Page 48 of Made for Saints

I turned slowly, clutching the wine glass like it was a shield. He was leaning casually against the doorway, his dark suit still immaculate despite the long day. His eyes were on me, dark and intense, tracking every inch of exposed skin with a deliberate slowness that made my breath hitch.

The silk slip suddenly felt too thin, too revealing. The hem barely grazed my thighs, the straps delicate against my shoulders. My damp hair clung to my neck, leaving small wet patches on the fabric. I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way Iwasn’t used to.

His jaw clenched, his fingers flexing at his sides as his gaze lingered. “Put some clothes on.”

The order was soft but sharp, a command wrapped in velvet. It sent a shiver down my spine, though I wasn’t sure if it was from anger or something else. His voice had that effect—soft and composed, but so laced with authority that it was impossible to ignore.

I lifted my chin, defiance flaring in my chest. “I’m in my own home.”

His eyes snapped to mine, dark and unrelenting, and for a moment, the air between us crackled with tension, like a storm on the verge of breaking. I could see it in the way his shoulders stiffened, in the way his jaw ticked, how my refusal to bend chipped away at his composure.

It was intoxicating, watching him unravel—just a little. I shouldn’t have pushed him, but there was something about Dante that made me want to press, to see how far I could take it before he snapped.

“Your home,” he repeated, the words slow and mocking, like he was tasting them. Then, in two long strides, he crossed the space between us, closing the distance so quickly that my breath hitched. Before I could react, his arm shot out, caging me against the edge of the counter.

The heat of his body was suffocating, bleeding through the thin silk of my slip as he leaned in, his presence overwhelming. I could smell his cologne—smoky and spiced, with an edge of something darker—and it made my head swim.

His fingers found my bare shoulder, brushing against my skin with a touch that was too gentle for how dangerous he looked. Slowly, deliberately, he traced the thin strap of my slip, letting it slide an inch down my shoulder.

“Your home,” he said again, his voice low and almost mocking, his lips so close to my ear that his breath warmed my skin. “Does that make it a free pass to test my patience?”

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering wildly against myribs. His proximity made it impossible to think straight, and my pulse thundered louder with every second he lingered.

“I didn’t realize you had any patience to begin with,” I said, my voice laced with false confidence.

The faintest grin tugged at the corners of his lips as a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. It was the kind of sound that sent a shiver down my spine, making me feel like I’d just stepped into quicksand. His fingers toyed with the strap again, letting it slide down further, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of my arm.

“You have no idea what you’re playing with. I told you this was dangerous.” he murmured, his breath ghosting against my cheek.

But I did—didn’t I? The fire in his eyes, the way his body tensed with restrained control, the danger that seemed to cling to him like a second skin—I knew exactly what I was playing with. And I couldn’t help myself.

I tilted my chin up, forcing myself to meet his gaze. His dark eyes bore into mine, and for a moment, I let myself get lost in them. It was a mistake. Looking at Dante was like staring into a storm, violent and beautiful all at once.

“You think I’m scared of you?” I asked, my voice sharper than I felt.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his thumb brushed against the bare skin of my shoulder, a touch so light it felt like a whisper. The corner of his lips twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile.

“No,” he said finally, his voice low and deliberate. “I think you like to see how far you can push me.”

He wasn’t wrong. There was something about him that made me want to taunt, to test his limits. Maybe it was the way he always seemed so composed, so in control, like nothing could shake him. I wanted to see what it would take to break that control, to see what lay beneath it.

And maybe it was reckless, but some part of me liked the way he looked at me when I pushed him too far—the way hiseyes darkened, the way his breath hitched, like he was barely holding himself back.

“Why would I do that?” I asked, feigning innocence.

Dante’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Because you’re curious.”

My pulse quickened, but I refused to look away. “Maybe I just don’t like being told what to do.”

His grip on the counter tightened, his knuckles whitening as he leaned in closer. The heat of his body was unbearable now, his chest brushing against mine as he lowered his head, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

“You want to know what happens when you push me too far, Emilia?” His voice was a whisper now, low and deadly, and it sent another shiver down my spine.

I swallowed hard, my resolve faltering for a split second. “Maybe I do.”

The words left my mouth before I could stop them, and for a moment, the tension in the room was suffocating. His thumb slid along the side of my neck, brushing against my pulse point, and I knew he could feel how fast it was racing.

“Careful,” he warned again, his voice so quiet it was barely audible. “You’re going to regret it.”

---