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She hit the ten-digit number, and the other end rang for a few moments before it went to voicemail. “Shit.”

Dante lifted his cold gaze to her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she muttered. “I’m sure she just thinks it’s a spam call. Do you mind if I text her?”

“Go ahead.”

It was hard not to be nosy as she went to the messaging app on his phone. She really freaking tried not to glance down at the preview they gave you for the previous messages, but her eyes instantly went to a particular message, due to the graphic Emojis that were used …

THINKING OF YOU ????

It was everything Nadia could do to keep the regurgitation from coming out of her mouth.

She had half a mind to text the poor woman back that Dante clearly didn’t care enough about her to add her number in the contacts, but that would require Dante finding out she had done so. Hopefully, the woman would get a clue soon that even the Caruso mob boss was shockingly … just like all men.

Sure not to look at any other messages after having her fill, she quickly punched in Haley’s number and sent her a message.

LOST MY PHONE. USING SOMEONE ELSE’S TO TELL YOU I’M SAFE. SEE YOU MONDAY.

At least now, if she didn’t see Haley on Monday, she would call the cops and come looking for her, and that gave Nadia relief enough to enjoy the rest of her weekend.

“Thanks,” she told him, handing back his phone while trying to still get that godforsaken text message out of her head, along with the bad taste out of her mouth. “Are there any books here?” Knowing she wasn’t going to be able to sleep in the sun all weekend, she itched to read one.

“There are some books under the television,” Lila was the one to tell her as she refilled Dante’s cup.

Smiling in thanks, she headed for the console placed under the huge TV in the inside living room. On the side was an open bookcase, holding a few decorative items and even fewer books.

She had to crouch to her knees to read the spines and, as her finger went through the options, she quickly realized she wasn’t going to find a book to her liking. They were all nonfiction, and Nadia preferred fiction. Her life had been enough of a shit show, so when she read, she preferred to escape.

On the last shelf, she noticed a hardcover that certainly stood out compared to the others. For one, it had a spicy couple on the front, while the other covers looked quite boring. Picking it up, she quickly glanced at the back, reading the synopsis. It was a romance that happened to take place in a motorcycle club, and that was definitely not fucking boring.

Nadia enjoyed a good romance, but they were usually historical ones, and, from the cover alone, she highly doubted they would be anything alike.

Deciding to take off the dust jacket to avoid any remarks at her book choice, she headed back out to the deck.

She took a lounger on the other side of an already sleeping Leo and dived right into the motorcycle world. Instantly, the one difference she noticed between historical and contemporary romance books was that they certainly didn’t waste any time. In her historical books, it took practically the whole book until the couple did the deed, but in this book, she didn’t even make it past the first chapter.

Going from a sweet romance to this was like being thrown into a proverbial sex dungeon. The main character called herself Sex Piston, and her group of biker bitches each had a nickname just as worthy. The men of the club, however, were much like men in the real world, except they actually voiced they were horny twenty-four seven. But for some reason, it was strangely endearing when it came out of a hot six-foot-one biker who wanted to fuck you in nothing but his cut.

Nadia couldn’t believe how easy it was for men these days. All they needed to do was read one of these bad boys, and they would have a woman all figured out. If only they knew the secret to all women was held within the pages of a romance book … divorce rates would plummet.

But just as she had that thought, Dante came over to the remaining lounger.

Nadia thought that keeping her eyes from reading Dante’s text messages was hard, but it was impossible to keep her eyes on the cream pages in front of her.

Watching his fingers slowly travel down the front of his shirt had her belly somersaulting in anticipation. Fucking hell. The man gave the hero in the book she was reading a run for his money, and his nickname was Stud.

Dante was a certified D-A-D-D-Y, and she was sure, if he were in this book, Sex Piston would be screaming it. His olive complexion graced every inch of him, and there wasn’t a single tan line to be seen. Honestly, Nadia didn’t know where to look. The man had fucking abs, for Christ’s sake, and in his forties! Between the abs, the salt-and-pepper hair, and the swim trunks, she didn’t know if she was melting because of the sun or him at this point.