Page 9 of Stolen Union

I sit there and wait for Dante to get me. I’m shivering by the time he shows up in the van.

“Need a ride?” he asks.

I grumble as I get back into the car with him. “I can’t believe this. How far is this road?”

“Oh, if you had kept walking, you probably would have reached the town within five minutes.”

I stare at him. “You’re joking.”

“Am I?”

“I’m going to tell myself you're joking to make myself feel better.”

Dante drives me back to the cabin. “You coming this time?”

“No. I’d rather stay in the car.”

“Be my guest. But you’re going to get cold tonight in your flimsy dress. The door is open if you decide to come in.” He gets out and goes into the house.

I lean the seat back and try to get comfy for the undoubtedly un-comfy night I’m going to have.

Within minutes, I’m shivering again. Without heat on, it’s cold in the car. It’s also kind of creepy. As darkness settles around me, all I can see is black. I feel like I’m in a horror movie.

Well, I guess I am. I was just kidnapped.

And yet, for some reason, I don’t feel as afraid as I should. Dante just … doesn’t scare me. I know I should be afraid, but it’s easier to flirt with him than be afraid of him. But I shouldn’t be flirting with the man who kidnapped me. I belong in an institution, I swear.

I try to put up with the shivering for as long as possible until it’s too much. With a groan, I get out of the car and march to the cabin. I hesitate for a moment before knocking. I can’t believe I’m willingly walking into my kidnapper’s house, but I’m freaking cold, and hopefully, Dante has a warm bed I can sleep in.

Not with him, of course. I won’t let him touch me. Even though I’ve been dreaming about him ever since we met. He doesn’t need to know any of that. Dante doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. Once my brothers save me, I’ll forget all about Dante and move on with my life.

But I am not marrying Antonio. I’ll die before I let that happen again.

Dante opens the door, looking way too smug. God, I want to punch him. I also sort of want to kiss him. What the hell is wrong with me? He looks good, though, with his dark hair falling into his eyes and broad shoulders and muscular chest on clear display as he stands before me shirtless.

“Ready to come inside?” he asks.

“The only reason is because I’m cold, and self-preservation is taking over. It has nothing to do with you.”

“I never said it did. But if you wanted to see me again, you could have just asked.”

“Can I come in or not?”

He steps out of the way and motions me inside. The cabin is warm, bringing me instant relief. It’s probably from the fire in the fireplace. The living room and kitchen are all in one large space, but it’s quaint and cozy. I was never one for camping, but glamping? That was my jam. Give me a cute, cozy cottage any day of the week. (Just not one with Dante in it).

“Let me give you the tour,” he says. “This is the living room and kitchen. Through there is the bathroom. And in there is the bedroom.”

I look into the fairly spacious bedroom. “Only one bed?”

“Of course.”

“Why? There’s two of us.”

“It’s large enough for two people to share a bed.”

I shiver though I’m unsure if it’s from fear or … something else I shouldn’t be feeling. “I’ll take the bed. You can take the couch.”

“Uh, Gabriella, this is my cabin. Not yours. I can take the bed, and you take it with me.”

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