Page 69 of Just This Once

And what a coincidence. So will I.

Chapter 22

Taryn

After packing up some leftovers, Dante followed me home on his bike, and I spent no less than three-quarters of the time checking my rearview mirror. The idea of riding a motorcycle is super-hot. The reality is that I’m terrified he’ll hurt himself. By the time he parks it and removes his helmet, I’m a sweaty mess beneath my coat, ignoring all my good sense when I stomp right over to him. “Do you know what the fatality rate of motorcycle accidents is?” I do because I looked it up a few nights ago. “One in about eight hundred.”

He combs his fingers through his messy hair. “Yeah? You’ve been doing research?”

“Don’t be so flippant! That’s almost eight times higher than car accidents.”

He steps up so close I have to tip my head back to hold his gaze. “Sounds like you’re worried about me.”

“Yes, of course I am, you big oaf.” I add a punch to his shoulder for good measure. He has to know how unsafe it is and how precious his life is. “I don’t like it.”

“No?”

He’s so smug. His mouth quirking, head tilting to the side. He likes me like this. Losing my mind about his safety. But I don’t. I have enough to worry about without adding in the possibility of having his guts spilled on the side of the road. “No, I don’t like it, Dante. I…” My breath fogs between us when I let out a rough exhale. “It scares me.”

He loses his arrogance and curls his hands around my face, pressing his cool lips to my forehead. “I’m sorry.”

My eyes sting, and I’m appalled at the level of fear I have about the mere possibility of losing this man.

I don’t love him.

I don’t.

I don’t care about what he does. He could move out tomorrow, and I wouldn’t care.

I wouldn’t.

“Look at me, duchess…”

I lift my eyes and try to convince myself again that he is nothing more than my renter, the renovation project manager, a good lay.

He’s…

Fuck.

He stares down at me with a tenderness that makes pretending all that much harder. I didn’t realize how impossible it would be to ignore these big feelings when the other person doesn’t.

He lets everything shine through his gaze, passion and honesty and a promise I’m not sure I have the strength to turn down.

“You that upset about my bike?” he asks, and I shrug, all nonchalant, and he rumbles an amused sound. “It’s okay to say so, you know. I won’t hold it against you. In fact, might make me think twice about it.”

“You’re going to stop riding just because I threw a fit?”

“You didn’t throw a fit.” He sighs like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “What bothers me most is being the guy to come after the one who fucked you up so bad you think showing a little bit of emotion isthrowing a fit.” He holds my chin in a hard grip, making a point. “Sometimes I wish you would throw a fit. Everybody’s got to break at some point. I like to know you’re actually human and not an android made to take my cock.”

“Dante!” I slap at his chest, and he quickly sobers, smile fading.

“I’m serious, though. Barrett made you think speaking up was bad, but I want to know what’s in your head. I want to know what you’re feeling. Always. No hiding from me, all right?”

“All right,” I agree, and he kisses me on the mouth, his thumb pushing on my jaw, urging my mouth to open and accept his searching tongue, and with the swift rise of my body temperature, I’m reminded of how cold it is. I yank on Dante’s leather jacket to follow me inside.

Frankie dances in circles when I open the door, and Dante accepts a few kisses before heading to the kitchen, opening the back door to let the dog out, like he lives here. Like he does this routine every day.

Dante keeps his gaze out on the backyard as he removes his jacket and slings it over one of the kitchen table chairs without looking. As if he is so familiar with the placement of everything, he could walk around with his eyes closed.

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