Priceless (An Amato Brothers/Rixton Falls crossover)

by Winter Renshaw

  I run my fingers through his feathery, coffee-brown hair and press my lips against his smooth forehead.

  My baby.

  “How are you doing, Beck?” I ask, head tilted.

  He gives me a crazy look, eyes darting from side to side.

  “I’m o . . . okay, Mom. Why?”

  “Just making sure you’re hanging in there. You two have been through a lot of changes this year,” I say. “I just want you to know you can always tell me anything you need. If anything bothers you or if you’re sad or unhappy, I want you to tell me right away, okay?”

  Beck nods.

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “Promise?”

  He nods again, smiling his gap-toothed grin.

  “You and your brother will always come first,” I say. “I want you to know that. You’ll always be my number ones. Equally. Forever. Nothing will ever change that.”

  “Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you too.”

  I rise from his bed and reach for his lamp.

  “Mom?” he asks.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Do you think you’ll ever get married again?” Beck’s dark brows are lifted. I can’t get a read on him, and I don’t know where he’s going with this.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I think you should,” he says. “Dad said he’s going to ask Lauren to marry him soon. I just don’t want you to be lonely.”

  “I’m not lonely, sweetheart,” I say with tenderness. “I have you. And Dash.”

  “But we’re going to grow up, right? And we’re going to move out and get married, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And you’re going to be all alone,” he says.

  “I’ll be okay,” I assure him.

  “I guess I could stay with you. I don’t have to go to college. I can just live here, that way you’re not alone.” His expression is serious, and I know he means every word of his proposal. For a flash of a second, I’m picturing a thirty-year-old Beck still living at home, his days filled with video games and takeout pizza.

  “No,” I say. “No, no, no. That won’t be necessary.”

  Beck pulls the covers to his chin and smirks, his little button nose wrinkling.

  I blow him a kiss and close the door behind me, checking on Dash on my way back to my room. He’s lying in bed, reading, his book light illuminating his angled features. Every time I look at him, he looks older than the time before.

  “Don’t stay up too late,” I whisper from my side of the door.

  He’s so engrossed in his library book he doesn’t hear me, so I take advantage of that and watch him a few seconds longer.

  By the time I’m in bed myself, I find a moment to check my phone. Saige messaged me earlier about meeting for lunch again, and Tiffin wanted to know if Beck could come over this Friday to hang out with Liam after school. There’s another message from my mom, a photo of her and my dad on vacation in Jamaica.

  I fire back messages, one by one, and clear them out. Disappointment trickles over me when I realize Dante isn’t bothering me tonight.

  I secretly enjoy it when he bothers me.

  Re-reading our messages from earlier, I fall asleep with a perma-smile on my face.

  “You’re getting waxed, right?” Saige asks me in between crunches Thursday morning. It’s six in the morning and Axel stands before us, arms crossed as he counts reps. I should’ve waited until after our workout before telling her about my date this Saturday with Dante.

  “What? No,” I say, fighting through the burn in my abs. “There’s no point. I’m not sleeping with him.”

  “Yes you are,” she says without missing a beat.

  “No. I’m not.”

  “You so are.”

  “Ladies,” Axel barks. “We only have an hour. Let’s make it count.”

  “Only an hour?” Saige grunts under her breath.

  “You didn’t have to come,” I tell her. “For someone who hates working out, you’re sure insistent on joining me for these sessions.”

  Axel’s back is to us for a second as he says something to another trainer who passes by.

  “Hell, if I could afford it, I’d have him train me every day of the week,” she says. “He’s so fucking hot.”

  I swat her and quickly replace my hand behind my head before he sees.

  “What?” she wrinkles her nose. “I may be married, but I’m not dead. I can look as long as I don’t touch, but anyway, let’s get back to this Brazilian wax you’re going to get.”

  Rolling my eyes, I collapse onto my mat when I hear Axel get to thirty. My abs are on fire and we’ve only begun.

  “Twenty seconds, then we’re at it again, ladies,” he says, voice deep in his barrel chest. He turns away again, chatting to a girl who struts by in expensive yoga pants and a hot pink bra who looks young enough to have never lived a day in her life without internet access.

  “I’m not getting waxed,” I say. “And I’m not screwing him anyway, so this conversation is pointless.”

  “But you don’t know that. You never know what’s going to happen. One thing always leads to another,” she says. “And guys like Dante appreciate some grooming down there. They like to see what they’re working with. Men are very visual.”

  “Stop.” I swat at her once more as Axel points to the floor and tells us to get ready to begin again.

  “I’ll make you an appointment with my girl,” she whispers.

  “No thanks.”

  Saige’s lips twist into a stifled smirk. I know her. She’s going to push and prod until I cave in and next thing I know, I’ll be checking in for my wax appointment and lying spread eagle on some table in some woman’s waxing studio.

  I never should’ve said anything to Saige, at least not yet. I guess I let my excitement get the best of me . . .

  And yeah, I’m shockingly excited about this date.

  Nervous and terrified too.

  But mostly excited.

  It’s half past seven Saturday night and already I’ve peed eleven times today. My stomach rumbles, begging me to feed it, but we’re going out to dinner soon, and besides, I haven’t been able to eat more than a handful of crackers and a mug of Earl Grey tea. My stomach has been tied in knots all day, my heart nearly arrhythmic every time I think too long about the reality of this situation.

  Dash is staying at a friends’ tonight for a birthday party, and Beck wanted to stay a second night at Liam’s. It’s a good thing, too, because I’m not quite ready to explain to them what I’m doing.

  Or answer their millions of questions.

  One thing at a time here.

  Deep breath.

  All week I’ve been excited for my date with Dante, but tonight, as I’m less than an hour from seeing his face at my door, I’m having some seriously deep reservations.

  What the hell am I doing?

  We’re completely mismatched. Our priorities couldn’t possibly be any different. He’s this suave, successful, ridiculously attractive twenty-seven-year-old living his prime years one carefree day at a time, and I’m a thirty-something single mom whose hobbies include list making . . . and list making.

  I’m fooling myself if I think this man actually wants to date me for me. He has to have a MILF fetish or a screw loose or something.

  Standing before my bathroom mirror, I stick a hair pin between my lips and sweep my hair back into an elegant chignon. I squeezed my body into a sexy black dress and at Saige’s insistence, I went out and splurged on a pair of fuck me heels.

  And I’m waxed clean, which was a blast to experience.

  But now I feel silly, and it’s too late to cancel, so I have to do this.

  My phone lights up with a text.

  From him.

  ON MY WAY. CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU, MAREN.

  Closing my eyes and drawing in a cool breath, I pull my shoulders back and give myself a minute, reminding myself that for all intents and purposes, Dante wants to see me. H
e wants to take me on a date.

  Until I have proof of ulterior motives, I suppose it would be pointless to waste any time worrying about them.

  Snapping myself out of this self-induced frenzy, I open my eyes, take a drink from the glass of red wine I poured for myself earlier, and begin applying my makeup. Brushing sheer foundation over my skin, I make a mental list of goals for tonight:

  Laugh.

  Have fun with Dante.

  Relish in how good it feels to be wanted again.

  Maybe let him kiss me.

  By the time my face is done and I’ve given my hair an extra mist or two of hairspray, the doorbell chimes downstairs.

  He’s here.

  Oh, God.

  He’s here.

  I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

  Chapter 16

  Dante

  I ring her doorbell just before eight o’clock Saturday night, a bouquet of blue hydrangeas in hand. I may as well have a boutonniere on my lapel, because everything about this feels like a high school prom date. Even my car is freshly washed and waxed.

  The door swings open a moment later, and for a good thirty seconds I find it extremely difficult to breathe.

  She gives me a closed-lip half-smile, her shoulders back and her hand running the length of an extremely form-fitting, deliciously flattering little black dress. Her breasts are lifted, nearly spilling from the cups that barely contain them, and her lips are slicked in a shade of deep pink, but she still looks classy, and I’m honored to wear her on my arm tonight.

  “Maren,” I say when I finally come to. “You look stunning.”

  “Hydrangeas, just like you promised,” she says, smiling wide. “I love them. Thank you.” She takes the flowers and motions for me to follow her inside. “I’m just going to put these in some water.”

  Standing in her foyer, I glance around, my gaze stopping on a wall of photographs of her sons. The home smells like vanilla and cinnamon and clean laundry. The furniture is more comfortable than stylish. It feels like a family home, and in a lot of ways, it reminds me of the one I grew up in, only mine smelled more like garlic and oregano and our furniture was beat to hell because of my brothers always doing backflips from the arms and backrests.

  “Ready?” she asks when she returns, grabbing a black clutch from a narrow table in the hall. She unsnaps it, checks inside, and then fastens it before tucking it under her arm. “You going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “Ever heard of The Onyx Key?”

  Maren locks the door behind her, and I wait.

  “I don’t think so,” she says.

  “It’s a private restaurant. Members only,” I say as a warm, late September breeze floats past us. “It’s on the roof of the Bluestone building downtown. The views are exquisite. The food is to die for. I promise you’ll love it.”

  Maren smiles, slipping her hand into the bend of my elbow as I lead her to my car. If she’s nervous, she’s sure as hell not showing it. Everything about her looks confident and self-assured, and I’m damn proud to have her on my arm tonight.

  I wait for her to climb in, and I close the door behind her, stealing a glance every chance I get. Her dark hair is swept off her neck, twisted and pinned back. She reminds me of a modern day Sophia Loren with her timeless beauty and hourglass curves.

  I take my spot beside her and start the engine, my heart pounding in my chest and my hands resisting the urge to reach over and take hers because everything about her is begging to be touched right now. Her pillowed lips. Her smooth skin. The soft wisps of hair that frame the side of her face.

  Tonight is going to require a higher level of self-restraint than I’m used to, that’s for damn sure.

  Chapter 17

  Maren

  “Hold still.” Dante brushes the pad of his thumb across my lower lip as we leave The Onyx Key and head toward the elevator Saturday night. For the past two hours, we laughed and talked and ate delicious food and drank delicious wine, our evening framed by the twinkle of Seattle at night and lit by the night sky above. “There. You had something on your lip.”

  I press my mouth into a straight line, creating an air-tight seam. My lipstick has long worn off, and I no longer have my temporary kiss deterrent. But it doesn’t matter now. I’m warm, I’m relaxed. I’m pliable. If he wanted to kiss me, I’d let him. I wouldn’t stop him. I’d probably do a lot of things with him tonight, though maybe that’s the wine talking.

  The truth is, Dante’s been nothing but a gentleman since the minute he picked me up. In fact, I’ve checked off almost everything on my mental to do list tonight. I’ve laughed. I’ve had fun. I’ve relished in how good it feels to be wanted again. All that’s left is that kiss . . .

  The elevator doors ding and part, and we step on. It’s just us, the intensity between us palpable.

  Dante’s been staring at me all night, looking like he wants to devour me. Every once in a while, I’d catch his body tensing, his jaw flexing. Sometimes he’d look away, but his eyes would always return to me like they couldn’t get enough.

  He basically eye fucked me all evening.

  So we’ve fictionally fucked and now we’ve eye fucked, and that means the real thing is truly the next logical step here.

  “Maren,” he says when we reach the lowest level of the building, “did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

  The ground feels slightly unsteady. I’m not sure how much wine I’ve had, but I don’t think I’m drunk. Slightly buzzed. Definitely relaxed. But not drunk. I’m still fully capable of making decisions, both reckless and non-reckless.

  “Yes,” I answer, painstakingly aware of the fact that there’s a brick wall behind me that he is currently not pressing me against, aware of the fact that his fingers aren’t in my hair and his mouth isn’t claiming mine. “Isn’t this the part of our date where you’re supposed to kiss me?”

  We stop walking, and Dante turns to me, head cocked to the side and eyes glinting. He drags his hand along his jaw and smirks.

  “Yeah,” he says. “It is. This is the part where I kiss you.”

  My heart hammers in my chest, and I take a step backward, straddling apprehension and excitement. I’ve never kissed anyone but Nathan in my adult life.

  “Do you want me to kiss you?” he asks. He must sense my trepidation.

  I try to speak, but my voice feels like a squeak in the back of my throat, and nothing comes out but air, so I swallow my words and nod instead.

  His hand lifts to my face, his fingertips grazing the underside of my jaw as he angles my chin upward.

  I swallow, willing the nervous ball in my throat to dissipate so I can truly enjoy what’s about to happen because every fiber of my body feels pretty damn sure this is going to be a momentous occasion. Licking my lips, I pull in a deep breath at the very moment Dante lunges for me.

  His mouth is on mine, warm and soft, and the instant our tongues meet, I can no longer feel my feet or the ground beneath it. I don’t feel the jagged brick wall digging into the bare flesh of my back behind me. I don’t hear the whir and rush of the city traffic that rushes past. I only feel his hands in my hair and his tongue between my lips, and I’m painstakingly aware of the way our bodies line up perfectly.

  He tastes like sweet red wine and peppermint gum, and his spicy, clean cologne makes me dizzy with anticipation because I want to know how it smells on his naked flesh.

  In my mind, I’m already running my palms along his smooth chest, tasting his lips, feeling the power in his thrust.

  Dante pulls away, and I’m already breathless. His lips are cherry red from kissing me so hard, and we both smile.

  I want more.

  I liked that.

  A lot.

  “Nobody’s ever kissed me like that before,” I manage to say.

  He slips his hand in mine and pulls me to the valet stand under the royal blue awning of the Bluestone building.

  “Come home with me tonight,” he says, pulling me into
him. His breath is hot on my ear, and his words tickle my eardrum and send three-dimensional tingles down my spine.

  Maybe it’s the wine speaking . . . maybe it’s a decade-plus of never feeling anything remotely as magical or intense as this despite believing I was head over heels in love with Nathan in my younger days . . . but tonight, I’m going home with Dante Amato.

  I’m throwing caution to the wind.

  I’m not thinking about all the reasons I shouldn’t be with him or how nothing good ever comes from reckless behavior.

  Tonight, I’m thinking about how good he’s going to feel inside me.

  “Fine,” I say, heart beating so hard in my ears that I can hardly hear my own thoughts. The image of him at dinner floods my mind – the way he slipped his hand over mine so casually. The way he refused to take his eyes off me all night. The way he asked about my boys and laughed at my stories like he knew them. “I’ll come home with you.”

  Chapter 18

  Dante

  “This is where you live?” she asks as we pull closer to my new, temporary living quarters.

  “Only for the next four or five months,” I say. “My brother found me this rental. Hotel Noir was nice, but I can only live in a five-hundred-square-foot shoebox for so long. Was starting to feel suffocated.”

  “It was a luxurious five-hundred-square-foot shoebox,” she says. “But I get it. It’s nice to have the space and the windows and the privacy.”

  I turn onto Monserrat Drive before making a left on Strawberry Hill.

  “My ex lives in this neighborhood,” she says, watching the street signs as we pass. “Small world.”

  I take a right on Belle Plaines.

  “He lives on this street, actually,” she says, speaking slowly and peering around.

  I pull into the rental house, an all-brick McMansion better suited for a family of five, and kill the engine.

  “We’re here,” I say, reaching for the keys.

  Maren stares to the right, her jaw slightly hinged. “That’s Nathan’s house. You live next door to my ex-husband.”