Page 23 of Guarded from Sabotage

“Okay.” He doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “Well. Matt’s about to leave, but he wants to take a look at your laptop. He said he can have Xavier bring over a loaner tomorrow. Just for a few days. Is that alright?”

I slide off my bed, grab the laptop, and walk towards Dante. “It’s fine. I don’t keep any of my work files on here. Just personal emails and social media stuff, mainly. I’m not sure how helpful it’ll be.”

“Don’t ask me,” Dante replies with a smile. “He’s the computer whiz. I’m lucky I can set up the videoconferencing for our meetings. But if he thinks it might help…”

“Of course.” I hand the laptop to him. “If Matt thinks there’s something on here, I’m happy for him to look at it.”

“Great.” Dante gazes at me for a moment, his eyes darkening to a deep twilight. “How are you feeling? Sore? Do you need more ice? Something for pain?”

“I’m good.” Mostly. At his skeptical expression, I add, “Really. It’s just some bruises. No big deal.”

“I’d still like to check your knees,” he replies. “Make sure I got everything out, re-bandage them… And how are your hands feeling? You don’t have the bandages on them anymore.”

“Yeah, it was a little hard to shower with them on.” Smiling, I hold my hands out to him. “But they’re not too bad. Just some scrapes, really.”

Dante takes one hand, then the other; his brow creasing as he inspects my palms. “They’re looking pretty good,” he concedes. “But—” He gently cups my chin. “How about here? It looks like there’s a little swelling. Maybe we should get some ice…”

For a second, I can’t respond. All I can think about is the feel of his skin against mine. His thumb lightly sweeps along my jaw, both soft and rough at the same time. Each tiny movement sends tingles through my body—like my body is infused with static electricity and Dante’s touch is setting it off.

Our eyes meet, and there’s this sort oftugbetween us. His pupils dilate so there’s only a thin ring of deep sapphire around them.

My heart stutters.

All the air feels like it’s been sucked from the room.

The way we’re standing, with Dante leaning down to inspect my face, I’d only have to move a few inches for our lips to meet.

Just a few inches, and I could kiss him.

There’s a look in his eyes that makes me think he wouldn’t mind. That he might want to kiss me, too.

But I’m notsure.

And if I’m wrong, it’ll mess everything up. Not just the humiliation, though that would be pretty bad—pressing my lips against his only to find them hard and cold and unreceptive. But if I kiss him and he’s not interested, it’ll make everything awkward. He won’t want to touch me for fear of giving false encouragement. Our conversations will become stilted. The comfort I feel around Dante will be gone.

I can’t risk it. Not when Dante is supposed to be staying here tonight and every other night after until my case is resolved. The rejection would be too much to bear on top of everything else.

So instead, I take a tiny step back and Dante’s hand falls away from my chin. As I silently command my pulse to slow, I smile at him. “I think I’m alright.”

Something flickers across his face—disappointment? relief? regret?—and after a brief pause, he returns my smile. “Okay. I should get the laptop to Matt. He’s probably wondering what’s taking so long. And I was thinking, once he leaves, we could order some dinner. Or I can make something.”

“I can make dinner,” I offer. “Since you cooked last night. It only seems fair.”

“With your hands like that? I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“It’s fine. If you knew how many times I used to cook with cuts and burns at the—” As Dante’s face clouds, I cut myself off. “Anyway. There are plenty of things I can make that don’t require a lot of prep work. And you can be my sous chef, so I don’t have to use my hands as much.”

His lips quirk. “You’re trusting me to help you cook?”

“Of course.” My smile brightens. “I’d love to cook with you.”

And that’s how we end up side-by-side in my kitchen, Dante deftly chopping peppers and onions while I brown the beef for the classic picadillo we used to make at the restaurant.

Or at least, I’mtryingto brown the beef, but I keep getting distracted by his forearms and biceps. All golden skin with a dusting of dark hair, muscles flexing as he moves, intricate tattoos rippling along with them—I’ve never thought much about a man’s arms before, but Dante’s? I can’tstopthinking about them.

“Am I doing okay?” Dante glances over at me, his eyebrows raised in a questioning V. “If I’m not cutting them the right way, just tell me.” He pauses, and a mischievous smile tugs at his lips. “Or is there another reason you’re keeping an eye on me?”

Heat floods my cheeks. Busted.

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