Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) (22 page)

"You don't play fair," she said, "so I'm done playing."

She walked back over to the building, leaving him along the curb. He must not have liked that, because before she could stick the key in the lock, she heard his voice, louder, coming closer. "
I
don't play fair? You're a part of that and you didn't even tell me!"

"First of all, I'm not a
part
of anything. You don't seem to be grasping that. And seriously, Dante, why would I have told you? What would the point be?"

"Maybe because it's relevant."

"Not to me."

"Oh, bullshit." He stopped beside her. "Don't act like my last name wasn't just as much of a problem for you."

"True, then. Me being a Brazzi
is
a problem."

"Well, it sure as shit doesn't make things
easy
."

"Good to know." She shoved her key back in the lock. "Are you coming up or not? Because I just worked a twelve-hour shift and I'd like to get off my feet. Maybe this conversation will be more tolerable when I'm not wearing scrubs."

She was sweaty, and exhausted, and more than a little annoyed. She worked hard to make her own way, to make her own
name
, and the second
Brazzi
came into the picture she was boxed back into the label, like nothing else mattered.

Dante said nothing, sharply nodding toward the door. As soon as Gabriella had it unlocked, Dante yanked it open, nodding again for her to go ahead of him. He muttered something as he held the door, irritation grating every incoherent syllable, like a caveman torn between chivalry and savagery.

That about sums him up
.

Gabriella made the trek up to her apartment, her footsteps heavy against the old stairs. Every groan and creek of wood was exaggerated to her ears as strained silence followed them, an unwelcome companion.

Once she got the apartment unlocked, Dante grabbed the door, again holding it for her. She should've thanked him, but the dead air wafting off the man was so maddening she forgot her manners. Inside, she dropped her things before going straight for her bedroom, kicking her shoes off along the way, leaving them lying on the living room floor.

Grasping the sliding bedroom door, she shoved it halfway closed and pulled her top over her head, tossing it on a pile of filthy clothes. A mountain of laundry begged for her attention but she ignored it, as she had for days, her mind preoccupied. She yanked the pants down, wiggling her hips and kicking them off, leaving them wherever they landed. She was about to pull off the white tank top she wore beneath her scrubs when something struck her.

Her feet changed direction, and she kicked her pants out of her path before pushing the sliding door open again and stomping out into the living room. Dante sat on the couch, still utterly
silent
, his gaze lifting to meet hers. His eyebrows rose as he regarded her, as if he might have something to finally say, but it was too late, because it was
her
turn to talk.

"You know, how dare you…"

He blinked at her. "How dare me?"

"Yes! How dare you come at me like this, confronting me, acting like I've wronged you, like I'm the a-hole here, when never once—
never once
—did you ask me about my family! If you're so concerned about avoiding those families, about making sure you don't get involved with
those people
in any way, if you want to be sure the woman who cleans your wounds and keeps you from dying isn't in any way connected to them—if that's such a big problem in your life, Dante—then maybe,
just maybe
, you should've friggin asked!"

His jaw hung slack, his eyes everywhere but on her face. If it weren't for his obvious shock, she would've wondered if he'd even listened to a word of her rant.

"So, yeah,
true
," she continued. "My mother's Victoria Russo, maiden name Brazzi, daughter of Victor Brazzi. I'm sure I don't have to tell you who that is. And true, my father Alfie Russo is part of that
family
. So true, I've got that blood in my body. True, I grew up knowing the Barsantis. And true, that also makes Johnny Amaro my uncle through marriage, but none of that makes me one of them. Because also true is the fact that I took care of you, the fact that I didn't judge you, the fact that I spoke up for you when nobody else would. I let you into my apartment and welcomed you into my life, even though I'm a Brazzi, which is apparently a problem for some reason, but whatever. Any more questions?"

Dante's gaze drifted to her face. "Where are your clothes?"

"My what?"

"Clothes," he said again, waving her direction."It's kind of hard to pay attention to what you're saying when you're standing in front of me not wearing any clothes."

She glanced down at herself, rolling her eyes when she got a look at herself. Cheeky black panties. Threadbare tank top. Plain black bra. Hideous white tube socks that almost reached her knees.
Ugh
. Ridiculous, maybe, but she was far from
naked.
"You see people wearing a lot less than this at the beach."

"I don't go to the beach."

"Strip club, then. Is that more your speed?"

A small smirk cracked his expression. His whole face lit up when he smiled, no matter how slightly. He hadn't done it often since barreling into her life, usually surrounded by dark storms, but those rare moments he smiled, it felt like the sun coming out, peeking through the rain clouds. It
warmed
her.

"Been to a few of those," he said. "Never seen a woman this beautiful working the pole, though."

His gaze unabashedly scanned her, tingles trailing wherever his eyes went. Her face heated, her stupid heart doing some crazy pitter-patter in her chest.

"Stop flirting with me," she said. "I'm trying to be mad at you."

"Why?"

Why?

Why
?

"Seriously? Did you just ask me
why
?"

His eyes met hers, his eyebrows raised. "What?"

What?

What
?

"Are you seriously not listening to me? Like, no bullcrap… you legitimately haven't heard a word I've said."

"Oh, I heard you," he said. "Something about strip clubs and beaches and Brazzis. It just doesn't seem that important when you're not wearing any pants."

"Oh my God."

"Is that a birthmark on your inner thigh?" he asked, cocking his head, his gaze trailing her body again, going to her legs. "Looks like one, but I can't really see it unless you, well, spread your legs for me."

Oh. My. God
.

"I swear, you…" She shook her head, flustered by his gaze as her words trailed off. She'd always considered herself confident, but he looked at her like he was memorizing every inch of exposed skin, and that made her nervous. Self-conscious.
More than a little turned on, too
. "You're the reason stupid dress codes exist these days, you know. Guys like you, blowing loads over seeing collar bones."

His gaze darted up to her shoulders and along her chest. "Those are nice, too."

"
Stop.
Seriously
.
Stop checking out my bones and stuff. I mean it, Dante."

Leaning back on the couch, he crossed his arms over his chest, his face alight with amusement. That smirk was still on his lips, not helping her predicament. The blush from her cheeks was spreading all through her body, and she knew there was no way he hadn't noticed.

"Fine," he said. "You were saying?"

"I was saying, you know…"
Ugh, what the heck was I saying
? "I'm a Brazzi."

"I know," he said. "We established that outside."

"And whatever, if that's a problem, I guess it's just a problem. There's nothing I can do about it. I can't change my DNA."

"Wouldn't dream of asking you to," he said. "Genetics gave you those collar bones and that birthmark. Would be a pity to never see them again."

"Well… good."

"Good," he repeated. "Are you done being mad now? Can I flirt some more?"

"Yes. Wait.
No
. I'm not, I mean…
ugh
!"

He laughed. Genuinely
laughed
. The sound was so light and carefree that it drained away most of her irritation. Had she ever heard him laugh like that? She didn't think so. A soft chuckle here and there, always restrained, weighed down. But this laughter came from somewhere deep down, like some of those clouds parted, letting the real him shine through.

Standing, Dante strolled over to where she stood. The closer he got, the more her heart acted up, her body reacting to him.
Butterflies
. She had butterflies. They battered her stomach from the inside.

She felt like a lovesick teenage girl.
What the heck
?

Stopping in front of her, still keeping eye contact, Dante cupped her cheek, the skin of his palm rough. A hint of alcohol clung to him, noticeable only because he stood mere inches away, so close she could run her nose along his scruffy jawline and breathe him in if she wanted to.

God, how she wanted to
.

"You smell like a bar," she told him.

"You smell like the hospital," he said in return.

She cringed.
Gross
. "Is that a problem for you, too? We can add it to the list."

"Oh, we're making a list now?"

"We might as well," she said. "Things that are a problem for Dante Galante."

"Ah, if I have to name everything that bothers me, we'll be here for days, so maybe we ought to focus on what doesn't bother me… like you not wearing any pants."

Rolling her eyes, Gabriella pushed him. "You're ridiculous."

"Am not," he said. "Baby, you've got the kind of legs that men would go to war for. That'll
never
be a problem for me."

Baby
.

Her stupid heart almost leaped right out of her chest.

"Everyone tells me I got my mother's legs," she said. "They look great in a pair of heels."

"I bet they do."

"Yeah, it's those Brazzi genes… you know, because I'm a Brazzi, in case you've forgotten."

The humor in his eyes died at those words, the reminder sobering him up, his expression turning serious. He pressed his lips tightly together, regarding her in silence. She wondered if that was it, if he had nothing more to say, but he sighed after a moment.

"I have no problem with your family," he said. "We get along well enough. So it's nothing personal, you know... I'm not that kind of man. Or maybe I am, but I don't
want
to be that kind of man. I watched my sister get caught up in it all over a guy she was better off staying away from, and some things are just too close for comfort. I don't like it."

I don't like it
.

Those words made her stomach sink, drowning those butterflies.

"But I like
you
, Gabriella. I do. I like you a lot, although I probably shouldn't."

"You totally shouldn't."

"I shouldn't have even come here."

"You're right."

"And you probably shouldn't be standing in front of me in just your underwear."

"Well, I mean, I've got my shirt on, but I get what you're saying."

"But still, I like you, and here I stand, and you're right there…"

"So now what?"

He reached for her, his hands grasping her hips, pulling her closer to him, his voice gravelly as he whispered, "Now I jump."

His lips smashed against hers, catching her off guard. She gasped, as Dante winced from his split lip, but it didn't deter him. He kissed her hard, backing her up toward the sliding door leading to her bedroom.

He stalled in the doorway, like he was waiting for an invitation, but Gabriella dragged him inside the room with her. It was too late to second-guess it now. They were already free falling.

Breaking the kiss, Dante grasped the bottom of her tank top, pulling it over her head. He dropped it to the floor right where they stood, discarding it, his eyes glossing over her chest and trailing along her stomach. His hands snaked around her, reaching for the clasp of her bra, unhooking it with just the flick of his fingertips.

He was better at that than even
she
was.

"Do you do that often?" she asked, curious.

"Do you really want me to answer that right now?"

She hesitated before shaking her head.

No, she didn't want to know.

The bra straps slid down Gabriella's arms, and she let it drop to the floor. Dante palmed her breasts, thumbs grazing over her nipples. They perked up at his touch, goose bumps trailing from them, radiating across her skin. It had been a long time since anyone had touched her like that…
way
too long. Warmth spread down her torso, settling in that spot between her thighs. She let out a soft moan as she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him even closer, absorbing his warmth.

Dante kissed her again as he pulled her onto the bed. She lay back, head resting on a pillow, as he hovered over her. His lips left hers, making their way along her face and down her jaw, a searing trail leading to her neck as she cocked her head, giving him better access. The skin prickled, tingling, as his tongue traced circles, drawing patterns on her flesh the whole way to her chest. His lips encircled a nipple, sucking. It was almost too much to take. The sensations flowing through her made her vision hazy, so she closed her eyes and tried to relax, running her hands through his thick hair.

Within seconds, his hand slid down her stomach, slipping inside her panties, his touch so gentle she writhed beneath him. Gabriella's breath hitched when his fingers grazed her clit, stroking it, rubbing, and driving her straight to the brink. Just a touch had her seeing stars. Parts of her ached for more. The guy
definitely
knew his way around a woman. Her body was a roadmap he skillfully navigated, exploring every twist and turn with his fingertips and mouth.

Gabriella lifted up when he tugged on her underwear, pulling them off and tossing them to the floor beside the bed. Her eyes darted open when he parted her legs and shifted further down the bed, settling between her thighs. The orange morning glow streamed through the nearby window. She was used to sleeping with so much light, but she wasn't used to
this
happening.