his portions weren’t diluted by rich creamers.
I smiled awkwardly when I stood up and approached the counter. Dante automatically reached for the pot and poured a half cup into the mug that he was sweet enough to have ready for me. I smiled again at his choice of dishes: solid black.
“I’m going to have to introduce you to the color wheel,” I teased as I reached for my coffee.
His brow furrowed. “I don’t like color.”
“I didn’t notice,” I said, looking pointedly over my shoulder at the black furniture and beige walls.
One corner of his mouth ticked upward, and I wanted to hug him. Dante Calegari and I were sharing early morning banter over a cup of coffee. If my heart hadn’t been so sorely bruised from the night before, it would have sung with joy.
“I don’t have any creamer,” Dante said as he pulled a half gallon of milk out of the refrigerator. “No one ever comes here, and this was all the convenience store on the corner had.”
“That will work,” I accepted, knowing I wouldn’t get the sweetness I craved but all I needed was a shot of caffeine to wake me up.
In the past, the silence between us had been almost eerie, but that morning, it was a welcome peace. There would be plenty more to talk about but in that moment, I just wanted to drink my caffeine and get an eyeful of Dante wearing a fitted black tee shirt and a pair of black lounge pants.
I tipped my head down to take a sip from my mug so I wouldn’t get caught ogling him. I loved the way he looked in his suits, and I fell hard for the casual khaki look he sported on the island, but this man, this I-just-got-out-of-bed-so-let’s-get-back-in-it look he wore, was enough to make me want to let the past sort out its own details and drag him off to the bedroom.
“Do you want breakfast?” Dante asked, interrupting my dreams of seduction.
“Maybe just some toast or something if it’s not much trouble. I’m really not very hungry.”
“It’s no trouble, Noemi,” Dante said softly as his hand reached out to stroke my cheek.
I had no idea what time it was when he left me alone on the couch, but I knew I missed his touch. The warmth of his palm on my cheek soothed me.
“I need you to understand one thing,” he said silkily, as he leaned across the counter.
“What’s that?” I asked in a hushed voice matching his.
“That you can ask me for anything. Anytime. Remember? Even a fucking piece of toast when you want it.”
“Except, that’s not true, is it? I can’t ask you for what it is I really want. You’ve already told me. We’re through.”
God, as if I didn’t hurt already, bringing up his rejection was enough to end me.
“Then I need you to understand two things.”
His eyes darkened and he got that look, that intense, alpha stare that always weakened me.
“And that second thing is?” I stuttered through the words.
He sunk his hand into my hair and pulled my face toward his. “That I lied. We’re not through. I’m not done with you yet.”
Maybe some stronger women would have been appalled at his caveman behavior, and if it had been anyone else who said that to me, I might have kicked them in the shins. But this wasn’t anyone else. This was Dante, and he had just said the words I needed to hear as much as I needed my next breath.
Even though I had longed to hear them, I wasn’t sure how to react, like when you finally get that one thing you’ve always wanted and you’re speechless.
“Good,” was the only thing that came out of my inexperienced mouth.
“Good?” He smirked at me and shook his head. “Baby girl, we’re going to have to get you some lessons in flirtation.”
“Oh? We can do that when we sign you up for charm school. I think this is a classic example of the pot calling the kettle black.”
