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And I don’t regret losing the heat.

It’s not as if I enjoyed the curve of his arm behind me. Or his crisp, woodsy scent. Like he chopped down a few trees before coming to dinner.

And despite myself, I tell him, “I’m not married. Not anymore.”

He hums next to me, his heat and smell and presence close to me once again. Taking over. He lowers his voice so I’m the only one who can hear him. “I should probably say I’m sorry. But I’m not.”

That has me meeting his eyes, honesty tripping off my tongue in more ways than one. “Me either.”

His gaze coasts over my face, and I can’t deny the way he makes me feel. As if he does actually believe that I’m beautiful. Then he parks his attention on my lips, and the warmth in my chest shifts to a fire in my belly.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way—havewantedto feel this way. I don’t know what to do—I don’t understand it. Or him.

So I ask, “Why?”

Chapter 3

Dante

The one word from Taryn’s lips is both a demand and a plea. I’m not sure if she’s questioning why I’m here, why I’m talking to her, or why I’m so fucking desperate.

I don’t know why, but I answer all of the above.

“Why? Because as I was sitting there at the table—” I tilt my head back in the direction behind me “—I saw you. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. The way you hold yourself back from laughing. I want to hear it. See how your face changes when you let go. And I saw your foot wiggling, like you were impatient, your shoe dangling from your toes at one point. I wondered if you didn’t notice or just didn’t care. I had to know.”

She swallows, the line of her throat lifting and then relaxing, her jaw working like she wants to speak but can’t. I chance a touch of her shoulder, sweeping my hand under her hair, the soft strands settling over my skin when I wrap my fingers around her neck. “And it’s your birthday. I couldn’t missout on that.”

Her dark-chocolate eyes narrow. I’m sure she doesn’t want to believe me, but it’s the truth. Now that I know it’s her birthday, I have to see this through. Make sure she enjoys it.

Since she’s not moving away or aiming her sharp words at me, I like my odds. Especially when she licks her lips. They’re bare. Like her. No nonsense. Very little makeup and nothing that screams high-maintenance about her clothes, but it suits her.

Classic.

Elegant.

Fit for a duchess.

“What do you want?” she asks, and I take a deep breath.

What do I want? Fucking everything. But I’ll start small. “Time.”

“Time?”

“More time with you.” Because I know she’d have fun with me, but also, maybe, very possibly, she might be something special.

She purses her lips, considering me. “I’m a mom. I have two kids.”

If she’s trying to scare me away, it’s not working. “Okay.”

“I don’t date. I don’t have time.”

I shrug. “Understood.”

“I’m not having sex with you,” she says loud enough for everyone in a six-foot radius to hear, earning snickers. Clara bursts out with a big laugh behind me. I ignore it all.

“I didn’t ask.”

She heaves a sigh like I’m boring her. Like she can see right through me. Although I’ve never been one to hide what I want. I’ve always been transparent. This is no different.