Page 63 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet

The others nodded, though Adriano hesitated to do so.

My pride, the wicked thing, surged through me, and before I could appeal to my rational side, I was assuming a fighter’s stance and facing off with the group ofsoldati.

“Try me,” I dared, a sharp smile on my face.

It didn’t occur to me until later, lying on the mat covered in sweat, hair matted with it, clothes soaked through with it, that I hadn’t stopped smiling the entire hour I sparred with Dante and his crew.

Adriano dropped me off that morning at my favorite coffee shop, The Mug Shot, a block down from my office. He wasn’t a chatty guy, but I noticed a photo of a pretty dog as his phone screen saver and had to hide my smile behind my hand when he’d caught my eye in the review mirror.

It was busy as it always was with local businesspeople on their way to work needing their first, second, or third cup of joe, so I settled into line to wait while I replied to emails on my phone. I was midway through the line when I felt awareness trickle like cold water down my spine.

Looking up from my phone through my eyelashes, I immediately caught a pair of brilliant green eyes only a few feet away at one of the small tables in the shop.

They belonged to a man I’d never seen before but I still had the vague sense I knew him, like an actor or a famous model. He had the looks of one, the hard-carved face with a strong jaw and a hawkish nose that somehow looked perfect on his tan face. The verdant green of his eyes was almost startling, especially against that golden skin and the short, styled waves of his inky hair. He was broad through the shoulders, his suit tailored to his tapered torso, and something about his demeanor was as compelling as a shout from across the room, his energy palpable, almost overtly forceful.

I blinked at him, more intrigued by why he watched me than by his stark, almost bluntly masculine looks.

I’d seen handsome.

I’d dated Daniel for four years, and hehadbeen a model for a short time.

And currently, I was being forced to cohabitate with a man who quite simply would take any woman’s breath away.

So, this man only intrigued me the way I would have been by a gorgeous painting or a new set of Louboutin pumps. Which was why I was confused when he slowly folded the newspaper he was reading and pressed it under his shoulder before he stood to walk, quite clearly, to my side.

“Good morning,” he said with a slight smile, the expression all mouth and no eyes.

I returned a polite smile. “Hello.”

We stood there for a moment, not speaking just cataloging each other. He was younger than I’d previously thought, his skin silken and mostly unlined but for two creases between his slashing brows.

I realized what it was he emanated, what had my teeth slightly on edge as if I’d been struck like a tuning fork by the power of his dynamism. It was dominance.

Dante exuded the same tangible tension, this invisible aura that made you instinctively want to obey him, but where he had charisma to soften the delivery, this man just stared at me with determination in those bright jade eyes. He looked as if he didn’t intend to take no for an answer.

So I waited for him to ask the question.

When we seemed to be in some kind of holding pattern as the line moved up and I was fourth from the top, a slight, almost begrudging smile overtook his firm mouth.

“I’d like your number,” he said, finally.

“Oh?” I asked, flattered despite myself but enjoying our little stand-off too much to act anything but cool. “That’s interesting. What would you presume to do with it?”

He seemed to actually consider it, his hand stroking the facial hair that was a little longer than stubble but not quite a beard. “After waiting an appropriate amount of time, I would call you.”

“For what purpose?”

“To tell you where I’m going to take you on our date,” he quipped easily, narrowing his eyes as he looked me up and down. It wasn’t a salacious gaze, but a calculating one. “Somewhere you can wear those heels with a tasteful suggestive dress.”

Immediately, I thought of the dress Dante had bought me, the gorgeous vintage Valentino that had fit me like a dream. Unbidden, I considered what Dante might do if he knew I was being asked out by a handsome stranger.

Irritated by my line of thinking, I acted uncharacteristically impulsively and smiled the way I’d learned from Cosima, my lips wide and parted to reveal my blessedly straight smile.

“My name is Elena,” I offered with my hand extended. “And as long as it isn’t Italian food, I just might answer your call.”

His expression was smug without being a smile, satisfaction softening his hard-green eyes as he took my hand. “Excellent.”

And when I gave him my number, I wasn’t thinking about the black-eyed gaze of a certain mafioso I knew in my bones would probably strangle this man for asking me on a date.