Page 51 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

I can’t do this.

My feet carry me to Sal’s door down the hall, and I knock. The moment he opens it, I can’t wait. I barrel at him, lips first, body pressing against him as I push him deeper into the room and kick the door closed behind me. A low, approving rumble comes from his throat as I pull his sweater over his head. He does the same to me, fingers fumbling for the button on my jeans as I kiss him harder.

I can’t tear myself away from this man.

When we’re naked, I start to fall to my knees, but he grabs me under my ass and lifts. I loop my legs around him as he carries me to his bed, and we kiss all the way there. This isn’t like the other times. The others aren’t here.

It’s just us.

It’s just now.

He lays me on my back, his cock laying against my pussy, just resting, not entering. He holds me in his arms and looks at me like he’s memorizing my face. His thumb runs along my bottom lip. “You are…” He never finishes the sentence, instead lunging for a kiss that sears us together.

My body aches for him, and I cock my hips up to capture his body in mine. Just as the tip of his cock notches, he pulls back. But I explain, “It’s fine. We don’t need a condom?—”

He shutters his near-black eyes, and frost replaces the heat between us. “I can’t do this.”

“What? Why?”

He swallows. “I just…” He stands up, staring out the window. “Please, Tabitha. I can’t.”

I don’t know what this is about, but it’s clear he won’t tell me yet. He’s not like Dante with his emotions at the surface, or Nico who’s disconnected from his emotions most of the time. Sal’s got his own baggage, and it takes time for him to unpack it.

That doesn’t mean this doesn’t sting.

I swallow and sit up, shrugging on my clothes. “Alright.”

“It’s not you?—”

“I know.” I hike my jeans up.

“I mean it, Tabitha. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. Don’t be angry.”

That makes me smile, even though I’m dying inside. I touch the side of his face. The man is practically panicked, trying to make sure he hasn’t upset me. How could I be mad at that?

“Sal, I know. I don’t know what’s going on inside your head, and that’s okay. What I do know is that I felt closer to you today than I’ve felt with anyone in a long time, and that’s what this was about for me.” I pause, trying to find a graceful exit. “I’m going to get cleaned up and ready for the party, okay?”

He nods and kisses my palm.

Salvatore Moretti is the most complicated person I’ve ever met. It’ll take time to unravel his mysteries.

Time I don’t have.

22

DANTE

If Santa Clausever merged with a Renaissance prince, he’d throw a holiday bash exactly like this one.

The ballroom glows beneath a lattice of crystal snowflakes the size of parasols. Live fir trees—twelve in total, one for each house of the wider Moretti clan—line the walls, lit from inside their trunks so the needles sparkle like emerald fiber optics. A string quartet in crimson velvet plays swing versions of carols from a balcony, and the scent of truffle canapés drifts under my nose like a flirtatious ghost.

I’ve just completed lap number two of do-you-need-anything-Aunt-Caterina duty when I spot Tabitha at the top of the marble staircase.

She’s wearing the emerald dress Nico fitted the other day—silk, a deep V, train kissing each step. For a heartbeat, every conversation in the hall seems to hush. Even the orchestra holds back a beat as if to acknowledge new royalty.

I meet her halfway up the stairs, offer my arm. “Showtime, baby.”

She inhales, and her grip on my sleeve is white-knuckled. “If anyone asks about my job?—”

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