Reckless (10 page)

Right now, I want Maren.

We head toward the driveway where my car still waits. I’m not enthusiastic about leaving my Porsche parked in a driveway overnight, but this is one of the nicest neighborhoods in Seattle, and the parking situation is only temporary until the owner of this rental can clear their storage boxes out of the garage next weekend.

I press the unlock button on my key fob as Maren’s heels click against the concrete and birds idly chirp in the trees above us.

“Dante?” There’s one shrill sound I’m not expecting to hear on this lazy Sunday morning. “Are you
fucking
kidding me?!”

I glance across the trimmed hedges that separate my rental from Maren’s ex’s house and spot my ex, Lauren Chamberlain, who stands with her hands on her hips, dressed in full jogging gear. Her face is twisted into a scowl, and her gaze darts between Maren and me.

It was only a matter of time before we ran into each other again. This was bound to happen sooner or later.

“You two know each other?” Maren asks, pointing back and forth.

“Yeah,” I say dryly. “She’s my ex-fiancée.”

M
aren

“
G
et in the car
, Maren.” There’s a staunch command in his tone that I dare not disobey as much as I’d love to stand here and gawk at Lauren. I’d seen pictures of her on Facebook before, but she looks so different in person.

This is the first time I’ve ever come this close to her. She’s taller than I expected. Gaunt. A bag of bones with big, round, silicone breasts that float off her chest. Her hair is thin, hits mid-back in a low ponytail and is bleached into a near-white shade of blonde. Her deep-set eyes are dark as midnight and round. She’s dressed to go jogging, but her face sports at least a half dozen makeup products. I’m willing to wager she’s probably one of those women who work out but never so much as break a sweat.

I avert my gaze and climb in the passenger side of Dante’s car, trying so hard not to steal one more glance.

But I’m curious.

I’m mostly curious why a girl like Lauren would leave a man like Dante and go for a guy like Nathan.

It doesn’t make sense.

Most women, especially women like her, tend to upgrade.

And then I’m curious why a man like Dante would go from a girl like Lauren to a woman like me. We’re polar opposites, me and Lauren, at least on the exterior. I assume our insides are just as contrasting.

Dante climbs in and slams the door.

“Small world, huh?” I try to make light of a situation that obviously bugs him. We could either make this hugely awkward or laugh it off because sometimes life tries to be hilarious at all the wrong moments. “What are the odds?”

He starts up the engine and shifts into reverse, his narrowed gaze lifting to his rearview mirror and his hands wrapping his steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

The drive back to my place is as awkward as it is uncomfortable. I don’t say a word. And for a fraction of a second, it occurs to me that maybe he knew all along. Maybe he knew that Nathan was my ex and that Lauren was screwing Nathan, and maybe he wanted to fuck me to get back at Nathan?

It kind of makes sense, really.

I mean, why else would some twenty-seven-year-old stud pursue some boring, divorced, single mother of two this relentlessly?

And what are the odds that he’d move into the house directly beside them?

Halfway home, I find myself stewing, convinced I’ve figured out exactly what’s going on here. And now I’m confused, because last night was the best sex I’ve had in my entire life, and I want it to be real. I want it to mean something or maybe even to be the beginning of something . . .

God, I’m an idiot.

How did I not see this?!

He orchestrated this perfectly. He set the trap and I walked right into it.

He turns down my street, and I unbuckle my seatbelt. When he pulls into my driveway, I reach for the handle of my door before he has a chance to shift into park.

“Maren,” he says when he hears the click of my door.

I step out.

The scuff of my heels along my front walk are joined by the soft treading of his sneakers behind me. His hand finds the small of my back before hooking the bend in my elbow, and he pulls me to face him.

My arms cross along my chest, head tilting when our eyes meet.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his hands on my hips. We’re standing on my front porch now, just beneath the roof. “I wasn’t expecting to see her. I promise you. This wasn’t intentional. I haven’t seen her since she left me for someone else.”

Dante exhales, dragging a hand through his mess of dark waves and staring off to the side. His face winces, as if he’s recalling a painful memory.

“We’d been together since college,” he says. “We were engaged. I was working a lot, putting in long hours . . . sometimes seventy or eighty-hour weeks just to get my company off the ground. I neglected her, and I guess she found someone else who could give her what she wanted . . . and I guess that someone was your ex.”

Nathan, though?

I make a disgusted face.

It’s like she traded in a Porsche for a Pinto, at least on the outside.

“There must be something she’s getting out of it,” he says. “Does Nathan have a ninety-foot yacht docked in Puget Sound? A chalet in France?”

With my jaw tightening and my lips drawing into a smirk, I chuff as it all starts to make sense.

“He’s loaded,” I say. “His family is extremely wealthy.”

“Well, then there we have it.”

“But she won’t see a penny of it. If he ever marries her, he’ll make her sign a pre-nup.”

“Guess the joke’s on her then.”

“Anyway.” I pull in a lungful of sweet Sunday morning air and glance up at the man who singlehandedly rocked my world last night. Not once. Twice. And again this morning. I’m sore, but it’s a delicious soreness that I want to savor as long as possible. And the second it leaves, I want it back.

“How soon can I see you again?” he asks.

“You want to come inside?” I offer, deciding to cut him some slack here. Had this entire thing been orchestrated, I would imagine he’d be a bit more boastful and victorious right now but he’s still looking a bit shell-shocked. “I could make us breakfast. Unlike you, I actually have groceries.”

Dante nods, slowly. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

D
ante

“
Y
ou’re awfully chipper today
.” Ridley takes a sip of coffee and perches on the edge of his desk. It isn’t every day I make my way to Starfire Industries. I mostly tend to avoid it. But he emailed me this morning and asked that I stop by, claiming he was going to make me an offer I wouldn’t be able to refuse.

It’s not the first time he’s said such words, and it’s not the first time I’ve come over here if only to humor him.

I’m sure he’ll give me some song and dance about how I’m overvaluing my company and how he knows what it’s really worth and how if I don’t accept his offer, I’ll be making the biggest mistake of my life.

Arms folded, I’m all ears as I sit in a leather guest chair in his extravagantly opulent office.

“And you’re looking rather Christian Grey today,” I quip back.

He straightens his skinny black tie. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Squinting, I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s your hair. And all this fucking gray in your office. Have you ever heard of color?”

“Just had it redecorated. You don’t like?”

“It’s hideous. I should hook you up with my interior designer. She’s leading my reno right now. I’ll give you her number, just please promise me you won’t try and fuck her.”

Ridley smirks. “Shall we get down to business? I’d hate to waste any more of your precious time, although I’m positive my time is worth a bit more than yours these days. We just acquired Residio Games, and we’re going to make a fucking fortune. I mean, another fucking fortune to add to the already massive fortune we’ve already made.”

Rolling my eyes, I snort. This is Ridley Starworth at his finest.

“Are you ready?” Ridley slicks his palms together.

“I’m ready.” I feign excitement.

“Sixty million dollars,” he says, his fingers splaying flat in the air as if he could singlehandedly stop time.

“Ha.” I scoff, rising from the chair and turning to leave.

“What the fuck?” He follows me to the hall, insulted that I’m literally walking away from his offer.

“My company’s worth three times that, if not four,” I say. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

Heading out, I vow that today will be the last time I fall for another one of Ridley’s ploys. He’s wasted my time for the last time.

“Oh, come the fuck on, Dante,” he yells from his doorway. “You know it’s worth sixty and not a penny more.”

I give him a wave, my back toward him, and head for the elevators. Even from down the hall, I can hear him kicking and slamming desk drawers in his office. He’s basically a man child who throws tantrums for a living, but I already knew that.

And he may be right.

Maybe my company is only worth sixty, but he’s also unaware of the projects we’ve been working on, and those projects, I’m certain, will increase Cybonix’s net worth well into the nine-figure mark.

Passing a small room filled with tables, chairs, and vending machines, a dark-haired woman in a floral A-line dress and cream cardigan catches my eye. It looks like something Maren would wear, and the way her waist cinches atop curved hips rings quite familiar to me.

The woman is completely in her own world, staring straight ahead at the rows upon rows of chips and candy bars and gum and crackers and bottled beverages.

I step inside the room, still failing to catch her attention, and the closer I get the more I’m one-hundred percent positive it’s Maren.

Reaching from behind, I cup her breasts and pull her body against mine. Her body flails and she fights, tugging at my arms and wiggling free. When she spins to face me, her face is twisted and contorted, but her expression softens when she realizes it’s me.

Maren pounds her balled fist into my chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Maybe you should pay closer attention to your surroundings.” I rest my hands on her hips. “I didn’t know you worked for Ridley.”

“Who?”

“Ridley Starworth,” I say. “He owns Starfire Industries. He’s an old college acquaintance of mine. Wouldn’t quite say we’re friends, but we go way back.”

She places a hand on her hip and flattens her mouth. “First time anyone’s ever said his name to me. I’ve only met a handful of employees since I’ve been here. My boss and a couple others on my floor. I was told to stay away from the ‘bigwigs.’”

I laugh. “Ridley doesn’t have bigwigs. He has minions.”

“Why are you here anyway?”

“He’s been trying to buy me out for the last year,” I say. “He wanted to make another offer.”

“Did you accept?”

“No,” I say. “He low-balled me. Again.”

“How many offers has he made?”

I glance up at the white ceiling tiles then back to her. “I don’t know. I’ve kind of lost count. I mostly just humor him. It’s fun for me to tell him no. Cheap entertainment.”

“What’s the name of your company?”

“Cybonix. Ever heard of it?”

Maren glances to the side, brows meeting. “It sounds familiar.”

“We have state-of-the-art cloud storage, games, that sort of thing. We’re developing a social media app that’s going to blow all the others out of the water, but that’s a few years down the road.”

Her eyes scan me, but it’s almost as if she’s looking at me through a whole new light.

“Interesting,” she says, her lips fighting a smile.

“You thinks it’s sexy, what I do. Don’t you? I’m not just some chiseled body attached to a cock after all.”

“Maybe.”

With my hands circling her waist, I lift her to a nearby counter and move closer, letting her knees brush against my hips.

“What is this?” she asks, a slight chuckle in her tone. Her eyes move toward the doorway, which is wide open. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could walk in.

Lifting my hand to her face, I pull her mouth to mine, tugging her lower lip between my teeth as we pull away. I steal one more, and then another, breathing in her honey-almond scent.

“Come over tonight,” I say. “I want to see you again.”

M
aren

I
made
sure to come after the sun went down, when I knew my boys would be inside Nathan’s house and not shooting hoops in the driveway or riding bikes down the sidewalk. I’m not quite ready to explain to them why I’m showing up at the door of some man they’ve never met, dressed in tight jeans and a low-cut blouse and smelling like a fresh shower.

Parking my car next to his, I climb out and trot up the front walk, heart pounding and body covered in tingles.

“Maren?” Nathan’s head pops up from over the hedges that separate their driveways.

I wish, so badly, that I could ignore him and continue walking, but that would be juvenile and it’s not my style, so I stop and turn his way, offering a tight-lipped smile.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Visiting a friend.”

His eyes scan the length of me, stopping at the black heels that lengthen my thighs and make my behind pop just a tad.

“A
friend
,” he says, like he doesn’t believe me.

“The one from the hospital the other week,” I say. “He lives here now.”

Nathan scratches his thinning, graying temple.

“He’s renting for a few months while his place is being remodeled,” I explain. “Did Lauren tell you she knows him too? They bumped into each other the other morning. Small world, huh?”

Nathan’s expression grows somber and he shakes his head. “No. She didn’t mention anything.”

“That’s interesting,” I say with a shrug, because I truly don’t care. “Okay, well, you have a nice night. I’ll see you tomorrow when you drop the kids off.”

Spinning on my heel, I head for the front porch and ring the bell. The sound of steady footsteps on the other side makes my heart climb into my throat with each pound. The clink of the lock precedes the swing of the door.

But it isn’t Dante on the other side.

Just someone who looks an awful lot like Dante.

“Hi,” he says, his mouth halfway turned up at one side. He has dimples. And the same amber-green eyes. Only he looks slightly younger. Equally bronzed and broad-shouldered, it’s clear the two of them are brothers. “You must be Maren.”

I spot a hint of yellow bruising beneath his eyes and recall the night I ran into Dante at the ER.

“You must be Dante’s brother,” I say. “How’s the nose?”

He smirks. “The doctor says I’m going to make a full recovery.”

“Glad to hear that.”

“Come in.” He swings the door wide then turns his back to me. “Dante, your girlfriend’s here.”

Girlfriend?

My jaw hangs for a second, and I’m moments from correcting Cristiano when Dante rounds the corner.

“Maren,” he says, his eyes lit. He comes closer, taking my hand in his. “I see you’ve met Cristiano. He’s staying with me for a bit, and he was actually on his way out.”

Cristiano steps into a pair of sneakers at the bottom of the stairs. “Going to meet some friends at the Seattle Social Club. It’s beer pong trivia night.”

I haven’t played beer pong in probably fifteen years. In this moment, I feel slightly ancient.

“Looks like my ride is here,” he says, standing on his toes and glancing out the sidelight window by the front door. “Don’t wait up.”

With that he’s gone, and we have the whole house to ourselves. At least, I’m assuming we do. There could be another Amato brother hanging out here for all I know.

“Are we alone now?” I ask.

Dante’s grip circles my waist and he brings me closer, pressing his mouth against mine.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” he growls, hoisting me up into his arms.

Carrying me to the stairs, my fingers thread through the thick dark hair at the nape of his neck as I breathe in his intoxicatingly clean scent. He just showered. I can tell. He plans to fuck me tonight. Smiling into his neck, I feel the squeeze of his hand on my ass, and I squeal.

Within seconds, he deposits me at the foot of his bed, his hands feverishly working on his belt, then the metallic zip of his fly a second later. My breath catches in my throat. My body remembers what he felt like inside me.

“Take off your clothes,” he orders as he pulls his shirt over his head. His dark hair becomes disheveled, and I can’t help but imagine my fingers tangled in his short waves.

“Yes, sir,” I tease, slowly peeling off the layers of clothes I so carefully and strategically selected before coming here tonight.

What a waste of time that was.

By the time I’m naked, feeling nothing but the soft, slickness of his satin sheets against my back and the brush of cool night air along my flesh, he’s flicking a condom between two fingers and lowering himself between my thighs.

His mouth finds my mound, his tongue flicking and circling, and my head dips back. My body relaxes with his touch, and he navigates every part of me as if he’s been there a thousand times before, only all of this feels shiny and new and magical.

I never want it to end.

I want to do this forever.

His hand slides up the center of my belly and reaches for a breast, cupping a handful as he moans against my wetness.

The outside world completely melts away.

Releasing tiny puffs of breath when I feel myself getting closer, Dante takes it as a cue and removes his mouth from below. Climbing toward me, he takes a seat, his back against his upholstered headboard, and he runs the condom down the length of his engorged shaft.

Reaching for me, he guides me into his lap until I’m straddling him and I lower myself, impaling my aching arousal with his generous girth.

Before we begin, he cups my cheek and pulls me in, brushing his lips against mine, and then his hands slide down my sides, resting at the bend above my hips. His eyes dance all over my body, examining every curve and every angle as I rock and circle in his lap, finding a perfect rhythm.

Dante grips my ass, driving me down further, deeper, every time I come down, and he thrusts harder into me, as if he can’t get close enough, fast enough. My breasts bounce. I always thought I’d be more self-conscious about them with him, but the way he worships every inch of me, every imperfection, makes everything else go out the window.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathes, our eyes meeting.

I smile, leaning in to taste his mouth again and inadvertently tasting me. It’s yet another thing I’ve never done with anyone else before, and it’s strangely erotic . . . sharing something we created together in a way that only we can.

“I could fuck you all night,” he says with a sigh.

“Don’t stop,” I rock my hips, coming down harder, faster. I could fuck him all night too if I didn’t have to work tomorrow.

His hands grip the side of my hips, his left thumb pressing against my clit, creating small circles that coax me to the edge at warp speed.

I want this to last forever, but my body craves this release like a drug.

Dante thrusts into me, filling me deep as an explosive wave crashes through my body, centered at my core and sending shockwaves everywhere beyond. His neck strains, and he releases a soft grunt as he releases himself into me, and when it’s over, I fall on top of him, my beating heart against his.

Not wanting to overstay my welcome and feeling the need to prove to him that I don’t expect anything more than good sex, I climb off him and search the floor of his dark room for my clothes.

“What are you doing?” He sits up, watching me.

“Getting dressed.” I gather a bra in one arm, my pants in another.

“No, you’re not.” He slides over, reaching for me. Hooking me by the arm, he pulls me back into bed.

“Oh,” I say. The other night after we screwed for the first time, he pulled me into his arms, and we fell asleep that way. He must be one of those men who like to cuddle after sex, a mythical unicorn of the sexual variety, or so I thought. “I forgot. You like this.”

“I like what?”

“Cuddling.”

He laughs, mouth pressed flat. “I just like holding you, Maren. I like the way your body feels against mine.”

Resting my cheek against his chest, I listen to the steady thrum of his heartbeat as he wraps his arms around me. Our bodies are pressed together, our legs slightly intertwined. I’d forgotten how good it felt to be held like this.

Closing my eyes, I let myself relax for a moment.

Everything goes dark for a while, the outside world still melted and far, far away.

And then I hear chirping birds.

And my eyelids are the color of warm sand.

Springing up, I see the hint of sun bleeding through Dante’s blinds.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I wriggle out of his grip, watching him stir slightly.

He groans, half-asleep still, as I whiz around his room frenetically throwing on last night’s clothes and pausing for a moment to check my reflection in the mirror. My hair is knotted and frizzy. Black mascara smudges line my eyes, and I smell like sex.

“What’s wrong?” Dante sits up, eyes half-slitted.

I check the clock on his nightstand. “I’m supposed to be at work in a half hour.”

“Okay, just call and let them know you’re running late,” he says, like he’s done it a million times before.

But it’s not that simple for me. I’m not the boss. I’m the temp. All it takes is a single phone call to the agency I’m contracted through and I’m toast.

I hate this.

Very little stresses me out more than running late. There’s a feeling of powerlessness that comes with it. I can’t strap a jetpack on my back and be there in seven point five seconds.

“I have to go,” I say, stating the obvious.

“Maren,” he laughs. “Calm down. You’re already running late. I don’t want you wrecking your car on the way to work. Why don’t you just call, tell them you’ll be late, and then climb back in bed for a little bit.”

I want to smack him. It doesn’t work this way. Not when you’re an adult. Not when you have responsibilities. He has no idea what it’s like to be responsible for anyone else but himself.

“I can’t get fired,” I say. “I need to build up my resume because I basically have nothing on it besides a job I had a few years after college. I’m the sole breadwinner now. I can’t lose this job, even if it’s only temporary. I need to build references and . . .”

“Maren,” he says, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He lowers his feet to the floor and hunches over, his elbows on his knees. He’s still naked, his body tan and muscled and veined, and if I wasn’t so frustrated with this situation – and with him – right now, I might be all over that. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

His carefree attitude annoys the hell out of me right now. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand how it feels to have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“You don’t know that.” I shimmy into my tight jeans and exhale when I realize I’m going to be wearing these all day, and they’re not exactly comfortable. Running to his bathroom, I find a bar of soap on the counter and twist the handles of the faucet until the water runs warm. Washing off last night’s makeup, I grab his toothpaste and finger brush my teeth.

My hair.

I’m not sure what I can do about my hair.

I’m ninety-three percent sure I can find a hair tie in my car somewhere. I can twist my hair into a messy bun and that should suffice.

By the time I’m ready, Dante stands in the bathroom doorway, a pair of dark red athletic shorts hanging low on his hips. A hint of dark hair just above the waistband serves as a silent reminder of the things we did after the sun went down last night and despite my frantic state, I still manage to smile.

But only for a split second.

“Okay, bye,” I say, rising on my toes to kiss him. “Shit. What am I doing? I just kissed you like you were my . . .”

I wave my hand as he drags the palm of his hand under his chin, raking it across the stubble that’s filled in since yesterday. It makes him look slightly older, though the glint in his amber-green irises still captures his youthful spirit.

“What are you doing for lunch today?” he asks.

“You’re crazy,” I say, knowing exactly what he’s getting at.

“Meet me in the sculpture park at noon.”