Priceless (An Amato Brothers/Rixton Falls crossover)

by Winter Renshaw

  Nathan doesn’t smile and his jaw flexes. “So you mean to tell me this is all coincidence?”

  I hook my hand on my right hip and nod. “Yep.”

  “You’re so full of fucking shit, Maren,” he seethes under his breath. I see him glance over my shoulder, but the boys are in the kitchen making all kinds of racket, so I’m sure they don’t hear our little exchange of pleasantries.

  “You can’t come into my house and speak to me like that,” I say, stepping closer. “Watch yourself, Nathan.”

  He scoffs. “I fucking bought this house. You did nothing but sign a piece of paper.”

  My teeth grind, and I point at my chest. “I did nothing? Really? Nothing? I didn’t give birth to two of your children? I didn’t sacrifice my career? I didn’t keep your house while you were running off behind my back fucking that fake-breasted skeleton?”

  I see red and my body is on fire. Everything burns. My eyes. My chest. My lips. I can’t even feel my face. Every cell in my body buzzes. I’ve never felt more alive. If this is what Saige was talking about when she said anger is healthy, then I’ll have to let her know, once again, that she was right because this feels fan-fucking-tastic.

  From the corner of my eye, I see the crystal Baccarat vase that Nathan bought me for our second anniversary. I’d only kept it because it was pretty and heirloom quality.

  With my eye on the vase, I have a wild hair to destroy this thing exactly like he did our marriage.

  Before I realize what I’m doing, I grab it and chuck it in his general direction.

  It whirs past his head and slams against the front door, falling to the tile foyer floor and shattering into a million tiny shards.

  Nathan’s eyes are wide, his brows lifted. He looks legitimately scared of me right now, and part of that might be due to the wide smile claiming my face.

  “Maren,” he speaks to me with the kind of tone a psychiatrist might use with a patient they’re about to sedate, yet another thing that makes me laugh. “Maren, I think you should have a seat. Take some deep breaths.”

  “What was that?” Dash peeks his head from around the corner and glances around.

  “It was nothing. Get back in the kitchen,” Nathan barks. “Maren. Sit. Down.”

  “Fuck you, Nathan.” I glare at him. “Get out of my house and run back to Lauren. And by the way, please send her my sincerest thanks. Tell her I definitely owe her one.”

  He squints. “What for?”

  “She had her sister, Keegan, fire me from my job today,” I say. “But it’s okay. My boyfriend is going to make damn sure I never have to want for anything ever again.”

  Okay, okay.

  I’m lying.

  Dante isn’t my boyfriend. At least not yet anyway.

  And he’s not giving me his Black Amex by any means.

  But the look on Nathan’s face right now is worth all the little white lies in the world.

  There’s a hint of pain in his eyes, a jealous snare on his mouth, and a hunch in his shoulders that isn’t usually there. Turning his back to me, he storms toward the door, his dress shoes crunching over broken glass, and when he leaves, he slams the door behind him.

  I win.

  For once, I win.

  Chapter 24

  Dante

  “Dante.” I hear a man’s voice as I unlock my car Friday morning. Standing in my driveway, I check my surroundings until my gaze falls on Nathan. He’s standing behind the hedges that separate our drives, but as soon as I acknowledge him, he makes his way toward me. “I need a word with you.”

  “I’ll pass,” I say, averting my eyes. I’m supposed to meet Maren in my office at eight. She’s bringing the proposal she’s been working on all week, and aside from that, I’m really looking forward to seeing her. She’s had her kids since Tuesday, and I’m going through some major Maren withdrawals. I crave her taste on my tongue the way a crack addict craves another hit. I’m going mad without her, physically coming out of my skin.

  “It’ll only take a second,” he says, stepping toward me and clearly refusing to take “no” for an answer.

  I climb in my car and start the engine before rolling down the window. With my foot pressed into the brake, I shift into reverse. This jackass needs to know I don’t have time for this shit.

  Nathan leans into my window, resting his pudgy elbows in my airspace and filling my car with a cologne I recognize. It’s one that Lauren purchased for me two Christmases ago. It was pricey, and I hated it. I thought it smelled like horse shit covered in soggy moss, but she loved it. Funny she’s convinced this loser to wear it.

  “How can I help you?” I ask disingenuously, pushing an impatient breath through my nostrils.

  “I need to talk to you about Maren.”

  Chapter 25

  Maren

  “I convinced your assistant to let me in. I wanted to surprise you.” I’m seated behind Dante’s desk, my tan curves shoved into a little black negligee that leaves very little to the imagination.

  “What’s all this?” he asks, walking around his desk.

  He isn’t smiling.

  Yet.

  But he will be.

  Soon.

  “I hope this isn’t going to distract you while we go over my proposal, Mr. Amato,” I say with a wink. Rising, I slide my hands up the lapels of his suit jacket. His eyes hold on mine, and I rise on my toes to kiss him, only the way he kisses me back gives me pause. “What? What is it?”

  “Your ex,” Dante says, his jaw tense, “approached me this morning.”

  “Oh, god. What’d he want?” I laugh because I can only imagine the insane things coming out of Nathan’s mouth after the other night.

  “He says you’re only sleeping with me to get back at him.”

  I laugh. “That’s hilarious. He tried to say the same thing to me, and I kindly reminded him that he’s the last thing I think about when I’m . . . spending time with you.”

  “He also says you told him I was taking care of you,” Dante says. “He said you told him about me loaning you money, and he tried to say you’re only with me for the money.”

  My cheeks burn like fire. “Oh, shit. I did say you were helping me launch my business. But I’m not with you for your money. You know that.”

  He lifts his brows, silently demanding an explanation. And I rack my brain, trying to come up with one that doesn’t make me sound like I’m completely playing both sides here. I can’t say I wanted to make Nathan jealous because then it sounds like I still like him. But if I don’t say that, then he’s going to think I’m taking advantage of his generosity and bragging about it, which isn’t me at all.

  I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but Nathan was pushing my buttons and I let my ego get the best of me.

  “Look.” Dante exhales. “I want to help you, Maren, but I don’t need everyone knowing our business. I’ve given money to people in the past, and as soon as word gets out, I’ve got ten more lined up at my door asking for loans. I guess I thought our little arrangement was just between us.”

  “It is,” I say, pressing my palms flat against his chest and looking him straight in the eye. “Dante, I am so, so sorry. It’s not what it sounds like. At all.”

  “He also said you referred to me as your . . . boyfriend.”

  My cheeks burn hotter than before.

  I can’t believe I let my anger and pettiness get the best of me Tuesday night. But damn, it did feel good for a minute or two.

  “We got into it when he dropped the kids off the other night,” I say. “He came in with this chip on his shoulder, accusing you and me of screwing to get back at him and Lauren. It turned into a bit of a shouting match, and I may have mentioned the thing about Lauren’s sister firing me, and then I may have chucked a crystal vase at him, and then I may have implied those other things that he cared to share with you this morning. But I didn’t mean them. I was only saying them out of spite.”

  Dante studies my face, breathing steadily.
<
br />   “I know it sounds bad,” I continue. “I’m so, so sorry. I let him get me all worked up that night, and everything just kind of came out the way it did, and it was wrong. I shouldn’t have said those things. I shouldn’t have told him you were taking care of me or that you were my boyfriend. I know it isn’t like that.”

  “Maren.” Dante clears his throat. “I understand. Just, please, don’t let it happen again.”

  “You have my word.” I say, moving to grab my dress. It’s folded and resting on a shelf in his bookcase. Sitting here discussing business in lingerie, after this heavy conversation, suddenly feels a bit ridiculous. I was only trying to be cute. I was only trying to get a smile out of him.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Putting my clothes back on.”

  “Why?”

  I unfold my dress, brows angling and back toward him. “Because . . .”

  Within seconds, I hear his feet grazing the carpet in confident strides just before he hooks his hands around my waist from behind.

  “I like you like this,” he says.

  I detect a hint of a smile in his voice and breathe a sigh of relief. I will never lie about our relationship status ever again.

  No matter what.

  Even if I’m dying to stick it to Nathan.

  Dante’s lips are warm on the back of my neck, sending tingles down my spine. The hard outline of his erect cock presses against my backside. His fingers tug at the hem of my negligee before careening between my thighs and dragging along my seam.

  “Crotchless,” his voices buzzes into my ear.

  “You like?”

  “Mm hm.” He spins me to face him, pressing his mouth hard against mine and backing me toward his desk. Hoisting me up, he separates my thighs and presses himself against me. With his head buried in the bend of my neck, I feel him breathe me in, and I let my head fall back.

  “You locked the door, right?” I ask.

  “Hell fucking yes, I locked the door.” He reaches for his fly, the clinking of his belt against his zipper a precursor to the inevitable.

  Good to know he wasn’t going to hold the whole Nathan thing against me . . . at least not permanently.

  “I’ve been waiting all week for this,” he says, his words a warm breath against my skin.

  “I hate pretending you don’t exist fifty percent of the time,” Dante says as we clean ourselves up in his private bath. I tug my dress over my head and fluff my hair over my shoulders. “Not being able to see you or touch you . . . it kills me.”

  “My kids are number one,” I say. “You know that.”

  “Why can’t I meet them?”

  I laugh. “Because you’re just some guy I’m fucking. They don’t need to meet you.”

  His face falls. I didn’t think about how harsh those words would sound out loud.

  “You’re not my boyfriend, you said so yourself,” I remind him. “You were upset that I told Nathan you were my boyfriend, remember?”

  “I wasn’t upset that you told him I was your boyfriend.” He sighs, eyes narrowing. “I was upset that I heard it from him and not you.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “We can have this discussion soon. We can figure out what we are and what this is. But for now, you have to understand, I don’t want to introduce them to someone they might never see again. They’re so impressionable, and they get attached so easily.”

  “But it’s okay for Nathan to do it?”

  “Nathan and Lauren,” I sigh, “are together. Formally. They live together.”

  “Yeah, but what if your boys get attached to her? And what if they break up? You can’t protect them from those things forever.”

  “What you and I have is a bit less . . .” I don’t even know what I want to say or how to say it without sounding brash and ruining this afterglow we’re basking in.

  “Less what?” He steps closer. “I’m not fucking anyone else. Are you?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not dating anyone else. Are you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to be exclusive?”

  I guess we’re having this conversation . . . now.

  My lips part, but there’s no sound. I wasn’t expecting this question. Not today. Not this soon.

  “You did tell your ex that I was your boyfriend,” he reminds me, smirking. “So you can’t tell me the thought has never crossed your mind.”

  “Do you want to be my . . . do you want to be together?” I ask. “Do you want me to be your girlfriend?”

  It feels odd saying the words I haven’t spoken since college. It’s like squeezing into a pair of jeans that you used to love but now they feel different.

  For almost thirteen years, I was someone’s wife.

  And now someone wants me to be their girlfriend.

  It almost feels novel.

  “I do,” he says, taking my hand in his and lifting it to his mouth. Brushing his lips across the top of my hand, he leaves a kiss as our eyes hold. “I’m crazy about you, Maren Greene.”

  My lips wiggle for a moment. I can’t bring myself to respond because the feeling is so real but the words are so trite.

  So I kiss him. Hard.

  That’s my response.

  Chapter 26

  Dante

  I step out of Maren’s shower Monday morning and change into the clothes I brought for work when I came over last night. I waited all weekend to see her, respecting her wishes when she asked if I could come over Sunday night . . . after . . . her boys went to their dad’s.

  We’re officially dating now.

  Maren is my girlfriend.

  But we’re taking things at a snail’s pace, because why rush a good thing?

  When the time is right, I’ll meet Dash and Beck. In the meantime, I get to see pictures and hear stories, and I’m actually kind of excited to get to know them in real life eventually. They sound like good kids.

  The smell of savory breakfast meat wafts upstairs as I get ready. Maren’s excellent in the kitchen, I’ve come to learn, so I’ll gladly make time to eat before I dash out the door.

  “Whatcha making?” I ask, coming around the corner and stopping dead in my tracks when I see my sexy-as-hell girlfriend in nothing but a pink floral apron, slaving over a hot stove and grinning wide when she sees me. “What’s all this?”

  “Just thought I’d whip you up a little breakfast before you left,” she says. “Just doing what any good girlfriend would do.”

  I come up behind her, pressing my hips against hers and resting my hands on her sides. Lowering my mouth to her shoulders, I pepper kisses into her flesh as she scrambles eggs in a skillet.

  “Why don’t we forget about breakfast and I can just eat you instead?” I turn her to face me.

  Maren smiles, lifting on her toes and pressing her lips against mine. “I’m afraid I’m not that filling.”

  “I beg to differ,” I kiss her again, hard.

  And then we both hear something.

  Jerking our attention toward the living room, we freeze in an attempt to hear above the sizzle of the food as it cooks behind us.

  “Mom!” a kid’s voice yells. “Mom, where are you? I forgot my backpack. Where is it?”

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Maren scuttles around the kitchen, completely naked save for her apron, and looks at me with nothing but sheer panic in her eyes.

  I can’t help but laugh, which causes her to gift me with a dirty look. She’s grabbing and tugging at the fabric, but it’s barely covering her naughty areas.

  “Mom?” the kid yells out again.

  Maren, in a moment of desperation and with options limited, makes a beeline for the pantry and shuts herself in.

  “Mom, my backpack!” the kid’s voice is louder now, and the heavy tromp of sneakers against tile tells me he’s coming closer.

  I brace myself against the kitchen island and wait.

  Sure enough, a messy-haired boy no older than eight or nine stops dead in his tracks when
he sees me.

  “Hi,” I say, giving a quick wave.

  His face washes in bona fide terror. “Mom! There’s a man in the house! Mom! Mom!”

  Holding out my hand, I try to tell him I’m a friend, and to calm down, but he’s screaming, shrieking, and freaking out, refusing to listen.

  “What have you done with my mom?” he asks, his face growing ruddy. “Dad! Dad!”

  The kid sprints toward the door, slamming it behind him.

  Great.

  Fucking great.

  Within seconds, the kid is back, Nathan in tow, and he’s pointing and telling his dad to call the cops.

  “Jesus, Beck, you scared the hell out of me,” Nathan says. “This is your mom’s boyfriend.”

  Nathan speaks the word “boyfriend” like it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

  “Mom . . . doesn’t have a boyfriend,” the kid says.

  “Is that what she told you?” Nathan scoffs.

  Beck nods, slow, studying me.

  “Yeah, well, if she would make herself presentable, I’m sure she could tell you in person. Come on, find your bag, we’re late for school.” Nathan gives me a dirty look, one that reminds me of an old dog resenting the new pup who dared step foot on his turf, and then he turns to leave.

  Beck keeps his stare trained on me as he searches the room for his bag. When he reaches for the pantry, I stop him.

  “Wait,” I say.

  He freezes.

  “You really think your bag is in the pantry? With the food?”

  He shrugs, studying my face like he’s not quite sure what to make of me. “I don’t know?”

  “Look, I think your mom’s upstairs in the bathroom. Why don’t I have her drop your bag off at school in a little bit? I’m sure she knows exactly where it is. I’d hate for you to get a tardy.” I try to reason with a kid who looks at me like I’m the second coming of the devil. He squints at me, like he’s thinking I’m not to be trusted. “I’ll make sure she finds it for you, okay? Promise.”

  Beck lingers a moment longer until we both hear the blaring of Nathan’s horn in the drive.