Page 19 of The Dante
She needed something to do. Something simple. Something that didn’t involve thinking about the way Titus had commanded the room with a single glance, or how his brothers hadwatched her as if waiting for her to prove something. She wasn’t surewhat.
So she cleaned.
The kitchen was empty now, the long oak dining table abandoned, but remnants of the gathering remained. Plates with half-finished meals, glasses smudged from where lips had touched crystal, folded napkins left in casual disarray. The staff would handle it, she knew that. But she needed to do something with her hands.
Jazz gathered a stack of plates, the porcelain cool beneath her fingertips as she carried them toward the sink. The dishes were grounding, something tangible to focus on. She rinsed them one by one, watching as the water turned cloudy, soap bubbles rising before disappearing down the drain. If only washing away uncertainty was just aseasy.
“You don’t have to do that.”
The deep timbre of Titus’s voice made her shiver. She stiffened but didn’t turn, her fingers tightening around the edge of a plate. She hadn’theard him come in. Hadn’t felt the shift in the air until he spoke.
“I don’t mind,” she said, keeping her tone light. Neutral.
A quiet pause stretched between them. She wasn’t sure if he was waiting for her to say more or if he was just watching her, taking her in the way he always did—with that quiet, unreadable intensity that made her feel like he could see every single thought in herhead.
“I have people for this,” he said, finally.
His footsteps were soft against the slate floor as he moved closer. Slow. Deliberate. Jazz swallowed, willing herself not to react, not to let him see how easily he unsettledher.
“I know,” she said, placing another dish into the dryingrack.
Something about that seemed to amuse him. “Then why are you doing it?”
Jazz set down the plate with a little more force than necessary. “Because it’s something I canbe in charge of.”
The admission slipped out before she could stop it, and she immediately regretted it. The last thing she needed was for Titus Dante to know that she felt like she was drowning, like she was trying to anchor herself to something—anything—that felt normal.
A moment passed. Then another.
Then warm, firm hands closed around her wrists, stilling her movements.
Her breath hitched. He didn’t grip her too tightly, but there was no mistaking the restraint in his touch. The silent command.
“You don’t have to do that, either,” he murmured, his breath brushing against the side of herneck.
Her pulse kicked hard. She should step away. She should say something, anything, to break the spell he was weaving around her. But she didn’t.
Titus slowly turned her to face him, his grip sliding from her wrists to her waist, holding her there, close enough that she could feel the heat radiatingoffhim.
“I told you,” he said, his voice quieter now, silk over steel. “You don’t lift a finger in this house.”
Jazz forced herself to look up at him. To meet the dark, consuming gaze that never seemed to release her. His eyes were like obsidian, black and fathomless, reflecting nothingback.
“I need to do something,” she whispered, hating how unsteady her voice sounded. “I can’t just—”
Titus didn’t let her finish.
He moved in a breath, one moment standing before her, the next sweeping her off her feet. Astartled gasp left her lips as her arms instinctively wrapped around hisneck.
“Titus,” she started, but his grip tightened.
“I told you,” he murmured against her ear. “You don’t lift a finger. That includes picking up after people.”
His voice was different now—lower, rougher. And she knew, with absolute certainty, that he wasn’t just talking aboutdishes anymore.
He carried her effortlessly through the house, past the grand staircase, the long hallways lined with artwork and silent witnesses to whatever happened behind these walls. No one stopped them. No one questioned where he was takingher.
Jazz should have protested. She should have told him to put her down, that she could walk. That this wasn’t necessary. But the words never came. Maybe because she didn’t want themto.
