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I’m not stupid. I’m far from it. What I did was just seized every chance to follow desire when it came to him.
But I know there are things about him I have to be wary of, even if my heart might not want to accept that. Not taking those parts into consideration would be as foolish as pretending the sun doesn’t exist and closing your eyes to make it disappear.
Aside from all of that, which is enough for anyone to deal with, there’s Dad and Matthew. I dare not forget them.
Dad has set a date for the wedding and when he gets back he’ll be signing contracts—whatever the hell that means.
Everything is such a fucking mess. I’m not sure which problem is worse. Both feel just as bad as each other.
Feeling close to tears I allow myself a few moments to think.
When I feel like I can face the world I draw in a deep breath and slip off the bed.
I glance around the room, looking for my clothes. Then I remember they're downstairs. Dante had me naked before we reached up here.
Last night's activities began against the sofa in the living room, then he carried me up to his bed.
I spot one of his shirts on the floor by the wardrobe, so I put that on. It’s so big it reaches my knees and swamps my tiny body.
I run my fingers through my hair to loosen the tangles, then I gather courage to open the door and step out onto the landing.
Continuing down the path, I take in the beautiful décor. The cream wallpaper continues out here and there are Van Gough style paintings on the wall, which I absolutely love.
Last night I didn’t get to admire the place properly because Dante and I were completely engrossed with each other.
Seeing it now is nice. I knew from the stylish design of the club that he must have expensive taste. I imagined him in an apartment like this. Something that looks like the ultimate bachelor's pad with the less is more effect and the scent of masculine musk hanging in the air.
When I turn the corner to take the stairs down I smell strong coffee. Then there’s the sound of Dante’s heavy footsteps.
He is here.
The confirmation stop me midstride and I remember how I was with him last night. Each image of us that appears in my mind makes my body feel like it’s going to go up in flames.
Last night I gave myself to him without holding back. I’ve never been like that with anyone. Not even with Jared who I thought I loved.
How could I have been that way with a man I’ve barely known for a little over a week?
I stay there for a few seconds to think about what I should say when I see him, then on the strength of another deep breath I take the first step and head down the stairs.
Following the rich scent of coffee into the kitchen, I find Dante there.
He’s standing by the coffee machine, shirtless with his back turned to me. He’s only wearing a pair of sweatpants which hang low on his hips.
His back is ripped with a series of muscles that run down the length of his torso, tapering into that perfect V shape you see on male athletes and models. He has the body that looks like it belongs on a god.
But…there are more tattoos. Ones I didn’t get to see properly last night and others I can see better in the light. They’re all Russian. Bratva symbols.
All the symbols that could come up on Google are inked on him.
Their meanings all blend together in my mind to a jumbled mess I can’t pick apart, but I remember that none of them meant anything good.
The realization spikes my nerves, leaving me with a lump in my throat and that wariness churning my stomach.
Sensing my presence, Dante turns to face me revealing more tattoos.
When my eyes meet his I'm rooted to the spot, charmed by the sheer magnificence of him. Those eyes of his seem brighter, his hair is a sexy mess and the light shadow of a beard has formed along the angles of his jaw in the mere hours since I last saw him. It makes him look even more rugged and handsome.
Wariness aside, no woman alive would complain about waking up to him in the mornings.
