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“Come on, I’ll show you your room.”
Letting my eyes linger on the studio space for a moment more, I turn to follow him. Down the hall he stops at a white door, carefully opening it. “This room is yours.”
Dante stands off to the side to let me enter, my eyes widening at the beauty that is his spare room. There was no way in hell this room had looked like this before. Four poster bed, white canopy drapes, thick white blankets covering the mattress… Even a white wicker basket filled with blankets sits near a deep blue chaise by the large bay windows.
This room was absolutely designed to fit a woman's taste. After all the years in the art industry, I knew design when I saw it. I didn’t comment. Instead, my smile widens as I continue looking around. “This is beautiful.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
Glancing over my shoulder at him, I feel the heat of his intense gaze. Everything about this man has captivated me since going back to Willowcreek. Even though I try to fight it. My curiosity piques—I wonder where his room is.
“So, you said this is my own wing?” I ask, fishing for information.
“Yes, my room is upstairs.”
I didn’t realize there was another level, but perhaps I missed the stairs while admiring the apartment. Not that I need to know where his room is. I’m here on a job. Nothing more.
“Okay.”
Awkward silence slowly fills the space between us as I watch him shift from foot to foot.
“Alright, well… make yourself at home. It’s late, and we have an important meeting in the morning,” Dante finally says as he wraps his knuckles on the door, giving me a subtle nod before disappearing back down the hallway. Leaving me alone to settle in.
The past few days replay in my mind. From the moment I got word from Stella, to going home and seeing Dante again. Even him asking me about coming here, arriving at his apartment. My mind is blown. New York is as beautiful as I remember, but something about being here with Dante makes me feel different.
As if I’m stepping into a future I’m not prepared for.
Chapter Seventeen
DANTE
Ijolt from my sleep, the sound of banging causing me to throw the covers back as I swing my legs over the bed and reach for my gun. I didn’t use to carry a weapon, but one thing I have learned living in New York is to always be prepared. Step by step, I make my way down the stairs towards my kitchen where the sound of shuffling and cabinets closing grows louder.
It isn’t until I get halfway down the stairs and I peer over towards the kitchen that I quickly realize where the noises are coming from. Kylie.
Shit.How in the hell did I forget she is staying here?
It’s been a long time since I had someone stay the night in my house, and even then it was one night and nothing more. A fling that wore me out and unfortunately overstayed their welcome. Keeping the gun at my side, I sneak down the rest of the steps and place it in the drawer of a nearby table to retrieve later.
It was hell getting Kylie here, and the last thing I want to do is scare the shit out of her.
I watch her for a moment, admiring the way her perky round ass peeks from beneath the navy blue cotton shorts she is wearing. An obvious matching set to the white and navy blue tank top she has on that fits her like a glove.
If this woman is going to continue to wear these kinds of things around the house, I’m in trouble.
Clearing my throat, I watch as she jumps. Her eyes widen with shock as she turns to face me, her hand over her heart as her breathing comes in pants. “Jesus Christ, Dante. You scared me.”
I chuckle in response. “Looking for something?”
She hesitates for a moment, her eyes drifting towards the fridge before looking back towards me. “Uh, yeah… I was going to make something to eat but you don’t exactly have food here.”
“Oh.” Guilt fills me instantly over her statement. I’d told my assistant to make sure the studio was well stocked, including Kylie’s favorite paints and brushes. I’d even had my cleaning service come in early to do an extra thorough sweep of the penthouse so that everything would be perfect for when she arrived.
But I hadn’t even thought about food.What an idiot.
“Well,” I say, looking at the clock on the wall. “It’s still early, but I’ll have something light sent up. We’re meeting the client for brunch at ten and that's in four hours… Do you usually get up this early?”
Soft laughter escapes her as she nods. “Typically, yes. The whole ‘early bird gets the worm’ kind of thing. Aren’t you usually up this early for work?”
