Sugar Sweet Sin

That Night

I don't know anything except that I'm no match for the man in front of me. And that I really should tell him to get up, to leave, but I can't.

My heart nearly stops as he reaches out and brushes a bit of hair out of my face. The touch feels so natural—and why shouldn't it, when he's touched me like that a hundred times before? Once again, all I have to do was blink and it suddenly feels as if no time has passed between us at all.

Why did he have to come back into my life?

He smells the same. Feels the same. And he has the same effect on me now that he did back then, in spite of everything. It's not something a body forgets, being this close to Dante. His presence alone makes me breathless, but being so close to him, feeling his heat and his breath and his fingers stroking my hair... This is bad. Very bad.

I force myself instead to think of the pain—of that night when everything fell apart. The years have done little to dull the hurt, to make me forget.

"Ash," he says, the rumble of his voice drawing me back into the present. He's still touching me—in fact, his hand has curled around the side of my face, and his eyes have softened just enough to make my insides go weak.

I turn my face away from him.

"I don't know what you want," I say, "but I have nothing to give you."

"Because of Jack."

"Among other reasons."

I don't have to be any more specific than that—I can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows I'm referring to how things ended between us the last time around. But he doesn't rise, doesn't look away.

"Ash."

"Don't," I say, holding up a hand. "It doesn't matter now."

He presses his lips together. That's another thing he always did when he was working through a plot issue in one of his scripts.

And then he leans toward me. And though he doesn't touch me this time, the movement sends a wave of anticipation through my body.

"Will he fight for you?" he asks, his voice rough. "This Jack fellow—how badly does he want you?"

"I've already told you he'll fight for me," I whisper. "And even if he weren't in the picture, I'd fight for myself against you."

I mean it to sting, but instead, the corner of Dante's mouth tilts up. He was already too close, but now he shifts even nearer, putting his lips right against my ear the way he did last night.

"Convince me," he growls.

My good hand rises to his chest. I intend to push him away, but when I feel the heat of him beneath my palm, I suddenly find it hard to move.

"Convince me," he repeats, softer this time. His hand rises to catch my wrist, and though he isn't holding me against him, he might as well be, so affected am I by that touch.

I want to convince him. And at the same time, I want to sink into his arms, to taste his lips, to lose myself in him again like I did all those years ago.

And I might have done it, too, if the sound of my doorbell weren't suddenly chiming through the air.

We both jump.

"Food," I say, a little too breathlessly. "You need to answer the door."

The look in his eyes tells me that food is the last thing on his mind, but when the doorbell rings again, he gets up without a word.

The minute he's gone, I grab my phone again. I want to send an S.O.S. to Jack, but I stop with my thumb hovering over the screen. What good will it do to message him? It's not like I expect him to leave work or to blow off his plans with Evan tonight. I might be desperate, but I'm not that selfish.