Page 74 of The Contract

With an obnoxious after-you flourish, Dillon pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t keep her waiting too long.”

He saunters away as I stand, alone, staring at the door, every instinct on fire, burning me alive with a single, brutal choice.

Stay, and carve my sins into her soul.

Or leave, and carve her absence from mine.

CHAPTER 23

Dante

Yes, I opened the door and walked through.

No, I haven’t decided what the fuck I’m doing.

I’ve been standing here forever, watching Riley fidget beneath a stark beam of spotlight center stage.

She tugs at her hem.

Adjusting that trench coat is pointless. It hides fuck-all beneath it.

I blow out a breath. She looks naked.

My dick knows she’s not.

Not yet.

Shut up.

She hasn’t looked my way once, but I’ve memorized every nervous movement.

The stutter in her breath each time the stage creaks beneath those impossible heels.

The oversized ring she spins anxiously on her right thumb—probably her father’s.

It triggers an unconscious twist of my own simple band. A gift passed from my nameless grandfather to my father, then down to me on my eighteenth birthday.

I shove the memory away.

Right now, it pisses me off that I noticed at all.

I shift my focus.

To the stilettos cutting into her feet. She likes them. Or maybe she likes the pain.

I’m not sure which, but I intend to find out.

I shove my hands into my pockets and stare, which I think she likes, too. Could’ve stayed here, just watching her, all damn day.

Then Pom shatters the moment with all the finesse of gum popped mid-sermon.

“Are you done gawking? Or should I charge admission?”

My mouth curls, voice dipping dangerously low. “You’re the one who wanted to audition.”

Her fidgeting halts. Completely. “Dante?” Her gaze finally crashes into mine.

I take a step closer. “You should leave.”

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