Page 107 of Neighbors With Benefits

“Yep,” I said.

The second bracket went up quickly, along with the third. But as he installed the final bracket, I felt my arms begin to waver with the effort of holding up the pane of glass.

“Don’t let go yet!” he hissed as I lessened my grip. “I still need to fully tighten the screws at the end.”

“My arms are tired,” I admitted.

“Just a little longer,” he rumbled, arm twisting as he worked on the final piece. “Just. A. Little. Longer.”

My arms were beginning to shake. That, in turn, made the ladder shake.

“Dante,” I warned.

“Almost there,” he gritted out, sweat beading his temple as he concentrated.

The shaking became too much, and the ladder heaved too far in one direction. I let go of the pane and tried to adjust my weight, but I overcorrected too far in the other direction.

We were tilting, turning, falling.

“Shit,” Dante cursed.

“Oh no!”

I cried out in alarm as the ladder fell to the ground. I was weightless for a brief, terrifying instant. But somehow, Dante had jumped off the ladder first, landing deftly on the ground.

And he had just enough time to reach out and catch me.

40

Jazz

I had only fallen a few feet, but that momentum was enough to knock Dante onto his ass. But just like when I’d fallen with the pane of glass two days ago, he kept me firmly in his grasp.

He caught me,I thought, feeling dazed.

“I got you.” Dante sighed and laid back until his head was resting on the ground. “I got you.”

“I told you the ladder wasn’t safe!” I said with a wince.

“It wasn’t dangerous,” he insisted. “I caught you, didn’t I?”

“And probably broke your ass in the process,” I said.

“My ass is fine,” he grumbled. “But it’ll be better when you get off me.”

I was laying across his chest, a fact which would have been obvious if I wasn’t still reeling from the fall. I quickly jumped up to my feet, then reached out an arm to help Dante up. To my surprise, he accepted it.

“We’re lucky we didn’t break our necks,” I complained. “That will be thelasttime I trust you.”

“Will it, Jasmin?” he challenged.

God, there was something about the way he pronounced my name that drove me wild. In a good wayanda bad way. Except that it wasn’t my name, and he was kind of a dick for continuing to call me that.

“My name,” I growled while stepping closer to him, “is Jazz.”

He smiled, his space still intermingling with my own. “But Jasmin suits you.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that. What do you mean?” I asked testily.

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