Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Tatiana
Dante and I were separated.
I can’t get my head around that.
Trust can be broken in many ways. Losing trust in someone is serious. I should’ve asked Dante for more details instead of being a coward about it. Maybe I would’ve summoned the courage if Reino hadn’t interrupted us. Now, every time I consider broaching the subject, my nerve fails me.
If we’re together, it’s because we’ve worked through our problems. Is it worth digging up old bones?
Isn’t it better to leave the issues we’ve already dealt with in peace?
At least for now, until I remember. With my memory loss and the mystery surrounding my disappearance, Dante and I have a lot on our plates.
Determined not to make a big deal out of Dante’s confession, I do my best to push the thought out of my mind.
I go about my afternoon, playing with Noah.
Jazz entertains us with a practice run of her upcoming audition.
The three of us get dressed up in her costumes and dance to the songs from the musical, which results in a lot of laughing and ends up with Noah jumping on her bed.
After dinner, Dante joins me in reading Noah a story. Once we’ve tucked him in, Dante returns to his study to work. I change into a silk nightdress with lace trimmings and read in bed for a while, but I can’t concentrate on the cosy mystery. Too many questions run in circles through my mind.
Giving up on the story, I pull on the bathrobe that matches the negligee and pad barefoot down the quiet hallway. Footlights illuminate my way.
Downstairs, I pause in the foyer. Light spills from under the study door.
I don’t want to bother Dante when he’s working.
Resisting the urge to check in on him, I carry on to the kitchen where I keep the lights on a dim setting and try to be quiet as I fill the kettle with water and put it on the stove.
While I wait for the water to boil, I prepare a mug.
Then I stare through the big window. A few spotlights fall on the trees and cycads in the garden.
Lights are on in the summerhouse as well as in the pool.
The turquoise water glimmers like a translucent gemstone against the dark blue of the night.
It looks inviting, but the weather is turning, and it’s starting to get chilly outside.
In the far corner of the backyard, the windows of the guesthouse are dark. The guards who patrol the property sometimes sleep there if they work in shifts. Dante commissioned more men than necessary to surveil the neighborhood. He doesn’t want to take any risks now that I’m home.
Home.
What Dante told me probably explains why I don’t feel at home in this beautiful house. The environment still seems foreign. Sometimes, I can’t shake the weird notion of hostility that creeps up on me in quiet moments such as now.
The shrill whistle of the kettle cuts into my thoughts and makes me jump. I grab the kettle and remove it from the heat to stop the noise before switching off the gas.
I’m pouring hot water over the teabag in the mug when movement in the reflection of the glass catches my eye. I lift my head to see Dante entering the kitchen.
I put the kettle on a cork plate, take my mug, and turn around. “Hi.”
He eyes the mug that I cup between my hands. “Can’t sleep?”
“Sorry.” I rest my backside against the counter. “I didn’t mean to distract you from your work. I tried to be quiet, but I got lost in thought and forgot to remove the kettle before the water boiled.”
He crosses the floor and stops in front of me. “What were you thinking about?”
“The house.” I shrug a shoulder. “It’s beautiful. I was just admiring the garden and the pool.”
“I’m glad you like it.” His deep, gruff timbre makes my skin come alive with prickles of sensual awareness. “And you can distract me anytime.”
Only Dante can turn me on with nothing but his voice. I have a hard time keeping my own voice level. To my credit, I even manage an eye roll. “You know what I mean. I didn’t want to bother you.”
His smile is warm. “You can never bother me.”
The pleasant feeling that spreads through my chest is even warmer. I lift the mug. “Want some?”
He comes closer and sniffs the tea. “Chamomile?”
I nod.
“No, thanks.” His smile stretches, making his dimple appear. “I’ll pass.”
“I can make you something else.”
He shoves a hand in his pocket. “I’m good, but I appreciate the offer.”
His stance is relaxed, but the shirt that fits his broad chest and hard abdomen like a glove is creased, and his hair is messy like when he’s raked his fingers through it repeatedly.
I can’t help but notice how mouthwateringly sexy that look is on him.
Dante is a man who’s always in control, and his usual immaculate appearance reflects that quality.
His unshakable character and iron will are the traits that make him so successful in his job and as a leader.
His single-minded dedication to his tasks has always been widely admired.
Leander used to be jealous of the compliments Dante got.
Once Dante has decided what he wants, he chases it mercilessly.
He acts without scruples when it’s necessary.
He’s not afraid of judgement. The strategist in him knows exactly how to fight a war to win.
Losing isn’t a word that exists in his vocabulary.
To win is one thing, but staying at the top takes courage and intelligence. The price is often paid in blood. Men like him learn to sleep with one eye open. His vigilance is indispensable for survival.
There’s no doubt that his strengths make him a dangerous opponent. But they also prevent him from relaxing and letting go. At moments like these, he’s just ruffled enough to remind me that for all his godlike qualities, he’s still human.
My hands itch to be buried in his hair. I long to fix it. A deep-seated need compels me to solve all his problems. “Tough day?”
“It comes with the territory.”
I want to ask if he wants to talk about it, but under the circumstances, I’m probably the last person he can trust with illegal business. I never contemplated the web of problems that would accompany my memory loss. My husband can’t confide in me if my mind is broken.
“Come on a date with me,” he says out of the blue, jolting me from the direction my thoughts have taken.
A date? I always considered dating something couples do before they get married.
When the chase is over and the initial thrill wears off, going out grows into something different.
The wooing and courting turn into investing time to solidify a relationship.
Or, in certain cases, it may be a shot at rekindling a dying flame.
I stare at him. “Why?”
He watches me with a serious light burning in his eyes. “We’ve never been on one.”
My lips part. It takes me a moment to gather myself before I can speak. “We’ve been on plenty of dates.” I hasten to back that up with evidence suggesting that I haven’t lost that part of my memory. “Picnics, movies, restaurants… Walks in the park.”
“Those don’t count. We were sneaking around.” He removes his hand from his pocket and straightens. “I want to show you off. I want to go out with my wife in the open. You don’t have to worry about security. I’ll keep you safe.”
I’m not sure if I should be flattered or worried. I’m tempted to go with the first, which insinuates that my hot-as-sin husband still wants to date me, but I’m too realistic to ignore what the invitation truly means. Just how estranged have we been?
He steps right up to me, forcing me to crane my neck to hold his gaze.
His words are charged, his quiet urgency crackling like static electricity in the air between us. “Do you want me to beg?”
I shake my head. “I just…I…” I bite my lip. “I don’t understand.”
This time, he doesn’t manage to keep up the casual pose or the relaxed attitude. When he smiles again, the strained gesture gives away his tenseness. “One date.”
His eyes are hypnotizing. Looking into them leaves me breathless. There’s so much emotion in their depths, yet so little he wants to show me. “What about Noah? I don’t want to let him stay with a babysitter so soon after my disappearance. He still has nightmares about it.”
He takes the mug from my hands and puts it a safe distance away before leaning his hands on the counter on either side of my body and caging me in between his arms. “Are you asking me to wait?”
Bending backward, I escape his unsettling proximity. “Wait for what?”
“For you.”
“We’re married,” I whisper.
For some reason, my answer doesn’t appease him. “I waited, Tatiana. You have no fucking idea.”
I place a hand over his heart, letting the steady beat ground me as my confusion grows. “Dante.”
A switch flips inside him. I see it in the darkening of his eyes and in the heat that makes the golden flecks in his irises leap like flames.
He studies me with that intense gaze, a dark promise riding on his statement. “Don’t make me wait longer.”
I open my mouth to ask what he means, but the question freezes on my lips when he reaches for the belt of my bathrobe and pulls on one end, slowly untying the bow. He concentrates on the work of his hands as he brushes the robe open unhurriedly, unwrapping me like a long-awaited gift.
Heat gathers between my legs. My nipples pebble behind the silk.
“Dante,” I say again, not sure if I’m protesting or begging.
He cups my waist and lifts me with a swift movement onto the counter.
“What are you doing?” I catch my weight on my arms. “Someone can walk in on us.”
He continues as if he hasn’t heard me, watching me with that penetrating, hungry stare as he slides his hands over my knees. He smooths those broad hands up over my thighs, curling his strong fingers around my flesh and raking his calloused palms over my sensitive skin.
Taking the nightgown with him, he bares my legs inch by inch until he’s exposed my silk panties. I can’t help the shiver that runs through me, leaving goosebumps in its wake. When he hooks his fingers into the elastic on the sides of my panties, I lift my ass.
A smile flirts with his lips as he moves the underwear down my legs before freeing my feet. “Good girl.”
His deep voice penetrates flesh and bone to reverberate in my core.
I shouldn’t like his praise so much, but I have an inexplicable desire to please him.
My heart skips a beat when he pockets the panties.
He’s always been keen on taking trophies.
I have no idea what he does with those keepsakes. I’ve never asked.
Pushing my legs apart, he steps between them. I’m spread open, vulnerable with the night streaming through the uncovered window at my back and a powerful and dangerous man in front of me, a man who wants me… and I find that I like it.
Holding my gaze, he goes down on his haunches. The path he kisses up the inside of my thigh is torturously light. Teasing. The roughness of his stubble scrapes my skin. By the time he reaches his target, I’m soaking wet.
He dips his tongue inside, all the while watching me and reading my reaction.
A moan slips from my lips. When he sucks my clit into his mouth, I throw my head back and give myself over to the sensations.
He doesn’t spare me. He takes his time in bringing me to the edge.
I’m delirious with need before he lets me go over.
I’m still riding out the aftershocks when he straightens and unbuckles his belt.
He unzips before taking a foil packet from his pocket and tearing it open with his teeth. He frees his cock and pumps a couple of times into his fist. I’m leaning back on my arms, his hips wedged between my knees, unable to look away from how erotic he makes the act of rolling on a condom appear.
Gripping the base, he presses the crest against my opening. As if he knows what’s going to happen, that the savage punch of his hips is going to shatter me, he braces me with one big hand at the back of my head. And then he thrusts.
A scream pushes up in my throat, but before it can escape, he slams his free hand over my mouth. He traps the sounds tearing from my chest as he beats out a harsh rhythm, finding a pace that works for him.
The pleasure is searing. Every nerve-ending in my body combusts into flames.
I bite down on the hand he offers, muffling my sounds as I drown in him.
He took his time in making me come, but he’s impatient with his own need, chasing his release quickly and efficiently.
I should be concerned about Emily or Jazz walking in on us, but I’m so lost in Dante that I can’t bring myself to care.
He climaxes after a few long, hard strokes, but he doesn’t pull out immediately. He removes his hand from my mouth and tangles our tongues in a slow, passionate kiss.
When he finally breaks the kiss, my lips feel swollen. I don’t have to look in a mirror to know I have stubble burn on my chin.
He presses a last chaste kiss on my lips before pulling out. I miss the feeling of his cum on my thighs. There’s something deeply intimate about him coming inside me.
His actions are as meticulous and efficient as always when he gets rid of the condom and cleans himself with a paper towel.
He discards everything in the trash before washing his hands and adjusting his clothes.
Then he presses a kiss between my thighs and gently closes my legs.
The look in his eyes is no less heated when he pulls the nightdress down to cover me.
I hold on to his shoulders when he lifts me to my feet.
His mouth tilts in one corner. “I think your tea is cold.”
“That’s all right.” Interlinking my fingers at his nape, I rest my cheek on his chest and breathe in his manly scent. “I’m feeling sleepy now.”
“Good.” He kisses the top of my head and scoops me up in his arms. “In that case, I can take you to bed.”
I can’t help the shiver of anticipation that travels through me at the nuanced promise behind his words.