I sighed. “See? I would be total shit at dating!”
She waited, weighing the other pillow in the air.
“What I’m trying to say, badly might I add… so badly…” I wiped my face with my hands. “I have a sister.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Wait.” I pointed at the pillow. “Just let me finish, I have a sister, a beautiful wonderful, annoying sister. I know what girls want when they go on a date, they want to spend hours getting ready just so the guy almost drops dead when he sees them. So he looks at her and fully realizes what a lucky bastard he is for getting her to say yes. So, go to the bathroom, take your time doing whatever the hell girls do in there, put on something fancy, and give me time to figure out this whole… at home date.” My chest was heaving by the time I was done, but at least the pillow was back on the couch.
“Okay.” She nodded. “So just, disappear for a bit?”
“Yes,” I exhaled. “So I can surprise you, and so you can do your worst — but know, I’ve seen you naked, so if you’re wearing clothes it’s still going to be my second favorite thing I’ve seen you in.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Then maybe I show up naked.”
“Then maybe you get to be dessert,” I fired back.
“Maybe that’s all I wanted all along,” She walked by me, I snaked my arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her parted lips, then pointed her toward the hall.
And prayed like hell I wouldn’t do something else offensive or stupid.
I had no idea how to date.
Especially since it’s not like I could just pay for dinner and a movie.
Yeah I had a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to figure out how to do it.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
El
OF COURSE, HE’D never been on a date.
I had eyes.
I was aware of what type of godlike presence the man had — it’s not like I was exactly thrilled that he basically just slept with whoever he wanted without having to even buy them dinner first.
I’d felt so stupid saying something that I almost ran into my room and locked the door behind me.
But his laugh.
God, that laugh.
It was loud, real, amused.
I loved it.
It was one thing I would take away from my time in this ranch house, hearing Dante Nicolasi laugh should be illegal.
It wrapped around me, made my body throb in all the right places, and it took everything in me not to jump into his arms and start ripping off his clothes and beg him for more.
More laughing.
More teasing.
He was always serious.
Always haunted.
Always angry.
And I wondered, if maybe, I was helping chip away at the armor he was so keen on keeping — maybe I could break through.
Maybe this, whatever this was, could go beyond sex, beyond attraction.
Beyond misguided protection of his name.
I had hope.
For the first time since I could remember I had hope that my future wouldn’t be filled with death but life.
Hope was a dangerous thing.
Because it made me daydream about things I had no right daydreaming about, it made me think anything was possible when I knew that we were running against a clock that picked no sides, that owed us no favors.
I sighed and went over to my suitcase and opened one of the frilly boxes the girls had given me.
The nightgown was black silk, it had an open back and could almost pass as a chic cocktail dress.
I quickly put it on and eyed the garters next to it.
“What the hell?” I pulled on the thigh-highs, attached the garters to the matching lacy black thong and did a little turn in the mirror before letting the dress cascade against my legs.
It felt expensive.
I pulled my hair into a loose bun at the base of my neck and went searching for some makeup.
I never wore a lot around Dante, mainly because Xavier had always wanted it caked on my face. I think it made him angry to see my bruises and know that it was because I fought him.
He wanted complete submission. While I wanted to stab him in the throat with whatever sharp object was close by.
He wasn’t here now.
It was just me, and Dante — and that weird cow out back.
I squared my shoulders and applied some dark eye shadow followed by a blue eyeliner and some bronzer.
Lipstick was just going to come off, at least I hoped so, but I loved red lipstick, loved it.
Even though I rarely wore it.
I used to see it on his skin.
And I hated that he ruined one more thing for me.
But maybe, maybe the red on Dante’s skin would be redeeming. With shaking hands I added a few more finishing touches.
A spritz of perfume that one of the girls had packed with the boxes, and finally a pair of black and white heels I don’t remember being given.
What did they do? Just buy things and stash them away for times like this?
I gave my head a shake and touched the doorknob.
I’d been gone maybe forty-five minutes.
Was that enough to come up with something? Anything? Or would he still be standing there wondering how the hell he was going to give me a date?
I took a shaky breath and opened the door and walked with slow steps down the hall, my heels making a clicking sound against the wood.
It smelled like he was cooking I just wasn’t sure what.
The table was set.
One plate on each side of a white tablecloth, with napkins on the dishes that he’d folded and placed silverware on top.
He’d even lit a candle and turned the lights down.
Throat dry, I made my way around the table and found Dante in the kitchen. It was a complete disaster. He cooked the way he fought — with reckless abandon, he was very goal oriented. And apparently his goal had been to massacre spaghetti until it resembled something like mush.
“Looks… good.”
“I over cooked the noodles, tried again, then under cooked them, but this batch,” he said, pointing at the stove, “is going to kick ass, I just had to go through two boxes of—” He looked over his shoulder. Eyes blazing he raked his gaze over me from head to toe and back up again, he sucked in his bottom lip like he was imagining tasting me, and when his eyes met mine again he looked drugged. “Don’t move.”
“Okay.”
“El…” He swallowed, looked back at the pasta then back at me. “Fucking dates.”
“You don’t want to do this?” Suddenly embarrassed I started to back away.
“Don’t. Move.” His jaw cracked as he braced his hands against the countertop and leaned over like he was preparing for a fight. “You know what? I have an idea, here.” He turned off the stove, drained the pasta, and dished out everything onto plates like he was getting timed. Once everything was on the table, he grabbed a towel and handed it to me. “Take this.”
“A towel?” My eyebrows shot up. “Am I on cleanup duty already?”
“Not in that dress you’re not.” He groaned. “Just wrap it around my eyes.”
I tried not to flinch at the hurt that spread through my shaking hands as I took the towel and wrapped it around his eyes, just as I was ready to tie it, he gripped my wrists and hung this head.
“El,” He inhaled greedily like he could smell me in the air. “You look beautiful.”