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“And I meant my question. You didn’t really answer it.”
“Maybe I didn’t understand what you were asking?”
I pull away from his touch, toes curling deeper into the sand as I start to walk. I feel him next to me, keeping pace. “I don’t understand,” I murmur, keeping my gaze fixed on the shoreline ahead of us. “You came from that club, the Neon—whatever. I know what it is. I know what the girls there must look like. How they must dress. Dance. Perform. I—” I suck in a breath, jealousy that I have no right to feel flooding through me. “They must beflawless. So why would you leave that and come here for—” I swallow hard, waving a hand in front of myself, indicating everything that makes me think I’m not good enough for him. Not elegant enough, or put-together enough, or fit enough. I don’t go to the gym regularly, wear designer clothes, or even own more than the basic makeup for the rare occasion that I need it. “I’m nothing like the girls you’re used to, Dante. I neverwillbe. I’m not an actress, or a model, or anything like the girls you probably date. I’m just a struggling artist. So I don’t understand why you’re here, when—”
Dante’s hand grips my arm, spinning me to face him. His other hand buries itself in my hair, dragging my mouth up and against his in another savage kiss that leaves me breathless, the taste of him in my mouth as the waves crash on the other side of us, and the scent of a salt breeze fills my senses.
Hefills my senses. All of him. And I find myself wishing he would stay.
“I’m here because I want what you are.” He breathes it against my mouth. “I’ve never wanted a woman to stay the night in my bed. Never craved that kind of intimacy. But I woke up with you next to me, all morning hair and sleepy eyes, and I wanted you more than I think I’ve ever wanted anything in my goddamn life.”
The words, growled against my lips, take my breath away.
Dante slides a thumb over my lower lip, pressing the tip of it into the soft flesh. “I know it makes no sense, little bird. I know none of this is supposed to work. But right now, itdoes.Itis. So maybe we—”
He breaks off, and I know what he’s trying to say. That maybe we just let things go and see what happens. That maybe I stop clinging on by my fingernails, refusing to admit that I want him.
But if I stop holding on, I’m going to fall.
I’m going to fall forhim.
I might have already started to slip.
I nod, unable to speak. I don’t know what he interprets that nod as, exactly, but he lets go of me, his fingers sliding over my cheek in one more caress before he turns to continue our walk down the beach.
“You said a ‘struggling artist’.” Dante glances at me. “What’s that supposed to mean? I know what Rico charges. Is that not what you make?”
The question is asked so bluntly that it could only come from someone who has never had to worry about money. “That’s not really something you should ask,” I tell him, looking at him out of the corner of my eye as we make our way down the beach.
“Why not?” Dante’s jaw works, and I can tell he’s holding back irritation. Not at me, I don’t think, but something else. “I told Rico to make sure you didn’t suffer on account of our arrangement.”
“I’ve never made as much as him.” I don’t add that Rico is extorting most of what I’m making for Dante—I knowexactlyhow that would go. I’m not sure I’dhavea boss if Dante discovered that, and I can’t have that on my conscience. “My finances really aren’t your problem.” It comes out a little more sharply than I mean for it to, but I’m hoping that means Dante will let it go.
Of course, he doesn’t.
“I saw the bills when I went back out to the kitchen to get our clothes.” There it is again.Our clothes. Linking us together in a way that both makes me uncomfortable and makes me want to burrow into him and make that closeness a reality all at once. “I saw the balances.”
A jolt of shame, followed by hot anger, snakes down my spine. “So you snooped.” This time, I mean to bite out the words. I pick up my pace, putting distance between us.This is why I didn’t want Dante here. In my home. This is why I should have said no.He doesn’t belong here. It was only a matter of time before he figured that out, before he saw the position I was in, before he realized that the gap between us is so wide that we could never really cross it. Before he knew the kind of things I’m dealing with, and started to see me as someone far beneath him.
“They were just sitting out, Emma.” His voice is calm, without judgment, but I know it’s coming. “I didn’t have to snoop.”
“I don’t usually have anyone in my house.” I can hear how defensive my tone is. We’ve reached the end of the soft sand, and I sink down into it, hitting the ground hard. The conversation has cast a pall over the evening that I was hoping to avoid.
“If you need help, Emma—”
“I don’t!” I snap, loudly enough that I see Dante flinch, and he lets out a long breath.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally. “That was out of line.”
“No, I am.” I rub one hand over my face. “I just—I don’t talk to anyone about this stuff. It’s my set of problems, not anyone else’s. And certainly not to someone I’m—”
“Just fucking?” Dante supplies, and I let out a sharp breath, looking at him.
“I don’t know what to call it. We weren’t supposed to be doing this at all.”
For some reason, the honesty is easier, sitting out here on the beach. Maybe it’s because this is my place, or because I haven’t sat out here with anyone since my father died, but I find myself wanting to tell him more. Not everything. But something—maybe just enough to lift some of the weight that’s been on my shoulders.
“It’s been hard to keep the condo,” I say softly, softly enough that I almost wonder if he’ll hear. “Renting in LA is bad enough, but home ownership is something else. I didn’t want you to ever come here, honestly.” It sounds bad, saying it aloud to him, but it’s honest. I want to see how he’ll react to that honesty.
