Page 7 of Made for Saints

My breath caught, and I hated him even more for the way his words sent a flush creeping up my neck. I forced a laugh,though it came out strained. “You’re awfully confident for someone who doesn’t know me.”

“I know enough,” he said simply, his eyes locked on mine in a way that made my chest tighten.

That threw me off guard. For a moment, I wasn’t sure how to respond, and I hated the way my silence gave him the upper hand.

“Are you done?” I snapped, desperate to regain control. “Because if this is your idea of flirting, you’re terrible at it.”

His grin widened, and somehow, it managed to be even more irritatingly attractive. “You think this is flirting?”

“You tell me,” I shot back, crossing my arms again, though the motion did little to shield me from the weight of his gaze.

“Have many men flirted with you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” I shrugged, throwing my hair over my shoulder acting more unbothered than I felt.

Something flashed across his face before he set the cup down with a soft clink.

“Maybe I just like getting under your skin.”

“Well, congratulations,” I snapped. “Mission accomplished.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was thick, charged with something I didn’t want to name. His eyes lingered on mine, and I hated how I couldn’t look away—how the pull of him was so strong it felt like gravity itself.

I turned away, desperate to break the spell he seemed to have over me. “You should leave,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. But even as I said it, I knew I didn’t want him to. I brushed past him toward the door, “I have better things to do than entertain your ego.”

Before I could escape, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my wrist with a grip that was firm but not painful. The contact sent a jolt through me, and I froze, my breath hitching as I turned to face him.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

I tried to yank my arm free, ignoring the way my skin burned where he’d touched me. “I’m not the one playing games, Dante.”

His grip tightened fractionally. "No games with me, princess. Just curiosity about the girl who dares to steal from a man like me."

"I gave everything back." The defense sounded weak even to my ears.

"Did you?" His other hand slid down my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "Then why do I feel significantly lighter since our encounter at the bar?"

I forced a laugh, trying to ignore how his proximity made it hard to think. "Maybe you should check your pockets more carefully."

"Oh, I'm very careful." He shifted closer, until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "About everything."

The threat in those words was clear, but instead of fear, I felt a thrill of defiance. "Are you? Because from what I hear, your last fiancée might disagree."

His grip on my arm tightened fractionally, just enough to remind me of the power he held without crossing the line into pain. The storm in his expression darkened, and for a moment, I thought I’d finally pushed him too far.

Then, with deliberate slowness, his hand slid upward, his fingers brushing along my arm before finding my jaw. The movement was unhurried, maddeningly controlled, and it left a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

For a long moment, his hand stayed where it was, thumb trailing along my jaw in a way that sent shivers down my spine. I hated the way my body reacted to him, how my breath hitched even as my pride demanded I hold his gaze.

"You think you're brave," he said softly, his voice cutting through the silence like the edge of a blade. "But you're just foolish. You throw accusations like a child throwing stones, hoping one of them will shatter a window."

His words were calm, measured, but his grip on my chintightened just enough to remind me of the power he held.

"Maybe I am foolish," I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. "But I notice you still haven’t answered my question."

His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Because you’re asking the wrong one."

I frowned, my heart pounding in my chest. He leaned in closer, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me—not out of desire, but as a way to prove a point. His breath was warm against my cheek, carrying that intoxicating mix of spice and smoke.

---