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He watches me for a beat and then says, “You’re right, I’m not superstitious.” His voice softens. “In any case, you should leave tonight. Now, actually.”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” I say, nearly yelling. “I want to leave this damned city! I told you, I missed my flight.”
“I’ll get you on another flight,” Dante clips.
I’m not prepared to examine why his determination to get rid of me stings. “You can’t. That was the last one today. The next flight leaves tomorrow morning.”
I watch in disbelief as Dante whips out his cell phone, his thumb moving at lightning speed across the screen. He brings the phone to his ear and speaks in a low, urgent tone. “Yeah, I need the jet. No, just a skeletal crew. Make it fifteen minutes.”
He clicks off the call and tosses the phone onto the dashboard. “You’re leaving tonight, Addy.”
He’s flying me out on his jet? Memories of the last time that happened assail me. When he dragged me onto his lap and fucked my brains out in the confines of his tinted SUV. “You can’t just fly me to Boston, Dante. That’s . . . insane.”
His lips curve into a humorless smile. “You should take the chance before I change my mind.”
Change your mind and do what? I don’t dare ask.
He starts driving again, and this time, he doesn’t spare me another glance.
I, on the other hand, can’t seem to stop ogling. He radiates so much animal magnetism, and after over two years of no contact, my senses feel overwhelmed by his proximity.
I glance at his profile again and notice the muscle ticking at his jaw, the rigid set of his shoulders, and the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. His eyes blaze with intensity, but his demeanor is cold and detached.
Like the eye of a hurricane.
His restraint is palpable. Dante is holding himself back, and the effort is etched in every tense line of his body. I can almost taste the words he wants to say, the actions he wants to take, but he’s reining them in.
Why? What does he want? What is he hiding? What does he know that I don’t?
The questions burn in my throat, but I push them back, afraid of the answers. Afraid of the truth that might shatter my razor-thin resolve.
Silence stretches in the car, the air between us redolent with desire and unspoken words as Dante speeds through the night.
Before long, my skin begins to prickle with the need to touch him. But I know it’d be stupid to try it. Instead of doing what my body screams for—to reach across the console and place my hand on his bunched thigh, I lean back and slide my hand over my own thigh, rubbing small soothing circles, imagining it was Dante’s callused hand.
Dante instantly floors the accelerator, shooting beyond the already breakneck speed. I should be terrified by how fast the man drives, but he handles cars so smoothly it hardly feels dangerous.
Subtly, I drag the hem of my skirt an inch higher. I know I’m playing with fire right now, but a part of me, a part I’ve denied for too long, wants to get burned.
A private airstrip—a strip of asphalt illuminated by the harsh glare of floodlights—materializes out of the darkness, ending my unnoticed strip tease.
The SUV screeches to a halt a few hundred feet away from a sleek black jet. The engines are on, and the sound is unnaturally loud in the otherwise empty airstrip. I see a lone man with a high-vis jacket waiting at the bottom of the idling aircraft.
“How do you even have a jet waiting so quickly?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Dante’s jaw unclenches. “I just returned to Chicago not long ago myself. Go.” His voice is steely, brooking no argument.
I hesitate, my hand on the door handle. Dante still hasn’t looked at me. I hate how he can maintain control while I’m completely unraveling.
Forcing myself to open the door, I step into the cool night air and make my way toward the waiting jet. Every step away from Dante feels like I’m dragging my feet through thick molasses.
The man at the bottom greets me as I reach the aircraft steps. “Benvenuta, signorina.”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
The low rumble of the jet engines vibrates through my chest as I take the first few steps. Suddenly, I can’t go any further. My hand clenches around the cold metal handrail, unwilling—unable to let go.
It’s as if there’s an invisible string connecting my back to that SUV, and I’ve now reached the end of the tether.
