Page 36 of Ruthless Saint

I bite my lip. The space was a little tight, but where the hell am I supposed to sit now?

“Nowhere to stretch your legs,” he continues. “Walk off any silly ideas you might get.” He pauses, making me blush. “I took the liberty of moving us to a bigger office.”

“Oh. Okay.”

When he keeps standing there like a statue, I clear my throat, finally gazing up into his eyes. The look he gives me is deadly. It’s pure dominance and power, and I know I should be shaking in my brand new Prada trainers with fear, but my body has other ideas.

My heart beats wildly, pumping oxygen to all my nerve endings, causing my skin to feel ultra sensitive. I’m so onedge that if a feather were to float down from the ceiling and touch any part of my exposed skin, I’d explode. There’s a charge in the air. And as much as I want to loathe it, I don’t.

Dante Santoro doesn’t scare me,he excites me. Even if I still struggle not to despise him whenever he opens his mouth.

Which he does, gracefully breaking the spell. “Are you going to stand there like Bambi, or shall we get going?”

I roll my eyes, then walk past him.

“The other way.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.I turn around and ignore the smirk on his face. Or the overwhelming need to kick him in the shin for being a jackhole with perfect hair. Seriously, what’s up with that? With the humidity in the air, my usually limp hair has a life of its own, creating a little halo of flyaways whenever I go outside.

Without a word, he starts walking, clearly expecting me to follow suit since he doesn’t even look back once before disappearing around the corner. I dash after him, almost breaking into a run just to catch up. When I finally do, he doesn’t even acknowledge my presence as I try my hardest to keep pace. For every step he makes, I have to take two, and I still fall behind. Wherever we are going, he’s making me work for it, and if it weren’t for the last few weeks of walking up and down the steep hill this town is on, I’d have been panting and out of breath, probably dreaming of getting a scooter just so I could catch up.

The image of me zooming around the casino on a scooter, like a millennial tech billionaire, has me so entertained that I fail to notice the lack of movement in front of me. It is only by pure luck I don’t crash into Dante’s back as he thoughtfully looks down the corridor. I turn my head, following his gaze until I see the crystal and gold chandelier from the entrance of the casino, glinting from behind theglass separating us and the main hall. I try to figure out in which part of the Black Royale we are, but I haven’t got a clue. This first floor is a huge maze, and I’ve only ever been to the staff room, the dancing platform and, of course, Dante’s office, so this area is completely new to me.

When I turn back to ask Dante why we stopped, he’s a couple dozen feet away, his hand on a door handle as he looks at me with his brows drawn.

From this far away, he looks just like any other business executive, so handsome in his tailored suit it almost hurts. His thick, dark hair is styled, not a strand out of place. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen his hair messy. Even fresh out of the shower and still wet, it was perfect. A strange feeling comes over me, propelling my steps forward. What would his hair feel like between my fingers? What would his skin feel like? He’s clean shaven this morning. Would I be able to feel the stubble if I traced his jaw?

“What are you doing?” His gravelly voice brings me back to Earth. I’m right in front of him, with my hand half stretched between us, his woodsy cologne surrounding me like a warm blanket, making me feel safe.

“You had lint on your suit.” I save my dignity by flicking the nonexistent fluff off his lapel.

His hand is still on the doorknob, his arm between the now open door and me, blocking my way in. I don’t let that deter me, though, leaning over and peering inside, my breath taken away by the window wall my eyes are instantly drawn to.

I push Dante’s hand out of my way and walk in, taking in the view of the colourful houses and buildings below, their staggered rooftops looking polished, still drying after last night’s showers. The day is clear, and I’m awestruck by the unobscured view of the waves crashing against the jagged rocks separating the bay from the wild ocean beyond.

My breath fogs the glass as I try to drink in the beauty in front of me, trying to comprehend why this room wouldn’t be everyone’s first choice for an office.

“If you get any closer to that window, you’ll squash your little nose.”

“Aww, you think my nose is cute,” I murmur, still staring out.

“I said little, not cute,” he scoffs. “It’s too little for your face. Makes you look funny with your eyes being so large.”

“Mhmm. Mhmmm. And now you think my eyes are big and beautiful? You better stop it, or I’ll start to think you’re in love with me,” I quip.

His laugh is so loud it makes me turn around just so I can see his face light up one more time. “Fat chance of that.”

My hand lands on my chest. “That’s a bit hurtful. I’m very lovable,” I say. But then my mirth dissipates. Clearly, he knows as well as I do that I’m not. After all, if I were, my parents wouldn’t have abandoned me. Or at least someone would have adopted me. Instead, it’s been a journey from one foster family to another, until the day I ran away. If that’s not a sign of being unlovable, then I don’t know what is.

“You could be the most lovable woman on earth. It wouldn’t change a thing,” he mutters.

“Whatever,” I say, looking away to hide the hurt on my face and taking the opportunity to examine my new working space. It’s bright with the natural light coming from the window behind me. The space is split into two rooms, partitioned by a glass wall. Each a mirror image of the other with desks facing each other, a filing cabinet, and a potted plant in the corner.

With Dante being able to watch my every move through the glass partition, it will be difficult to get up to anythingmischievous. But having to try harder has never stopped me before, and it will certainly not do it now.

I walk over to what I assume is going to be my desk and sit down on the comfy chair with my back to the door. That’s not very clever, is it? If I’m supposed to be his assistant, shouldn’t I be facing the door so I can greet visitors before they go into his office? Be his gatekeeper? Not that it would make much difference. With his desk clearly visible, anyone would still be able to see whether he’s busy or not.

I spin around in my chair, stopping after a full circle, the view beyond the window once again capturing my attention.

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