Page 6 of Made for Saints

“Running away already?” His voice drifted toward me, smooth and dark, laced with that dangerous amusement that made my skin prickle. “And here I thought we were just starting to get along.”

I turned slowly, my fingers tightening around the stemof the wine glass I’d brought with me. Dante leaned casually against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the space effortlessly. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, revealing a sliver of tanned skin below his sharp jawline. There was something maddeningly casual about his posture—like he wasn’t just standing there, but owning the entire room.

He was tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome in a way that felt entirely unfair. The kind of handsome that demanded attention, that left you fumbling for words even when you wanted to hate him. And I did want to hate him, if only to drown out the way my pulse quickened every time he got too close.

“I wasn’t running,” I said evenly, setting my glass down on the counter with deliberate care. “I just needed some air.”

A contemplative noise rumbled low in his throat, paired with a small, deliberate nod. He stepped into the kitchen, and the atmosphere shifted instantly, the staff scattering like startled birds.

The whir of the espresso machine and the faint clink of silverware being washed in the distance were the only sounds left.

“Air,” he repeated, rolling the word across his tongue like he wasn’t sure he believed me. His lips curved into that infuriating smirk of his—the one that made me want to slap him and kiss him all at once. “Funny, I thought you were avoiding me.”

“Why would I avoid you?” I shot back, folding my arms across my chest. My voice was sharper than I intended, but I couldn’t help it. “We’ve barely met.”

“True,” he conceded, his gaze dropping briefly to my hands before returning to my face. “But I get the impression you don’t like being cornered.”

The double meaning in his words wasn’t lost on me. “I’m not cornered.”

“Aren’t you?”

He moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate, like a lion stalking its prey. I held my ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me retreat, even as my pulse betrayed me, thundering in my ears. Retreating in front of men like Dante was just as good as surrendering.

“Is there something I can help you with Dante?” I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended. “Or do you always make a habit of following women into kitchens?”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, like the first sip of a good whiskey—smooth, intoxicating, and far too easy to get lost in. The warm timbre of it curled around me, settling beneath my skin in ways I didn’t want to admit.

He wasn’t just attractive—he was devastating, the kind of man who could unnerve you with a single glance. His sharp jawline, the faint stubble that framed it, the slight looseness of his tie—it all worked together to create a disarming mix of power and allure. It wasn’t fair how someone so dangerous could look so effortlessly handsome.

I hated how my body betrayed me, my pulse quickening at the way his dark eyes seemed to drink me in, as if he could see right through the layers I’d spent years perfecting. The heat of his gaze was suffocating, but it was the kind you didn’t want to escape from.

“Only the interesting ones,” he said, his voice rich with amusement, though his eyes stayed locked on mine, as if daring me to look away.

I hated the way my stomach flipped at his words, hated the way his presence seemed to wrap around me like a second skin. But most of all, I hated the way my body responded to him, no matter how much I told myself it shouldn’t.

Dante leaned casually against the counter, his posture deceptively relaxed. But there was nothing relaxed about the way his eyes pinned me in place. They were dark, fathomless, and they seemed to see straight through me, peeling back layers I wasn’t ready to share.

I narrowed my eyes, trying not to notice the wayhis sleeves were rolled back just enough to expose strong forearms. “You’re wasting your time,” I said, my voice steady despite the heat prickling at the back of my neck. “I’m not one of your business deals to dissect and figure out.”

His smirk deepened, maddeningly confident. “Oh, I know you’re not a business deal, Emilia. You’re...something else entirely.”

The way he said my name sent a shiver up my spine, his voice curling around it like smoke. My pulse throbbed harder, and I silently cursed myself for the way his words coiled tight in my chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, tilting my chin up in defiance, even as the air between us grew heavier, more charged.

The air between us was taut, humming with an energy I didn’t want to name. He moved closer, deliberate and unhurried, until the space around me felt impossibly small.. He was magnetic, suffocating, pulling my thoughts in directions I couldn’t control.

“It means you’re not as untouchable as you’d like to believe,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rasp.

I swallowed hard, my composure slipping. “Big words coming from someone who clearly enjoys cornering me.”

“That’s the thing.” He tilted his head, studiying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. “I don’t think you mind as much as you want me to believe.”

His words struck like a match, igniting something I didn’t want to name. My heart was pounding now, wild and erratic, and I hated how right he sounded.

“I’m not interested,” I said, rolling my eyes, even as my voice wavered slightly, betraying me.

His smile softened, becoming something almost genuine. “You’re a terrible liar.”

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