Page 61 of Made for Saints

Before I could respond, he unbuckled his seatbelt and turned toward me, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that stole the air from my lungs. The space between us seemed to shrink, the car suddenly feeling far too small, far too intimate.

“Dante—”

He didn’t let me finish. His hand shot out, cupping the back of my neck with a firm but gentle grip as he pulled me toward him. His lips crashed against mine, and for a moment, my mind went completely blank.

It was fierce and consuming, a clash of heat and desperation that left me breathless. His hand tightened slightly on my neck, anchoring me to him, while his otherhand gripped the edge of my seat, as if he needed to steady himself.

I should have pushed him away. I should have slapped him, yelled at him, something. But instead, I found myself leaning into him, my hands clutching the front of his suit jacket as if it were the only thing keeping me grounded. His lips moved against mine with a skill and confidence that made my head spin, and when his teeth grazed my bottom lip, a soft gasp escaped me.

That seemed to snap him out of it. He pulled back abruptly, his breathing heavy as he stared at me with a mix of frustration and something else I couldn’t quite place. His hand lingered on my neck for a moment longer before he let go, dragging it through his hair as he leaned back in his seat.

“Dante…” I began, my voice shaky and uncertain, but he cut me off.

“Don’t,” he said, his tone rough and strained. “Don’t say anything.”

I swallowed hard, my heart still racing as I stared at him. His jaw was tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked...unsettled.

The silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating, until he finally spoke.

“You don’t look fine,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You look...beautiful.”

My breath caught, and I turned to him, my chest tightening at the raw honesty in his tone. But before I could respond, he started the car again, pulling back onto the road without another word.

The rest of the drive was silent, the tension between us crackling like a live wire. I stared out the window, my mind racing as I tried to make sense of what had just happened. But no matter how hard I tried, one thought kept playing over and over in my head.

Dante Conti had kissed me. Again.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted him to stop.

Chapter 22

Dante

The car was too quiet. Too still.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that brought peace—it was the kind that clawed at your skin, that made your pulse pound in your ears. The kind that was heavy with everything unsaid.

I glanced over at her from the corner of my eye, watching as she stared out the window, her lips pressed into a tight line. Her fingers toyed with the cap of the water bottle I’d made sure was waiting for her when she got in. I’d told her my assistant stocked the car, but that was bullshit. I’d put it there myself.

Why?

Because I’d overheard her mention once, in passing, that she liked to keep a water bottle in her bag. And because I’d noticed she didn’t have one when she climbed into the car this morning, her hair still damp and her cheeks flushed with frustration.

It wasn’t a big deal. Just a bottle of water. But the way she’d looked at it, like she was trying to figure out if it was a coincidence or something more, had made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t care to examine.

She’d taken a sip after the kiss.

The kiss.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles whitening as the memory surged back with brutal clarity. Her lips had been soft, warm, and she’d tasted faintly of something sweet—champagne, maybe, or some kind of gloss. I hadn’tmeant to kiss her. Hell, I hadn’t even realized I was going to until it was already happening.

And then she’d gasped, her hands clutching at my jacket like she couldn’t decide whether to pull me closer or push me away, and I’d lost whatever shred of control I’d been clinging to.

But then she’d taken a sip of that damn water bottle, her lips wrapping around the edge, and something primal had surged through me. Something dark and possessive that made me want to rip the bottle out of her hands and replace it with my mouth.

Jesus Christ.

I forced my gaze back to the road, jaw clenched so tight it ached. This was getting out of hand. She was getting out of hand. And the worst part? She didn’t even realize it.

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