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“You don’t want this?”
“You know I do.” She pulled away. “But what would it take for you to say, good morning Rose, how are you today? Instead of looking at me as if I’m breakfast.”
“You are. I want to fuck.”
“In the kitchen with my father asleep upstairs?”
He shrugged. “Wherever.”
“Don’t you have any finer feelings?”
“None.”
“You really are the Romani chieftain, aren’t you?”
He stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He came. He saw. He conquered,” she explained matter-of-factly, refusing to tiptoe around his hang-ups. “I think you’re perfectly capable of feeling emotion and caring too—just not for me.”
He raised a brow. “Are you showing feelings now?”
“Me? You’re a fine one to talk.” She turned back to the range.
Sex was spectacular with Dante. He was spectacular. Towering over her here in her father’s kitchen, he was a totem to male sexuality and a stunning sight. He was fabulously successful in every way and had inherited the best of both sides of his family. With the dark arrogance of a Romani chieftain, he had the pride of an Argentinian grandee, and that was a breath-stealing mix. Her body was ultra-aware of him—no problem there—but in her heart, there was a need he couldn’t touch; a need he didn’t want to touch, because Dante shied away from feelings, and she didn’t know why. If he’d been a stallion instead of a man, she might have been able to use her skills on him. As it was…
“I won’t be coming to Argentina,” she announced.
Dante’s surprise was obvious, but she pressed on. “I’m going back to Isla Celeste to finish the job I started. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for my father. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“I’m not looking for payment,” Dante told her coolly. “As I told you before, our deal is done.”
That sounded so final, her heart clutched tight.
“I’ll be more use to the team on the island,” she said as if trying to convince herself.
“Isn’t that for me to decide?”
The warning chill in Dante’s eyes said she’d gone too far. What would it take to soften him, she wondered, and not just see his eyes brighten with lust? If only he would take the first step, make the first move, and hold her with real tenderness. He’d shown his caring side to her father, and she’d seen him being warm with Miguel. He was always relaxed with his colleagues on the team. Why not with her? What was holding him back? Was Dante hiding something? What could be so terrible that he couldn’t reach past it?
Maybe he just isn’t interested.
Maybe.
Always forthright, she decided to ask him. She swung around.
Arms folded, Dante leaned back against the wall, watching her. He was such an incongruous sight in the shabby kitchen—not that she’d ever noticed it was shabby before. The kitchen was her favorite room in the old farmhouse. It was familiar and it was warm, thanks to the fire and thanks to the way it made her feel inside. The same drying cloths her mother had used were still hanging on the range. Her father couldn’t bear to throw them out, and neither could she, though they were frayed now and the linen had worn through in places so there were raggedy holes. But that didn’t matter, Rose thought as she laid the table with mismatched crockery, because this was a home, and even though Romani were constantly on the move, they took their homes and their precious things with them, so why couldn’t Dante call anywhere home? Why was he so detached and distant?
“What are you afraid of?” she asked, glancing up at him.
“I beg your pardon?” He looked at her as if she’d gone briefly mad.
“There must be something,” she insisted, “Everyone’s frightened of something, and I can’t believe you’re incapable of empathizing with another human being unless something bad has happened to you. Or is it just me that you have a problem with?”
“I do empathize,” he argued. “And I fight injustice.”
“All the time,” Rose agreed. “But do you care beyond righting wrongs?”
“If I dwelt on things—”
