Page 29 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

Outside, the sky bruises purple. Dante insists we stop at a cozy patisserie across the plaza. Over croissants the size of my face, he outlines my upcoming schedule on a napkin, doodling tiny stick-figure versions of Nico and Sal beside mine.

His own stick figure wears a cape. Subtle.

“Sal’s CEO summit, black-tie—wear the emerald. Nico’s board dinner, knee-length navy. My ski expo, obviously the white jumpsuit with faux-fur hood.”

I grin, chase crumbs with my finger. “If I break an ankle in those heels, do I get workers’ comp?”

He locks eyes with me. “You’ll get whatever you want from us, Tabi.” He says it with such authority that a shiver tingles through me, and my throat goes dry.

What do you even say to that? I can hardly find my words, but manage a brilliant, “Oh. Okay.”

Dante checks his own phone after it beeps. “Sal’s punctual streak continues. Ready to head back?”

“Ready enough.” I smile confidently, hoping to hide the lie.

Truth is, I’m not ready for any of this.

14

DANTE

I pulloff the main highway, swing up the gravel drive to the house, and tap the steering-wheel controls to kill the Aston’s engine. Tabitha tumbles out of the passenger seat, cheeks flushed from laughter and the heater I cranked to tropical levels the whole way home. She hadn’t admitted she was cold during the trip to the store, but her blue lips told on her.

That’s why I had to warm her up in the dressing room.

We get to her room, where Carla delivered all the bags and boxes. When Tabitha pulls out the teal dress that had stolen her attention, she gasps. “I thought you said this isn’t appropriate for the functions!”

It’s not. But I don’t care. “Yeah, but you like it.”

She pulls out the short black thing that would only be good for a nightclub. “And this one?”

I shrug. “You looked at it like you looked at the croissants at Pietro’s club. Figured you needed that one too.”

For a moment, I think she’s going to yell at me. But she says, “You didn’t have to buyallof it, you know.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” I pop open another box and haul out two glossy shoeboxes. “You looked so damn hot in those that it would’ve been a crime against fashion and, more importantly, against my ego as your self-appointed stylist, if I let you leave without them.”

She smacks my arm with a silk hanger but can’t hide the grin stretching her face. I pull her onto my lap as I sit on the edge of the bed. Tabitha’s squeal breaks the manor’s evening hush. She flings garment bags across the bed, scattering designer labels like confetti, then launches at me.

This woman is a storm disguised as calm—the kind of woman who walks into a room and rearranges the air without so much as trying. Makes me want to be better, not just wilder. Being around her stokes something in me, a craving deeper than adrenaline—the hunger for connection, for something real beyond the rush. She’s fire and ice and every quiet moment in between, and I’m hopelessly, recklessly caught in her orbit.

She kisses me hard, fingers sliding into my hair, body pressed against mine in a way that reminds me exactly how gratifying thedressing-room incidentwas earlier. “I’d like to thank you properly,” she murmurs, warm palms slipping under my sweater, “if you give me thirty seconds to lock the door this time.”

“Who’s going to walk in? My brothers? It’s a little late to worry about them seeing you naked.”

She giggles, and fuck, if I don’t love that sound. “The housekeeper?”

“Carla? Nah. She’s like a ghost around here, and she values our privacy more than we do.” I grab her hips and grind her against me over our clothes. There’s something twisted about taking my time for this. Restraint when I know it’s not needed is its own kink.

I wrap an arm around her back and roll us over, so she’s face up. Her dark red hair spreads out behind her, wild and loose. She’s so damn pretty that for a second, my breath catches in my chest. But I can’t stare for long—those soft lips beckon.

I rock my hips against hers, letting her feel how hard she got me as we kiss. My blood pumps faster, and I need to be inside of her. The dressing room was a tease for myself—I need more. Right now.

I reach to yank off my sweater when my phone beeps. Instead of my sweater, I dig my phone from my pocket. “Let me just turn that off…” But it’s Nico. Shit.

Come to my office. Immediately.

Well, shit. “Sorry, baby. Duty calls.” I sigh and brush a thumb over her bottom lip. “Nico summoned me downtown. CFO emergency or some thrilling spreadsheet crisis, I’m sure.”

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