5. Dante #2
She’s still wearing my shirt. The white fabric is massive on her, the collar hanging completely loose off one side to expose the pale, delicate line of her collarbone and a hint of smooth shoulder.
Seeing it draped over her body makes my head spin.
Below the hem, the shorts she’s in squeeze her thighs too tightly, pressing into the soft, plump curve of her skin.
She’s a sight for sore eyes, and I’m already picturing myself coming home from a grating day to come to her.
A sudden pulse thrums in my groin. My dick swells, hardening painfully against my jeans at the domestic sight of her spread out like this. She almost looks comfortable.
Margot's eyes track the tight line of my jaw, dropping down to the heavy rise and fall of my chest. She swallows hard, her fingers curling against the book in her hands.
Must be one of the ones Casper brought over, I don’t know.
Her lips part just a fraction. For a terrifying, beautiful second, she isn't fighting it. She's caving to the exact same heavy, suffocating gravity that has been pulling at me since crossing her path.
Then she blinks as one song turns into another and lets out a groan almost as loud as the singer screaming into his mic on the screen.
Margot collapses back into the couch cushions, pressing the pages of her book against her face to hide her expression.
Gritting my teeth, I force myself to ignore how much this woman affects me and how there’s nothing I can do about it. Locking the door from the inside, I'm forced to tear my eyes away from her.
Marching into the room, with my agitation fueling the urge to throw something at the television to make it stop. Somehow, I have the patience to snatch the remote and mute it, plunging my home into a sudden, blessed silence.
"Oh, hey!" Her sister cheerfully waves a whisk from the kitchen, oblivious to the fact that I'm standing here rigid. "I thought I was about to go deaf if I had to go another hour listening to that. My hero, seriously."
She may be one step closer toward that with the way she's practically yelling at me.
"Why—"
"She thought if she caused a loud enough disturbance, someone would come open the door to tell us to turn it off. That was four hours ago."
Margot sits up, glaring at her. "Can you not? Seriously?"
That gets a dry laugh out of me. "Nice try. The walls and floors are thick here." Lifting the bags in my grip, I drop them next to her. "Here."
She looks at the bags in confusion before setting her book aside. Poking and prodding, her brows lift when pulling out a shirt.
"Will that work?" Shifting my weight from one foot to another, I try not to care what her response will be.
But then her mouth shifts. For the first time since I've met this woman, she doesn't frown. There's a small lift, barely even there, but there nonetheless. She's smiling.
"Yeah. Thanks." Her eyes lift to meet mine, and that smile disappears as quickly as it appeared, as if she's caught herself doing it. While she can make the curve disappear, what she can't change is the layer of pink that's clinging to her cheeks.
Nodding, I move away from her, needing distance before I do something reckless without thinking.
What I should be doing is sitting down next to her and getting the information I need, but being near this woman feels far too dangerous. I need my skin to cool before I press for facts about what happened in the past.
Heading toward the kitchen, I realize what Madalyn is trying to make is cookies. Spotting a batch in the trash, I put the pieces together to figure out what the smell is.
"Made yourself comfortable?" Fighting not to scoff, I find myself wishing Margot would follow along and relax.
Madalyn nods, oblivious to what I'm thinking.
"How could I not? Not only did I get to sleep in today, but I also didn't have to worry about going on those awful jogs with my trainer.
Margot made a fantastic breakfast and lunch, and we stuffed our faces without a single comment.
So yeah, of course. Now I'm figuring out dessert.
Much harder than you think without a recipe to go off of.
It would be nice to have a phone to search one up. "
"Not going to happen." Taking a cold beer from the fridge, I shuffle away, giving her a half-hearted wish of good luck before walking back into the living room.
Settling onto the edge of the couch, the sudden absence in the room hits me instantly. Margot is gone. The space where she’d been curled up just minutes ago is empty, and the heavy pile of bags I’d dropped by her feet has vanished along with her.
My eyes drift back toward the kitchen, watching Madalyn completely lost in her baking, entirely alone.
A soft scoff leaves me as the weight of it settles deep in my chest. She left her. Margot—the woman who had threatened me, who had shielded her sister with her own body—had willingly walked into another room and left Madalyn alone with someone she’s held high defense against from the beginning.
It wasn't because she was careless. It was the bags. Bringing her those clothes, giving her that tiny shred of dignity and comfort, had done exactly what I needed it to do. It had pushed through that rigid, defensive front just enough to make her yield.
As pathetic as it is, I'll take it. Having her trust me enough, even if only for a few minutes, feels like a massive win.
Progress is progress, and right now, I'll take every single inch she gives me.