Chapter 14
Nita
I woke slowly, the way you do when your body feels too heavy and too good all at once. The first thing I noticed was the soreness—not in a bad way. The kind that settled deep in my muscles, in my hips, between my thighs. A delicious reminder that sleep had been earned the hard way.
Three times through the night, each one blurring into the next until time stopped meaning anything except the rise and fall of breath, the slide of his skin against my own, and the low sounds he made like he couldn’t quite believe I was real.
Dante was still asleep beside me. And I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I believed any of this was real. I was certainly daydreaming or living in some delusion because how did we get here?
That realization hit harder than the ache. This was my reality. Here and now, I can touch him. The most amazing night of my life ended up being with the most unexpected person.
Was he sexy? Absolutely.
Was he the kind of man I was attracted to and not just physically but as a man with honor, integrity, and a moral code of his own? Even more so he ticked every box.
I just never once imagined this would be where we would end up.
Sunlight leaked through the thin curtains, striping his bare chest in layers of light against the golden glow of his tan skin.
He was on his back, one arm thrown above his head, the other loose at his side—unguarded in a way I had never seen him.
His muscles flexing and relaxing with every breath.
His face was softer like this. No scowl.
No tension carved deep into his brow. Just a man at rest, lashes dark against weathered skin, mouth slack with sleep. At peace.
Fifty-two years old, fit as a twenty-year old, God help me, he was still stunning from the top of his head down to the bottoms of his toes.
I lay there longer than I should have, staring. Cataloging. Letting myself feel the weight of him beside me without pretending it meant something more. The sheets were tangled around our legs, the room still held the faint heat of bodies that hadn’t wanted to be apart.
Last night had been unparalleled. There was no other word for it.
I had good sex before. Passionate sex. Connected sex. But this? This had felt like something breaking open. Like years of restraint burned off in a single night. He touched me like he was starving, like he was memorizing me in case this was all he got.
Maybe that was why it had been so intense.
Maybe he somehow knew this wouldn’t work and it was a one-time thing.
I shifted carefully, testing my body. Sore. Used. Satisfied in a way that made my lips curve despite myself.
And that right there was the danger, it was me playing with fire.
Because I could do this. I could take this night, file it away under unexpected but excellent, and go to work in an hour or so like life was normal. I was good at compartmentalizing. No one survived my line of work without learning how to put everything in the appropriate box.
One night stands weren’t my thing. They never had been.
But this wasn’t a one night stand.
This was unfinished business finally catching fire.
Dante stirred beside me, breath hitching as consciousness crept in. His hand moved first, sliding over the sheet until it landed on my hip, heavy and possessive even in sleep. I stilled, not ready for him to wake just yet.
Too late.
His eyes opened slowly, dark and unreadable until they focused on me. There it was, the moment recognition hit. Relief. Want. Something softer that made my chest tighten.
“You’re still here,” he whispered, voice rough with sleep.
“For now,” I replied lightly.
He pushed up on one elbow, eyes skimming my face like he was checking for cracks. “Stay.”
It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t playful. It was a naked truth, an honest request.
I took a breath, already feeling the familiar shift inside me, the part of me that stepped back, that evaluated risk. “I can’t.”
His jaw tightened. “Your flight? You could reschedule.”
“Leaves in four hours,” I finished calmly. “I won’t be missing it.”
He sat up fully then, the sheet pooling around his waist. God, he looked like sin in the morning light. Scratches on his shoulder. A faint bruise at his collarbone that I’d put there. Evidence.
Last night echoed between us.
“I could drive you,” he said. “We could get breakfast. Talk.”
I smiled, small and controlled. “No.”
That stopped him.
I turned onto my side, propping my head on my hand, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Dante, last night was,” I paused because I wanted my words to be just right, “incredible. Truly. And I’m grateful for it.”
His eyes flicked away at that. “You sound like you’re thanking me for a favor. Come on, Nita, we’re better than that shit.”
“I’m thanking you for a moment,” I corrected. “That’s what it was.”
He laughed once, sharp. “You don’t believe that.”
“I do,” I said evenly. Because I have to. I didn’t share that with him.
Silence stretched. I could see the gears turning behind his eyes, the part of him that planned, that controlled chaos instead of letting it control him.
He reached for my hand, thumb brushing over my knuckles. “We don’t have to make this small.”
I pulled my hand back gently. “We aren’t going to make it anything.”
That hurt landed clean. I saw it. The flicker of something wounded before it disappeared behind that familiar stonewall. But I kept going, because if I didn’t say it now, I ran the risk of becoming weak to the sheer allure that was all things Dante Verdone.
“We aren’t this,” I stated. “We aren’t going to do the long-distance thing.
We aren’t going to do the late-night calls or the maybe someday promises.
I’m going to go back to my life. You’re going to go back to yours.
Back to reality where you call me the night before my birthday to tell me first before the flowers come the next morning.
The one where I send you a text on your birthday and we see who will reach out first on Lamonte’s.
We’re gonna go back to the way things were where my sister mails you a Christmas card and it always has a picture of me with my nieces so you always call to tell me how big they are getting and how beautiful the Banks women are.
We aren’t anything more than what we have been, check the box friends holding onto something from many moons ago. ”
He frowned. “You don’t know what I’m offering.”
“I know exactly what you offer,” I stated quietly. “Space. Silence. Waiting. Worry. I’m not doing that.”
He leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “You think I’d make you wait?”
“Yes,” I confirmed without hesitation. “Because you always have. Even when you weren’t here. Even when you lived in Maryland. You make people wait until you’re ready. And Dante, I am on no man’s schedule or timeline.”
That landed harder. At least my point was getting across.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, standing despite the protest of my body.
I wrapped the robe around myself, hiding away my insecurities that my traitorous body would show him how much I still wanted another round.
Yes, my robe, a garment to cover, a way to put something between us.
“My life is in DC,” I continued. “My work. My routines. My stability. I didn’t fight this hard to build it just to orbit around the chaos that follows you.”
His mouth opened, then closed.
“I won’t be someone you fit in when it’s convenient,” I laid it all out. “I won’t wait for you to decide you’re ready. I won’t gamble my peace on potential. And truthfully, as much as you don’t fit in my world, I don’t fit in yours.”
He stood then, towering in the space, naked and raw in a way that had nothing to do with skin. “So that’s it? One night and we pretend it didn’t matter?”
“No,” I countered, turning to face him fully. “It mattered. That’s why it ends here. That way it stays good.”
He searched my face like he might find a crack. An invitation. There wasn’t one.
“This was a one and done,” I stated softly. “A good one. A necessary one even because there won’t be a what if between us. But it’s done.”
The silence that followed was thick, heavy with everything we weren’t saying. Finally, he nodded once. “You’ve always been good at walking away.”
I met his gaze steadily. “I don’t think that’s a fair statement, Dante.
But I’m not going to continue the back and forth.
I want last night to be what it was and let’s not taint it with any jabs over bruised egos or even dancing around with the idea of what if because there is no situation where this works. ”
I grabbed my suitcase, moving toward the bathroom. To load up the last of my toiletries. I had packed last night. Changing my clothes, I put on a basic sweat suit and slip on shoes before packing up my robe.
My heart was steady, even if it ached. Because some doors, once opened, had to be closed again before they burned the whole house down.
He didn’t argue, didn’t push. He waiting patiently until I emerged from the bathroom. As I shut the door behind me, I caught one last glimpse of him in the mirror—standing alone beside the bed we had ruined, eyes dark, expression unreadable.
I didn’t look back after that. I made my way out of the hotel room, down the hall, down the elevator, outside, and to my rental car. Not once did I even given a glance behind me.
Some dances are too dangerous to repeat.
And I wasn’t about to make a habit of waltzing with the devil.
DC swallowed me whole the second the plane touched down.
Not in a bad way. In the familiar way—like sliding back into a pair of shoes that fit just right.
The air was colder than North Carolina’s damp heat, sharper in my lungs, and the airport was its usual churn of bodies and noise and impatience.
Everyone moving with purpose. Everyone pretending they weren’t tired.