by Pamela Yaye
His mouth dropped open. Her words stunned him, and if Dante wasn’t already sitting down, he probably would’ve keeled over on the marble floor. He’d never, ever in all his years heard of anyone repeatedly refusing money. This was a first. But Jordana wasn’t just anyone. She was special, unlike anyone he had ever met. Her independent I’m-every-woman attitude was a turn-on.
“And,” she continued, “I’m returning the money you put into my account yesterday. I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t accept handouts, and I never will.”
“Jordana, you’re my fiancée now, and if your account’s in the red people will talk.”
“Which people?”
Dante scoffed. “Nosy-ass bank employees who snitch to the local newspapers.”
“Really? No way!”
“These days, everyone’s a spy, eager to leak stories to the media for a quick buck. I can’t have that. Our marriage has to appear rock solid, especially in the eyes of the court, or I’ll never win custody of Matteo.”
Jordana wore a sheepish smile. “I didn’t even think of that.”
“You’re keeping the money. End of story. Understood?”
“Are you always this bossy?”
Dante chuckled, and to his relief Jordana did, too.
“Since you’re making demands, I have a few of my own.”
“Fire away. I’m listening.”
Jordana raised her right hand, and stuck out her thumb. “Number one, no more working weekends. Number two, no monthlong overseas business trips. And number three, I expect you home in time for dinner every night.”
Dante wore a blank face. Her rules were unrealistic, unreasonable, too, considering he had not one, but two high-paying jobs. But to appease her he nodded in agreement, even promised to cook two nights a week. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Sharpe.”
“Mr. Lundqvist doesn’t call me The Closer for nothing.”
With those lips, and that body, your name should be Hot Like Fire, he thought.
“This just might work.” Tilting her head to the left, she stared at him through her long, dark eyelashes, a playful expression on her face. “You know this is crazy, right? Engaged today, married on Friday. I’m going to be the talk of the water cooler on Monday—”
“You can’t go back to LA Marketing. You have to quit.”
Her smile withered like a flower in the hot sun. “Why?”
“Because you’re going to be a Morretti, and Morrettis don’t work for minimum wage.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m my own person, and marrying you isn’t going to change that.”
“You should be happy. You’ve been talking about quitting for months.”
“You’re right, I have, but I don’t appreciate you telling me what to do.”
Rising from the table, her hands planted on her hips, she spoke in an authoritative voice. Dante liked how she carried herself, and her Lord-have-mercy shape, but it was her eyes that got him. What drew him in every time. Like right now. Jordana was reaming him out, but he didn’t defend himself because he was too busy admiring her physical assets. If not for Tavares, I would’ve made my move a long time ago.
“I’m not a puppet, and if you think you can boss me around once we’re married you’re sadly mistaken because I don’t answer to anyone.”
Jordana marched off, grumbling about him being a control freak, and Dante had to sprint down the hall to catch up to her. “Jordana, don’t go.” Worried she’d change her mind, he wore a contrite smile. “Let’s talk about this.”
To his relief, Jordana stopped. She refused to look at him, kept her eyes on the picture window overlooking the infinity pool, but Dante wasn’t fazed. He’d come too far to turn back now, and refused to give up. He stepped forward, got close enough to see the freckles on her nose, and catch a whiff of her lavender perfume. “I’m not trying to control you. I’m thinking about your future. This is your opportunity to better yourself and achieve your lifelong goals.”
“School is not for everyone,” she argued, dropping her gaze to the mosaic tile floor. “I did two years at Drake University, but it just wasn’t for me.”
“Who said anything about college? Enroll in acting classes. Take part in local plays and community theater. Get in front of as many casting directors as possible. They’ll not only begin to recognize you, but remember you, as well.”
“You make it sound so easy. Do you have any idea how many auditions I’ve been to over the last six years?” Her voice broke, but she spoke through her pain. “How many times I’ve been told I’m not good enough? Not pretty enough? Not thin enough?”
“It doesn’t matter what the haters say. Success is yours for the taking. But you have to fight for it. If this is what you want, don’t let anything stand in your way.”
Jordana sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders.
“You’re destined to be a star,” he said confidently, hoping his words inspired her. “Our marriage could turn out to be the biggest break of your career, so sit back and enjoy the ride.”
“I don’t like the idea of being a kept woman.”
“You’re not. You’re helping me take care of Matteo, and that’s a huge job.”
Her eyebrows drew together in a questioning slant. “It is?”
“Absolutely. I could hire a live-in nanny. But I’d rather have you here than someone who knows nothing about me or my son.”
“I never looked at it that way.”
“You should.” Dante slid a hand around her waist. He liked holding her, loved how she felt in his arms, and her soothing scent. “You’re the perfect person to play my wife.”
“I am? Why?”
“Because you’re an incredible woman with a beautiful spirit.”
A smile brightened her eyes. “Incredible, huh?”
“Damn right.” Dante sniffed the air. “And you smell good, too!”
“What will your family think about all this? Won’t they be disappointed that you ran off and got married without telling them?”
“They’ll understand. They know how much Matteo means to me,” he said. “What about you? Are you going to call your parents and tell them the good news?”
“No way. The less they know about our arrangement the better.”
Dante stroked his jaw. Her icy tone and the sober expression on her face confused him. Was Jordana embarrassed by him? Was she afraid her parents wouldn’t like him? He started to speak, but something stopped him from questioning her. It wasn’t important. All that mattered was winning custody of Matteo, and keeping him far away from Lourdes. To lighten the mood, he joked, “Do we have a deal, or do I have to post an ad for a temporary wife online?”
“I’ll...” She paused, then flashed a smile. “I’ll see you at the courthouse on Friday.”
“That’s my girl!”
“And don’t you forget it,” she quipped. “You can trust me, Dante. I have your back.”
Chapter 9
Jordana didn’t see the kiss coming. If she had, she would’ve turned away before Dante crushed his lips to her mouth. Or at least that’s what she told herself as she tried to break free of his grasp. It was a feeble, halfhearted attempt, and when Dante tightened his hold around her waist, she melted into his chest. He smelled good. Felt good. Tasted good. One kiss, and Jordana was hooked. It took everything in her not to push him to the ground, and rip off his clothes.
Lost in the moment, she closed her eyes, and draped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. It was their second kiss of the day—a shocking statistic considering they were friends without benefits. This time Jordana wasn’t letting him go until she had her fill. They kissed passionately, fervently, as if their next breath depended on it. His lips were on her mouth, then her ears, her neck and shoulders.
His hands got in the mix, too, playing with her curls, caressing her arms, cupping and squeezing her ass.
Rap music shattered the silence, and Jordana snapped to attention, surfacing from her sexual haze. “Dante, stop.” Panting her words, she braced her hands against his chest to keep him—and those juicy lips—at bay. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“You’re the one who’s always telling me to live in the moment and go with the flow,” he reminded her. “So, practice what you preach.”
His cell phone stopped ringing, but started up again seconds later.
“Do what feels right.” Dante moved closer, swallowing the space between them by taking a step forward. “Do you know what feels right to me, Jordana? Making love to you.”
His bold declaration, and the sound of his dreamy tone, sent shock waves through her body. Sleeping together would only complicate things, and Jordana didn’t want history to repeat itself. She had a horrible track record with men, and wanted to focus on her acting career, not her love life. Women approached Dante at every turn, day in and day out, and he loved the attention. That was reason enough to stick to their arrangement. “Dante, I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t do booty calls, or hook up with my friends.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to revise the terms of our agreement...”
Jordana should have been offended, upset that he was boldly undressing her with his eyes, but she was turned-on, more aroused than she’d ever been. It felt good to be desired, and if not for her disastrous dating history, she’d be all over him. “Dante, I won’t be your plaything. I deserve more than that.”
“I’m not looking for a relationship. Not right now. I have to focus on Matteo.”
“And I have to do what’s right for me. How would it look if I slept with you—”
“We’re adults, not kids. We don’t have to answer to anybody about what we do behind closed doors. Besides, we’re engaged. We’re supposed to be having amazing sex.”
His cell phone vibrated, buzzing incessantly.
“Answer it. It’s obvious someone really wants to talk to you.”
“Sorry. It’s Markos,” he said, wearing an apologetic smile. “It better be important or I’m going to kick his ass for bothering us.”
Jordana laughed, but she was glad for the interruption. She needed a few minutes to gather herself. She sighed in relief when Dante marched over to the table and grabbed his iPhone. He sure knows how to wear a suit, she thought, admiring his trim physique.
Dante put the phone to his ear, and shouted into the device. “What?” he growled, his voice colder than ice. “Why are you blowing up my phone?”
Catching sight of her reflection in the bronze mirror hanging beside the cupboard, Jordana fluffed her unruly hair, and straightened her dress.
“When did this happen? Was Matteo with her? Is she in police custody?”
Panicked, Jordana whipped around. She watched as Dante sank into the closest chair, and dropped his face in his hands. To comfort him, Jordana crossed the room, and rested a hand on his forearm. Holding her breath, she waited for Dante to end his phone call, and tell her what was going on.
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” he said, his tone resigned. “I saw this coming.”
Jordana frowned, staring at Dante in confusion. It didn’t make sense. His voice sounded grave, as if he’d received horrible, life-changing news, yet he smiled. Jordana wanted to question him but she exercised self-control. Patience had never been her strong suit, and the more time passed, the more her hands sweat, her heart raced and knots coiled inside her stomach.
“Thanks for giving me the heads-up, bro. Tell Officer Núnez I said good work.”
Dante ended the call, and placed his cell phone on the table. He didn’t say anything, just stared off into space with a pensive expression on his face.
“What’s wrong?” Jordana asked, filled with curiosity. “What happened?”
“Lourdes was arrested.”
“Arrested? What for?”
“Driving under the influence.”
“Are you sure? Maybe it’s just a crazy rumor. You know how LA is.”
“It’s not a crazy rumor,” he said sharply. “Markos has a friend in the LAPD who called and informed him of the arrest...”
Her heart ached for Lourdes, and Matteo. To this day, some twenty years later, she still remembered the bitter pain of seeing her mother struggle with substance abuse. Growing up poor, and watching Helene work night and day to make ends meet, Jordana had a great appreciation for single moms. She hoped Lourdes would get the help she needed.
“An officer spotted her driving erratically through her neighborhood, and pulled her over. She failed the Breathalyzer test, then became loud and belligerent with the officer.”
“Oh, no, that’s awful.”
“No, that’s karma,” he countered.
A thought popped in her mind, chilling her to the bone. “Was Matteo in the car?”
Dante released a deep sigh. “No, thank God. He doesn’t have school today, so he’s spending the day with Lourdes’s younger sister. Chanelle is a pediatric nurse, and she has a couple kids around his age so I know Matteo’s in good hands.”
“I feel so useless. I wish there was something I could do to help.”
“Lourdes got herself in this mess, and she can get herself out of it.”
His cell phone rang, and he glanced down at the screen.
“Speak of the devil!” Dante barked a laugh. “Lourdes must be out of her damn mind.”
“Why? What is it?”
“She’s calling me collect from jail.”
“And you’re not going to answer it? Why not?”
He gave her an odd look. “Isn’t it obvious? She’s selfish and inconsiderate, and I want nothing to do with her.”
“Dante, she’s the mother of your child.”
“So? What does that have to do with anything?”
“I think you should bail her out.”
“And I think you should spend the night.”
His eyes found hers, held her in their seductive grip. But Jordana remained strong, stayed the course. Flirting with Dante would lead to kissing, then touching and undressing. Now more than ever she needed a clear head. “Please reconsider—”
“There’s nothing to reconsider.” Dante picked up his bottle, downed the rest of his water, and crushed it in his hands. “We’re divorced. She’s not my problem anymore, and I won’t let her pull the wool over my eyes ever again.”
“You need Lourdes just as much as she needs you.”
“Trust me. I don’t.” Dante stood. “Make yourself at home. I shouldn’t be long.”
Jordana jumped to her feet. “Are you going to the police station?”
“No, my office. Markos is going to file for emergency custody on my behalf and I need to fax him the necessary paperwork within the hour.”
“If you’re getting custody, then you don’t need me. We don’t have to get married.”
“You’re wrong. I need you now more than ever.”
“I’ll marry you, but I need you to do me a favor.”
“Sure, Jordana, anything.”
“Bail Lourdes out of jail, and pay for her to go to rehab.”
His face hardened like stone. “Why?” he asked, through clenched teeth. “Why do you care what happens to my ex-wife?”
“Because, I see myself in Lourdes—”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re not a raging alcoholic...”
No, but I’ve made a lot of mistakes and I’ve done things I’m deeply ashamed of.
“Jordana, stay out of this. It doesn’t concern you.”
The ferocity of his tone, and the wounded expression on his face, shocked her, making her fe
el guilty for speaking her mind. Her mom had raised her to stand for what was right, but Jordana feared she’d misspoke. Dante was someone she could always count on, and she was mad at herself for upsetting him. She wanted to tell Dante everything—about her turbulent childhood, her love-hate relationship with her dad, and her wild, reckless college years—but her lips wouldn’t form the words. Dante was a perfectionist who’d lived a charmed life, and he wouldn’t understand the stupid choices she’d made. “I care about Matteo, and I know how much he loves his mom,” she said quietly, wishing he’d quit glaring at her. “To thrive, children need both parents, and I’d hate to see him caught in the cross fire in your battle with Lourdes. He’s a great kid, and for his sake I want it to stay that way.”
“I thought you were an aspiring actress. When did you become a child psychologist?”
Jordana ignored the jab. She had to keep her eye on the big picture, on what mattered most. “For Matteo’s sake, extend an olive branch to Lourdes, and work toward being friends.”
“Friends? You’re kidding me, right?” Dante wore a blank look, staring at her with a disgusted expression on his face. “I believe in moving forward, not backward, so being buddies with my ex-wife is definitely out of the question.”
“Please?” she begged, pleading for his understanding. She’d always had a soft spot for single moms, for women who’d fallen on hard times, and felt compelled to advocate for Lourdes. From what she’d seen, Lourdes loved and adored Matteo. Dante couldn’t convince her otherwise. “I’ll never ask you for anything again. I swear.”
His mouth thinned. She could see the emotional roller coaster he was on, and wondered if she’d made a mistake, pushed him too far.
“I’ll return the money you put into my bank account. You can use it to bail Lourdes out—”
“Enough.” His voice was resigned, tinged with pain. “I’ll do it.”
“Thanks, Dante. You’re doing the right thing—” Jordana broke off speaking. He grabbed his cell phone off the counter, and stormed out of the kitchen. Hearing a door slam, she hung her head, fearing she’d hurt the only man who’d ever given a damn about her.
