Page 67 of Shadows of Steel
Dante studies my face for a lingering moment before releasing me abruptly and stepping back. I force myself to regain composure, turning sharply as I make my way toward the house. Footsteps echo behind me, his presence a shadow that refuses to relent.
Damn him. He wasn’t bluffing, he’s truly coming. And now, I have to endure the torment of sharing a room with him. The moment we step into the bedroom, he flicks on the light, casting a warm glow over the space.
I inhale sharply, pivoting toward the bathroom. “I’ll be taking a shower." I don’t wait for a response. I slip inside, shutting the door behind me and pressing my back against it. Myeyes squeeze shut as I draw in a shaky breath, willing myself to steady.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The worst part?
I like the way he affects me.
The thought is unwelcome, intrusive, yet it lingers, sinking its claws into me. I exhale sharply, peeling off my clothes with brisk, almost desperate movements before stepping under the spray. Scalding water cascades over my skin, but it does little to chase away the heat still coiling deep in my stomach. Once I’m finished, I towel off and slip into a robe, a long, blush silk piece that clings to my skin, its sleeves adorned with delicate feathers at the cuffs, whispering against my wrists as I move.
Stepping into the room, my gaze immediately lands on Dante. He’s sprawled across the bed, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs that cling to him in a way that feels almost indecent. His hands are folded behind his head, biceps flexed lazily, while the soft flicker of the television casts shifting shadows over the sharp ridges of his body. An action movie plays in the background, but I barely register it. My eyes trace the sculpted terrain of his torso, the chiselled abs, the broad chest, the sheer definition of muscle that makes it downright unjust for any man to look like that. I tell myself not to linger, to move, to focus on anything else, but it’s futile. My gaze dips lower, catching on the unmistakable outline beneath the thin fabric of his briefs. Heat licks at my skin. My pulse stutters. I snap my head away, turning sharply toward the closet, but it’s too late. Behind me, a low chuckle rumbles through the air, rich and taunting. “Like what you see, cara mia?” The nickname drips with amusement, edged with mockery.
I scowl, refusing to indulge him. Stepping into the wardrobe, I shut the door behind me, creating a barrier between myself and the temptation lounging so arrogantly in that bed. As I scan theshelves, my stomach sinks with an unfortunate realization, every single pyjama set I own is hopelessly indecent. Lace. Silk. Short. Barely leaving anything to the imagination. With a sigh, I reach for the least provocative option, a satin slip that barely skims the tops of my thighs and does absolutely nothing to conceal my nipples. Far from ideal, yet the most modest choice I have. I slip it on and step out. The sound of running water fills the room. Dante is in the shower now.
I settle in front of the vanity, my fingers weaving through my damp hair as I study my reflection. I try to focus on unwinding, on the rhythmic motion of combing out the tangles, but my body is still too aware of his presence just beyond that door.
The water shuts off.
I keep my hands busy, smoothing moisturizer over my arms, rubbing lotion into my legs, as if tending to my skin will distract me from the tension clawing at my nerves. A few moments later, Dante emerges. A towel hangs low on his hips, clinging to him in a way that makes it impossible to ignore just how devastatingly built he is. Droplets of water trail down his torso, catching in the grooves of muscle. His gaze locks onto mine for a fleeting second before trailing lower, down my body, to my legs, to the slow, languid way my hands glide over my thighs. Fingers twitch at his sides, jaw locking as tension coils through him, barely restrained. Something passes over his expression, but it’s fleeting. He exhales sharply, then turns toward the closet without a word. I don’t look up when I hear the door shut behind him. Instead, I climb into bed, yanking the covers over me like they might serve as some kind of barrier. A futile attempt at self-preservation.
This tension is suffocating.
Why he insists on sharing a bedroom is beyond me. The air between us is too charged, too volatile. And I’m not afraid to admit it, the chemistry between us is incendiary. If I let myself,I’d already be underneath him, legs spread, nails raking down his back as he fucks me into this mattress, hard enough to make me forget why I ever tried to resist him in the first place.
I stop the thought before it fully forms.
I don’t do attachments.
I cannot afford to.
Sleeping with him would be a mistake. A line that, once crossed, would blur everything. This is business. It should stay that. Minutes later, Dante slides in beside me. The bed dips under his weight.
“Good night.” I murmur, my voice softer than I’d like.
He reaches over and switches off the light. “Good night, leonessa.”
Darkness envelops the room. I inhale slowly, his scent, a heady mix of cologne and soap invading my senses. I stay still, forcing my breathing to remain even.
And despite the tension still thrumming between us, sleep finds me quickly.
Chapter 21
Harlow
Morning sunlight spills through the open curtains, bathing the room in a golden glow. I stir, stretching slightly before blinking against the brightness. The sheets beside me are cold.
Dante is gone.
But his presence lingers, in the faint imprint of his body on the mattress, in the warmth that had been there hours ago, in the scent still clinging to the sheets. I exhale slowly, my fingers grazing the empty space where his body had been. The moment I register the action, I retract my hand as if scalded.
It means nothing.
I had woken up more than once, during the night, tangled in him, an arm heavy around my waist, his breath warm against my neck, our legs a mix of heat and friction. It was proximity, nothing more. A byproduct of sharing a bed, not intimacy.
And now, he’s gone before I even opened my eyes. I presume he’s maintaining his distance once more.
