Page 9 of Slow Burn (Driven 5)
I drop my bag on the floor and toss my keys and phone in the basket on the table in the foyer and head toward the kitchen. I hit the button on the voice mail and tune out the telemarketer’s message as I open the fridge and look for a Diet Coke. The machine beeps, and Maddie’s voice fills the empty kitchen.
“Hi, Auntie. I hope your fancy wedding was loads of fun. I bet it was better than all of the Sour Patch Kids in the world put together. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. I have the whole day planned out for us.”
I automatically smile at the sound of her voice, and my love for her swells like always. I can only imagine what her plans for us are this time. Last week it was mud pies and Barbies, with pretend tea served by Strawberry Shortcake.
The doorbell rings, and my heart immediately skips a beat at the thought it might be Becks. Maybe I left something in his car.
And why in the hell is my pulse thundering?
Crap. We really just need a little time apart so that we can let everything from last night settle and fade away. So I can let the taste and scent and sound of him dissipate from my memory.
I grab the handle and pull the door open, prepared for Becks, and am completely thrown for a loop by who stands there.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too.” It’s that same gravelly voice that used to turn me inside out. Those gray eyes that can be cold as steel or soft as silk from one second to the next. That muscled torso that my fingers and mouth memorized every incredible inch of. The sight of him invokes images of wild, against-the-wall, rip-your-clothes-off sex, and at the same time, schizophrenic emotions and volatile tempers surge through my mind.
And yet his pull on me is still there, still as magnetic as ever. This is the man I once upon a time thought could be the one, could be worth the fight, until he disappeared just as quickly as he appeared.
Just like he does every time.
“What do you want, Dante?” I huff out a breath and put my hands on my hips.
“What, no kiss? No hug? That’s all the welcome I get?” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans, his biceps bulging, and he leans a shoulder against the doorjamb. I try not to look twice at the new ink peaking up from under the collar of his shirt, but I find myself wondering what he chose this time. My eyes rise from his neck to his face when he runs his free hand up and over his goatee. Between the smirk on his lips, and the look in his eyes, I swear he does it on purpose to evoke thoughts of how exactly that patch of hair can tease and tempt me when positioned between my thighs.
I take hold of my thoughts and am able to recall the hurt he inflicted on me, which still scars me deep inside. “You’re lucky that your welcome doesn’t include a swift kick in the nuts.” I fold my arms across my chest and raise an eyebrow at him.
He laughs, that arrogant smirk strengthening the intensity that always etches his face. “Ah, there’s my girl, spirited as fuck, just how I like you.”
“I’m not your girl. You lost the chance to call me that when you walked away without a word.” I absently look over his shoulder at the neighbor kid running down the sidewalk, before looking back at him.
“You afraid lover boy’s going to come back and get pissed I’m standing here?”
“Lover boy?”
He lifts his chin. “Yeah. That your boyfriend who dropped you off? You switching things up, Had? Going from the reckless to the refined?”
I laugh. Beckett refined? That’s not exactly the first word that comes to mind, but I guess in Dante’s view, Becks’s lack of tattoos makes him just that.
“He’s just a friend, and besides, what he is or isn’t is none of your damn business.”
“You’re always my business.”
I snort in response. Does he actually think that he can show up on my doorstep after disappearing over a year ago and that I’d welcome him with open arms? “C’mon, babe, are you really going to bust my balls? Besides, you know how much I like it when you’re rough with me,” he teases, trying to get to me in that way that always seemed to work before.
But I’ve been here, done this, and don’t plan on having a repeat performance. Heartbreak is not my thing.
“What do you want?”
He shrugs sheepishly. “I’m back in town.”
“Good for you. What for? Chasing the dream fail or something?”
He laughs with a shake of his head, his dimples deepening. “Babe, I’m always chasing something….”
“Yeah, but chasing tail and chasing dreams are two entirely different things.”
He takes a step toward me, and I take one back, leery of him getting too close, the proven weakness in my armored heart. “I wasn’t that bad,” he says softly. “We were good together.”
