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“I know,” I tell her. “Shall we do the painting?”
“Uh, sure.” She seems surprised by the abrupt segue, but I can’t think of anything else to say. Married… She and I. Mia and me. It feels so right, but I can’t let it happen. I’m Dante, alone. I’m… It all seems so hollow. I’m what? What the hell am I if I let Mia go one day?
She stands up. “You coming?”
I take her hand and stand up. She looks down at our clasped hands and smiles. “But I should probably…”
She gestures to her leg. It makes me hard again when I see the come sliding down over her smooth skin. I turn away, trying to calm down the beast inside of me.
“Yeah,” I say.
She walks into the en suite. I watch her go, shuddering when her juicy ass sways in the gray underwear. She looks at me over her shoulder. “You’re really wild,” she says.
CHAPTER 15
Mia
Wild. That describes him best and describesusthe best. I was shaking all over when he went down on me. I thought I couldn’t, but then he said that stuff about being in the moment, which melted me—melted away the concerns. I didn’t care. I could just be with him, grind against him, float away in the bliss.
It still tickles me now, the afterglow of the pleasure, but when I join Dante in the living room, he’s got that hard look on his face. Not angry, exactly, but not sad either. It’s more like a mask.
I didn’t mean to say anything about a wedding or marriage. I don’t know where that came from.
“For the record,” I tell him. “I’ve always said I don’t want a husband, and I meant it.”
He nods, not looking at me, as he sets out the art supplies on the coffee table. “I’ve always said I don’t want a wife,” he replies, “or any attachments.”
“What does it mean, being yours, then? Aren’t we attached?”
He looks at me sharply. There’s a weird and intense suddenness to the eye contact that sends a shiver right through me. It’s like Dante is seeing me, all the good and bad, and he still wants it. “Do you want us to be?”
“You’re just playing games now.”
“I’m going to protect you,” he says.
“Is that your catch phrase?” I tease.
He laughs, but it’s tight, somehow tense, like part of him wants to snap. “What do you want me to do? Get on one knee now, Mia?”
“Don’t be a dick,” I snap.
He grits his teeth. “Well, we’ve both made it clear.”
“Yeah, F marriage,” I say.
“F marriage,” he repeats, a slight smirk on his face. “You’re so innocent, Mia.”
“I’m not,” I tell him.
He looks at me, something fierce and dark flickering in his eyes. It’s that look that convinces me we’re wrong. We can’t F marriage. We can’t pretend we don’t feel this way. I’m like a trashy pop song, but it’s true. He’s seeing into my heart. A passionate mood grips us, just like when we were hugging last night.
“You are,” he says huskily. “No matter what, you’re innocent.”
This fills me with so much warmth I couldn’t explain it if he asked. Things aren’t simple between us. After this, there might not evenbean us, but at least we have these moments. Maybe that’s how I’ll have to think of this connection—a series of paintings, bright and full of life, but in the past, over with now.
“Let’s get started,” I say, trying to sound upbeat.
“Is this really how you see me?” he says hours later as we stand in front of the canvas together.
