Page 55 of Made for Saints

“She’s not like anyone,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

“Exactly,” Luca replied, his tone softening. “That’s what makes her dangerous.”

Before I could respond, the boutique door swung open, and Emilia stepped out, the blue dress catching the sunlight as she walked toward the car. My breath hitched, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just her—the sway of her hips, the curve of her shoulders, the way her hair caught the light like a halo.

“I’ve got to go,” I said abruptly, ending the call before Luca could say another word.

I got out of the car, circling around to meet her as she approached. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. There was something in her gaze—something defiant, something vulnerable—that made my chest tighten.

“Need help?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.

She hesitated, her hands clutching the garment bag. “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

“Let me,” I said, stepping closer.

I moved without thinking, stepping into her space so quickly that she gasped, her wide eyes snapping up to meet mine. My hand shot out, gripping her waist firmly as I spun her toward the car. The movement wasn’t rough, but it was deliberate—demanding. Her back hit the cool metal of the car door, and her breath hitched, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet night.

“Caught, huh?” I murmured, my voice low and edged with something dark, something dangerous.

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as she stared up at me. My hand still rested on her waist, the heat of her body bleeding through the fabric of her dress, and I felt her tremble beneath my touch.

“Dante—”

The way she said my name, soft and unsure, sent a jolt of electricity through me. My free hand braced against the car beside her head, caging her in. I leaned closer, my chest brushing against hers, and her breath quickened, her gaze darting between my eyes and my mouth.

“You’re testing me, Emilia,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t think you realize how dangerous that is.”

Her chin tilted up, defiance flickering in her wide, dark eyes. “I’m not doing anything,” she shot back, though her voice wavered slightly.

I smirked, my fingers flexing against her waist. “Oh, you’re doing plenty.”

Her breath hitched again, and I could feel the rapid beat of her pulse where my thumb brushed against her side. She was trying so hard to appear unaffected, but I could see it—the way her resolve crumbled every time I stepped closer.

“How did I look in the dress?” she asked suddenly, hervoice soft but laced with curiosity.

I tilted my head, studying her. A small smirk tugged at my lips. “You looked fine,” I said, my tone teasing. “But you’d look better in something else.”

Her brow arched, and I could see the flicker of defiance in her expression. “Something else? Like what?”

“Sleek. Silk. Maybe a slip dress,” I said, my gaze dropping to the curve of her waist. My voice dipped lower, rougher. “Something that clings to you. Something that shows off everything that dress is hiding.”

Her lips parted slightly, and I saw the faintest quirk of a smile before she caught herself. “A slip dress? What are you, a fashion expert now?”

I chuckled, stepping closer, the space between us disappearing as her back pressed further against the car. “I know what looks good,” I said, my voice dark and deliberate.

“And what would you do if I wore something like that?” she asked, her tone daring me, though the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.

I leaned in, my hand sliding to her hip as I brought my lips close to her ear. “I’d have to kill every man who looked at you in it,” I whispered, my voice dark and possessive.

Her breath hitched, and she tilted her head slightly to look at me, her lips curving into a small, teasing smile. “That would be bad for the wedding,” she said, her voice light but tinged with something deeper. “All the guests would be dead.”

I chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, my hand tightening slightly on her waist. “Then don’t tempt me.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and I saw the flicker of something raw and unguarded in her expression. Desire, maybe. Or defiance. Maybe both. She didn’t move away, didn’t push me back, and that was all the invitation I needed.

My body pressed against hers, not enough to trap her, but enough to remind her that I was there, that I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Careful, Emilia,” I murmured, my lips brushing againstthe shell of her ear. “You keep looking at me like that, and I might forget I’m supposed to be a gentleman.”

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