Reckless (17 page)

D
ante

“
D
id you mean those things
?” Maren greets me at the sculpture park on this brisk October morning, her hands shoved in the pockets of her khaki trenchcoat. Her head is tilted, her eyes studying mine. “The list. Did you mean it?”

I move to her, wanting to take her hands but knowing it would be premature of me to assume it’s what she wants. My right hand still aches from when I punched Nathan last night. It wasn’t my plan. I intended solely to tell Maren not to choose him, but when I saw his face, I kept seeing his hands in her hair and his mouth on hers, and then I saw red, and by the time I came to, my ears were ringing and my fist was aching and Nathan was on the floor whining like a fucking pansy.

But fuck, it felt good at the time.

She texted me this morning, asking me to meet her here at noon today.

“Yes, Maren,” I say. “I meant it all.”

“Okay,” she says, licking her lips carefully. “If there’s anything else you need to come clean about, anything at all, I want to hear it now. I want to hear it all because this last week without you, Dante? It was awful. I missed you every second of every minute of every hour of every day, and maybe that’s a cliché thing to say, but it’s the only way I could describe it. My days were empty and my head was filled with thoughts of you, and I hated being angry with you.”

I pull in a deep breath, waiting for her to finish and watching the way her face has morphed from distant and hesitant to warm and forgiving.

“I’m falling for you too,” she says. “Wildly. Foolishly. Recklessly.”

My mouth pulls into a tight smirk. I go to her now. I cup her face in my aching hand, and I press my lips against hers. She accepts my kiss, her tongue grazing mine, and then she steps back.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen, you know,” she says. “It’s not supposed to move this quickly. It’s supposed to go slow and soft, not hard and fast.”

“Whoever said that never knew what it was like to love someone like you.”

Her dark eyes light, holding on mine. “So where do we go from here?”

I shrug, pressing my lips into the center of her forehead and inhaling the scent of her almond shampoo. “Wherever we want to go. As long as I’m with you, I don’t care about anything else.”

M
aren

“
G
o long
, go long,” Dante shouts, throwing a football to Dash in the backyard. Beck sits to my right, snuggled up to me on the gliding park bench on the patio.

The leaves have all turned their shades of gold and amber, russet, and plum, and I’m enjoying this last bit of time before my boys head to their father’s for Thanksgiving.

I’ve been with Dante, officially, for over two months now.

The boys love him.

I love him.

Together we all just . . . click.

“I like Dante more than Lauren, Mom,” Beck says as we watch the guys toss the ball back and forth. For a split second, it occurs to me that I’ve never seen Nathan play catch with the boys. Not once. He always hired coaches and paid for them to go to fancy camps that focused on throwing or catching or whatever the sport du jour was of the moment.

“It’s not a competition, baby,” I gently remind him.

“Lauren’s not as nice as Dante,” he says. “Dante hangs out with us. He plays video games and takes us to see movies. He teaches us things, like how to sharpen the lawn mower blade and how to fix that leg that always wobbles on the kitchen chair.”

I smile. He is pretty handy.

“Lauren just sits around on her phone, yelling at Dad to bring her stuff.” His nose wrinkles, and his voices takes on a whiny tone. “
Nathan, bring me my magazine! Nathan, I’m hungry again! Nathan, rub my feet
!”

Covering my mouth, I stifle a chuckle.

“She’s pregnant, sweetie,” I say, finding it hard to believe I’m defending her. Although I secretly enjoy the idea of Nathan running around, busting his ass to keep his pregnant little girlfriend happy because it’s exactly the kind of life he
didn’t
want when he walked out my door.

“Still,” he says. “Dante’s way cooler. Even Dash thinks so.”

“Does he?” I turn toward Beck, hoping I can squeeze some intel from him. The older Dash gets, the less he likes to talk about things with me.

“Oh, yeah,” Beck says. “We talk about it all the time. He likes Dante a lot.”

“Well, good.” We glide back and forth, my feet pressed against crunchy leaves and deep green grass. The neighbors behind us are burning leaves. I love Washington state in the fall. “How does Dash feel about getting a new baby brother or sister?”

Beck makes a gagging noise from the back of his throat. “Not excited at all. Neither am I, Mom. We don’t like babies. They’re boring.”

I laugh. “Well, this baby, whether you like it or not, is going to be family. You’re going to have to teach it things. Help take care of it.
Love
it.”

Beck rolls his eyes. “As long as I don’t have to change any diapers.”

I run my hands through his hair, ruffling his dark waves.

“Do you think you and Dante will have a baby?” He turns to me, looking up with his big brown eyes and his expression completely serious.

“Oh, sweetie,” I say. “We haven’t been together that long. We haven’t even discussed it. I don’t know . . .”

His face falls.

“Do you want us to have a baby?” I ask, simply out of curiosity.

He shrugs. “I’d be down with that.”

Laughing, I give him a side-arm squeeze. “We’re taking things slow for now. Just letting fate steer the ship for a bit. But I’m glad you really like him, Beck, because I do too.”

Staring ahead, I watch Dante slip his arm around Dash and lean in. Dash stares up at him, giving him his full attention the way an athlete might do with their coach.

He’s so good with my boys.

So
good.

And I can’t help but think he’d be great with one of his own too.

Up until now, I never really gave much thought to having any more babies. I loved being pregnant with my boys, but the idea of having another somewhere down the line never occurred to me.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I try to imagine what a Dante and Maren baby would look like. Dark hair. Cuban and Italian features. Beautiful.

A girl can dream.

* * *

“
W
hat’s wrong
?” Dante climbs into bed beside me, smelling like soap and toothpaste and wearing nothing but a form-fitting pair of boxer briefs. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

Curling into his chest, I wrap his arms around me and breathe in the comfort of his clean scent.

“It’s going to be my first Thanksgiving without the boys,” I say. “It didn’t really hit me until tonight.”

He kisses the top of my head. “I’m sorry.”

Shrugging, I say, “It is what it is. We have to alternate for the next eight years. No getting around it.”

“What do you want to do for Thanksgiving?”

“I don’t know. Sit around and try not to think about the fact that I’m all alone,” I say it with a chuckle because I’m joking. Mostly.

“You won’t be alone, Maren,” Dante says. “You’ll be with me.”

His hand slides beneath my chin, lifting my lips to his.

“Where do you want to go?” he asks. “We can go anywhere. Name the place, and I’ll take you there.”

I laugh.

He can’t be serious.

“You want to go to Hawaii?” he asks. “Because I’ll take you to Hawaii. We’ll get on a plan tomorrow, and we’ll go. You want to go, yeah?”

I nod faster, and then faster still, climbing into his lap and straddling him.

“I want to go to Hawaii,” I say, smothering him with kisses, my fingers lacing through his hair. “I’d go anywhere with you, really. But Hawaii sounds nice.”

“Then we’ll go. We’ll figure it out tomorrow and we’ll go.” His hands slide up my thighs and slip beneath my t-shirt. Between my thighs, I feel his hardness, and I grind against him until his mouth pulls up in the corners, and I know exactly what this means.

Tomorrow we’re going to Hawaii.

And tonight, we’re making love.

D
ante

I
watch
Maren’s reflection in her dresser mirror as she tries on the pearl earrings I got her for Valentine’s Day.

Today marks the sixth anniversary of the night we met, and tonight is our first Valentine’s date together.

“Why are you staring?” she asks, head tilted as she stares back at my reflection in the mirror. I’m seated on the edge of her bed, dressed and waiting to sweep her off to a date at The Onyx Key.

“Not staring, admiring,” I correct her.

“It’s weird.”

“I admire you all the time, Maren, you just never notice.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Her mouth twitches, her eyes smiling. “That’s . . . that’s kind of sweet.”

She places the other earring in her opposite ear, head tilting in that direction, lips pressed together and humming a quiet tune.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say, capturing her attention again. “Maybe it’s time we move in together? I’m here all the time. I practically live here. All my things are in your bathroom, and my clothes are taking up half your closet.”

“I don’t know,” she says with an uncertain sigh. “It’d be convenient and all, but I don’t know if we should make that move unless our relationship is headed in a certain direction.”

“And which direction might that be? Exactly?”

“You know, a more permanent direction.” She fluffs her hair, checks her makeup from every angle, then spins to face me. “We’ve only been together six months, so I don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you, but-”

Her eyes fall to the box in my hand, and I watch her eyes as she registers that I’m down on one knee.

“I know it’s soon,” I say, “and I thought about waiting, but then I thought about how hard it was going to be walking around with this ring in my pocket for God knows how long.”

“Dante . . .” Maren lifts her hand to her cherry lips, her dark eyes round.

“Maybe you’re uncertain about this,” I say. “But I’m not. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. I want to marry you, Maren. I want to make you my wife.”

I take her hand, slipping the emerald-cut diamond solitaire from the little blue box and presenting it between my thumb and forefinger. It’s classy and timeless, like her, and it sparkles the way her eyes do when the light hits them just right.

“I’ve never had that whole intense chemistry, inseparability thing until I met you,” I explain. “When I’m not with you, you’re all I can think about. I can’t wait to get home to you. And when I’m here, with you, sometimes you’ll be standing right beside me, and I still can’t get enough of you. I still want more. So because of that, Maren, and because I’m head over heels in love with you, and because the thought of you loving anyone else but me absolutely kills me, I want you to make you my wife. Will you marry me?”

She forces me to wait one endless second before falling to her knees beside me, crying into the shoulder of my suit jacket and sobbing what sound like happy cries.

“Maybe it’s a little reckless,” I say, “moving this fast. But I don’t care if you don’t. So tell me, baby, will you? Are you in this with me?”

“Yes,” she says, shoulders heaving. “I will marry you.”

I slip the ring over her finger, and she throws her arms around my shoulders. Her body presses against me and the thought of her wearing my last name makes me want her even more. Right here. Right now. I stand, pulling her with me, and run my hands down her sides, gathering the hem of her little black dress and tugging it up.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Celebrating.” I tug on the dainty waistband of her silk thong and slide it down the curve of her ass and then past her elongated thighs until it hits the floor and she stands on her toes and steps away from them. My hands run up her sides before cupping her ass and lifting her close. Her legs wrap around me, and I carry her to the bed, to
our
bed, and place her on the edge.

Unfastening my belt, Maren reaches for my zipper and tugs my engorged cock from the constraints of my boxers. Pumping my shaft, she glances up at me with the most devilishly wicked smirk I’ve ever seen, and then takes the tip between her lips. Her tongue moves, warm and wet, circling the head of my cock before accepting my length.

“Oh, god,” I moan, my hands tangled in her hair. I’ve gathered a fistful of her shiny waves, guiding her as her mouth works my cock with precision and enthusiasm. “I intended to pleasure you first, but this . . . this is fucking incredible.”

Pulling me from between her lips several minutes later, she looks up at me, wearing a smile and running her tongue along her bottom lip.

God, my future wife is sexy.

“My turn.” I press her into the bed, and she pulls her skirt up, exposing the lower half of her belly.

Pressing her thighs wide, I settle between them and run my tongue along her seam to get a taste.

She’s honey sweet and dripping wet already.

I listen for that sigh, the one she makes when she’s fully relaxed, and I watch for her thighs to quiver. I know this woman. I know her body.

Plunging a finger into her wet slit, I feel her from the inside, and it only makes me harder. We have dinner reservations in an hour, but I have no issues skipping dinner and going straight to dessert.

I’m hard as a rock and she’s wet and waiting, and there’s no way in hell I’m walking away from this now.

Her fingers lace through my hair, and the small of her back arches as her hips press into the mattress. I swear I hear my name on her breathless voice.

Moving my mouth from her sex, I kiss the inside of her thighs, starting on the outer side of her knee and moving up toward her hips. Her skin is soft and warm against my lips, and her body shivers at my touch.

Slipping a hand beneath the fabric of her dress, I slide my palm up the center of her belly and beneath the lace cup of her bra and massage her swollen breast, gently twisting her nipple between my fingers.

Climbing over her, my body weighs her down, pinning her beneath me, my cock pressed against her bare pussy.

Maren’s eyes flash with impatience, and I crush her mouth with a kiss, my tongue pushing between her lips until it finds hers. Her legs brush my sides, lifting until her heels press into my back.

Pushing myself inside her, feeling her slick warmth, my body goes numb for a moment, and then I feel everything. I feel all of her around all of me, and I push deeper. Harder. Faster. The scent of her arousal fills my lungs, and I can’t get enough.

“Dante,” she breathes my name as my thrusts quicken.

Maren’s body is soft, pliable, her stomach caving and contouring as she writhes beneath me, accepting everything I’m doing to her.

I own her.

Body. Mind. Spirit.

She’s perfect, and she’s mine.

And I am hers.

Burying my face against her shoulder, I breathe in the sweet scent of her hair and press my mouth against the soft flesh of her neck, nipping and sucking, kissing and breathing.

This woman is going to be my wife.

This woman is going to be my
wife
.

The thought makes me smile for a moment, and when her nails dig into my back, my cock plunges harder inside her and my balls tighten.

“Oh, god,” she exhales, her body firming and her hips bucking against me. Her face is tightened, contorted, and just like that, it relaxes. Her tongue grazes her lower lip. Within seconds, her body turns slack, and I release myself inside her, collapsing on top of her as my cock slowly softens and giving her one last thrust.

Pressing up on my forearms, I form a cocoon over her for a moment. Her hair is stuck to her neck and forehead, and her chest rises and falls.

Smiling, she says, “So much for going out tonight. We just undid an hour’s worth of getting ready.”

“Are you complaining?”

“I would never.”

I gift her a punishing kiss before pulling out completely and sliding off the bed. Checking the clock on the nightstand, I tell her we still have time if we leave in ten.

Maren climbs off the bed, straightening her dress and swiping her panties from the floor. Her hair is a disheveled mess, but I happen to find it completely and utterly sexy. Stepping toward a floor-length mirror, she finger combs her hair from her face and smooths a hand down the front of her dress.

“I guess it’s not so bad,” she says.

Cleaning up in the bathroom, I return to her side, slinking up from behind her and wrapping my hands around her waist.

“You look like sex and a million bucks,” I say. “Now throw on some heels and your favorite lipstick and meet me downstairs. I’d still like to take my fiancée out for dinner.”

Maren glances at the emerald-cut diamond on her left ring finger, staring and almost mesmerized.

“Do you like it?” I ask.

“I love it. It’s so classic.” She tilts it from side to side, watching the way its straight facets catch the light and glimmer like crazy. It’s understated yet polished. Classic and timeless. If Maren were a diamond, she would be
this
diamond. “I didn’t have a chance to admire it before. You sort of attacked me.”

She smirks, winking, and rises on her toes to kiss me. Sauntering off, she disappears into her walk-in closet and steps out a moment later in sky-high, fuck-me heels, the kind with the red bottoms that elongate her legs and make her ass pop. Just staring at her like this makes me want to fuck her all over again, but I suppose we have plenty of time for more of that.

The night is young.

And so are we.