Page 18 of The Dante (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #1)

Then, without another word, he reached forward and placed another bid.

Higher. He didn’t smirk, didn’t make a show of it.

Instead, he moved with a quiet, assured precision, as if the act was beneath his concern, an afterthought rather than a challenge.

His pen barely made a sound against the bidding sheet, but the intent behind it echoed loudly.

It was the kind of power play that didn’t need flair—it thrived on certainty.

On expectation. On the assumption that, of course, he wouldwin.

Jazz’s fingers flexed slightly at her sides, instinctively twitching before she smoothed them against the table’s edge.

The urge to react, to grip something tangible, passed quickly, replaced by the ease she forced into her movements.

Aflicker of irritation sparked in her chest—not at losing the bid, but at the deliberate, callous nature of his move.

He wasn’t bidding for the whiskey. He was bidding for control.

Amusement curved at the corner of her lips, though she wasn’t sure if she truly found the situation funny or if she simply refused to give him the satisfaction of a visible reaction. Either way, she met his gaze, unshaken.

Jazz didn’t look down at the paper.

She didn’t need to. She already knew exactly what had happened, what he was trying to do.

The deliberate nature of his bid, the way he’d placed it so smoothly, so casually, as if it were nothing, yet with a heaviness that was impossible to ignore.

It was a statement dressed in expensive silk and a charming smile.

And yet, it didn’t unnerve her—it only solidified her resolve.

She wasn’t here to be maneuvered. Not by him, not by anyone.

She merely tilted her head. “It’s a lovely evening, Senator. Ithink I’ll go enjoy it.”

Subtle.

But the message was clear, woven into the deliberate elegance of her words, the way she carried herself with effortless grace.

It wasn’t about what she said—it was about what she didn’t.

She had refused to engage in his game, refused to rise to the bait he dangled so carefully.

And in doing so, she had delivered a quiet but undeniable blow, one that left no room for misinterpretation.

She was not intimidated.

She was not impressed.

And she certainly was not under his authority.

Worse, was the hint that she’d enjoy her evening more once she was well away fromhim.

And as she turned to walk away, she felt the strength of his stare burning into herback.

She kept her steps even, her posture smooth.

And somewhere in the crowd, she knew— Titus hadseen.

TITUS SAW it all, every shrewd move, every shift in posture, every unspoken challenge woven into the moment.

From the instant Vex stepped into Jazz’s space, from the way she squared her shoulders just slightly, the way her posture tightened, the shift in the air between them—it was all laid out in front of him like a chessboard mid-play, every move deliberate, every glance a reckoning.

He saw the way her fingers hesitated for half a second before she resumed her poised elegance, the faint flicker of something restrained in the set of her jaw.

Not fear. Not unease. Just awareness. Jazz was absorbing the moment, reading between the lines of every syllable Vex uttered, just as Titus was.

And yet, she didn’t back down. She didn’t give him the reaction he was looking for.

That alone told Titus more than words ever could.

He didn’t move, didn’t react. Not outwardly.

He was locked in a conversation with a hedge fund director who liked to pretend he held more influence than he actually did, aman whose words were full of self-importance but empty of true importance.

Titus nodded at all the right moments, offering measured responses that meant nothing, his presence alone enough to keep the man talking. But his focus remained elsewhere.

His gaze flicked to Jazz between sips of his drink, tracking the way she carried herself, the way her shoulders didn’t so much as twitch under the influence of Vex’s presence.

She was cool, composed—adirect contrast to the barely veiled challenge in Vex’s stance.

Titus could see it for what it was. Atest. Aprobe for weakness. But Jazz wasn’t giving himany.

Titus took another sip, letting the warmth of the whiskey spread through his chest, watching as Vex leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice, his expression a little too casual—too familiar.

The shift in his stance was small but deliberate, asubtle encroachment on Jazz’s space, amove designed to test her, to force her into acknowledging his presence in a way that suited him.

He spoke with the ease of a man who expected his words to settle in, to influence, to command.

Alittle too pushy. Alittle too entitled.

And Jazz wasn’t giving him the satisfaction.

Aplay at intimacy, at exerting authority over the space between them.

It was subtle, but Jazz held her ground, offering nothing in return.

His lips pressed together briefly. She was handling it.

But that didn’t mean he liked watching it.

His grip on his glass tightened, the smooth crystal warming under his palm as he fought the urge to step in, to remind Vex exactly who he was dealing with.

He forced himself to remain still, to let Jazz handle it as she intended.

Yet beneath the composed exterior, something dark and unrelenting simmered.

He told himself it was strategy, patience, the long game.

But it felt a hell of a lot like restraint.

Vex was making amove.

Jazz was handling it.

And Titus wanted to break every bone in the senator’sbody.

He watched her, watched the way she tilted her head at just the right angle, her lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. He knew that look. It was the one she wore when she wasn’t just enduring something—she was scheming. Measuring.

Then, just like that, she turned and walkedaway.

Vex’s gaze followed her, lingering for a beat too long, his expression tight—but not unreadable.

Not to Titus. His grip on his glass tightened slightly, the familiar weight anchoring him as he caught the subtle twitch in Vex’s jaw, the slight stiffening of his shoulders.

He was furious. And trying, with everything in him, to bury it beneath the polished exterior of a man who wasn’t accustomed to losing.

He hadn’t expected Jazz to slip through his fingers so easily, hadn’t accounted for her poise, her refusal to bend to the influence he wielded so effortlessly over others. But she had. And that, more than anything, would eat athim.

She wasn’t supposed to be that steady. She wasn’t supposed to walk away that easily.

But she did.

Titus took a slow sip from his glass, letting the burn of the whiskey settle in his throat as Jazz weaved her way back toward him. She moved smoothly, gracefully, as if the encounter hadn’t left a mark at all. But he knew better.

She stepped beside him, sliding into place like she’d always belonged there, her presence a quiet reassurance against the simmering tension in his chest. But she didn’t look at him immediately.

Instead, she smoothed a hand over her gown, adjusted the delicate phoenix chain around her neck, small, deliberate motions that told him everything he needed to know.

She was composing herself, locking the moment away, filing it under things to think about later. That told him more than anythingelse.

He waited.

Didn’t ask.

Jazz let the silence stretch between them until finally, her chin lifted slightly, her voice even. “It’s okay. It wasn’t a problem.”

Titus set his glass down on the tray of a passing server, the heavy crystal leaving his fingers with a quiet finality.

The glass barely made a sound against the silver tray, but the action carried its own meaning—premeditated, precise, just like everything else he did.

He turned slightly toward her, studying her for a beat longer than necessary.

“Yes.” A pause. Ameasured look. “I saw you handle it.”

His voice was even, but the muscle ticking in his jaw betrayed the simmering restraint beneath.

He didn’t like it. Didn’t like that Vex had tried at all.

But he wouldn’t push. Not here. Not now.

Instead, he nodded once, accepting her answer for what it was—aquiet signal that the incident was over, but not forgotten.

For the moment, he let itrest.

But this changed everything. Now heknew.

Vex was making amove.

And that meant the game had officially begun.

Titus felt the shift before he heard the voice, instinct sharpening like the edge of a blade. Apresence approached—deliberate, unhurried—pressing in at the edges of his awareness, the air around him charged with something just beneath the surface. Something he recognized all toowell.

“Dante.” The voice came smooth, polished, laced with the kind of condescension that made Titus’s muscles tense beneath the surface. He turned, already knowing who he wouldfind.

Alistair Vex stood before him, his expression one of casual amusement, his posture relaxed, but Titus saw the cracks beneath the surface.

The tightness at the edges of his mouth, the slight narrowing of his gaze, the way his fingers flexed before settling into a loose fist at his side—telltale signs of a man trying to mask irritation.

He hadn’t expected Jazz to brush him off so cleanly.

Hadn’t anticipated her walking away unscathed, untethered.

And that, more than anything, was eating athim.

Titus didn’t smile, but he inclined his head slightly, adeliberate pause stretching between them. It wasn’t submission, wasn’t deference—it was an acknowledgment of the game being played, the unspoken rules they both understood. “Senator.”

Vex took his time surveying the room, as if they were merely two men sharing the same rarified air, his words precise, polished to a fine edge before leaving his mouth. “You’ve done well for yourself, Dante. Almost like a real businessman.”

Titus felt the words settle, felt the intentional bite behind them, but he didn’t react. Instead, he released a quiet chuckle, taking his time retrieving another glass of whiskey from a passing server. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Vex’s smile stretched, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Take it however you like.”

Then—he dismissed Jazz entirely, with the effortless arrogance of a man who had spent a lifetime reducing others to afterthoughts.

The flick of his gaze barely lingered before sliding away, as if she had already ceased to exist in the space between them, as if her presence held no consequence.

It was a performance as much as a slight, one meant for Titus as much as it was for her—a move meant to provoke.

“Go powder your nose like a good little wife.”

Titus didn’t move. Didn’t react. Not outwardly.

His fingers tightened briefly around his crystal tumbler, the sensation holding him in place when every instinct demanded he strike.

Aslow breath filled his lungs, forcing the heat burning in his chest to settle.

This wasn’t the time. Not yet. But beneath his skin, beneath the carefully honed restraint, something primal, something dangerously close to violence, blazed hot and dark insidehim.

Vex was testing him. Gauging how much of the leash Titus would tolerate.

So he played along. He let Vex think he’d won this round, let him revel in that illusion, knowing full well that illusion wouldn’t last. Titus was patient.

He understood that supremacy wasn’t about who threw the first punch—it was about who ruled the board, who dictated the next move before the other even saw it coming.

And right now, Vex believed he was holding the reins.

Let him.

He allowed the moment to settle, let the substance of it stretch between them, then—his lips curved in something just shy of amusement. Aslow, scheming curve of his lips as he turned slightly, reaching out to skim his fingers along Jazz’s waist.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low, smooth. “Wouldn’t want you bored with all this business talk.”

His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary, not in dismissal, but in reassurance. Amessage only Jazz wouldfeel.

Then, he looked back at Vex, his expression cool, unwavering.

Vex’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, the flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes before he forced a smile, all teeth and no warmth.

Titus saw it for what it was—aman swallowing his frustration, masking the irritation that lurked beneath his carefully composed exterior.

“Now, Senator, was there something you actually needed, or did you just come to admire my wife?”