Page 41 of Wicked Takeover
Dante had believed in that basic human concept when Frank had confessed his past. At the time, Dante had already liked the guy and wasn’t sure what to make of what Frank had done to his family. It was so surreal to him that Lauren hadn’t even fit into the equation. She’d been a name, an abstract concept. Not a flesh-and-blood woman whose sorrow tightened his gut and stole his breath.
He would have gathered her in his arms and told her it was okay to be hurt and angry, she certainly had the right, but Ricardo waltzed up with the beer, water, and appetizers—a plate piled high with bocaditos, deep-fried pastry wedges filled with beef, ham, chicken, or cheese or numerous other combinations spiced to perfection.
Ricardo offered a slight bow and a grin. “Disfrutar.” Spanish for “enjoy.”
Dante wanted that for Lauren more than anything. Once his cousin was too far to overhear, he scooted his chair closer to hers and rested his hand on her thigh. “You okay?”
“No. Yeah. I don’t know.” She laced her fingers through his. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off as I did.”
“It’s all right.” He squeezed her hand gently. “You have every reason.”
She sagged. “I want to hate him. I mean really freaking hate him, but I can’t.”
He figured if there was consciousness after death and Frank was listening now, what she’d said was the worst punishment he could have received: to realize what a fine woman his daughter was and that he’d missed out on knowing her. “He wasn’t a perfect man by any standard, but he talked about you quite often. How he regretted what he’d done.”
Her eyes widened. “You knew?”
“He told me after he learned he had heart problems. I suggested he get in touch with you. He was too afraid.” Dante pressed her hand to his chest. “I know what I’m about to say is no excuse, but when he took off, leaving you and your mom, he didn’t know how to be a man. How to love. He went through a lot of shit, mainly drugs and living on the street, before he cleaned up. By the time he did, a lot of time had passed, and he thought it was too late to go back or to be Frank Simms any longer. He started a new life, just as you’d suspected. New last name, identity, and all that. During his later years, he tried to fix everything he’d done earlier, even making arrangements in his will to pay back the survivor benefits you and your mom got so you wouldn’t be burdened with it. Frank didn’t have any illusions about making peace with God. He wanted to do that with you.”
Lauren’s mouth trembled. “The attorney sent me a note from him along with the other papers. I still haven’t read it. I’ve refused to.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You can read it when you’re ready.”
She smiled sadly. “I don’t want to talk about this any longer. I’m ruining your meal. This was supposed to be fun.”
“Who said it won’t be? We’ll talk about whatever you want, or we don’t have to talk at all.”
“I don’t mind talking. What is that?” She gestured to the bocaditos.
Dante wasn’t about to comment on her quick change in subject. He wanted her to feel comfortable and happy. “Something good.”
He selected one with white cheese bubbling from its corners but stopped before giving it to her. “You did say you like meat, right?”
She transferred their hands from his chest to his thigh, near his groin. “Depends. What kind are we talking about?”
He brushed his lips over hers.
Lauren’s breath spilled out on a wanting sigh.
He liked that…and everything else about her. “You have a dirty mind.”
“You have no idea.” Her lips touched his with her words. “I’ve fantasized about you for weeks.”
Surprised, he pulled back. “Seriously?”
“Why do you think I was holed up in Frank’s office so much? I was—” She stopped and glanced around. Ricardo wasn’t anywhere near, and the other diners were busy with their own conversations.
“You were what?”
She cupped Dante’s ear and pressed close. “I was masturbating.”
He laughed softly. “You were not.”
“You’ll never know, will you?” She wrapped her free hand around his, tongued the bocadito into her mouth, and let out a soft moan.
