I woke up in Dante’s arms.
That was the first problem.
The second problem was that I didn’t hate it.
His arm was still around my waist. Heavy, Possessive. My back was pressed to his chest. His breath was steady against my neck. For 3 seconds, before memory came back, I was warm. Safe.
Then I remembered Agent Miller. The blood. The gun. My finger on the trigger.
I shot out of bed like I’d been burned.
Dante didn’t move. One eye opened. Black. Amused. “Morning, Mrs. Moretti.”
“Don’t call me that.” I snapped
“It’s your name.” He sat up. The sheet fell to his waist. He was naked. Of course he was. Scars crossed his chest. Bullet wounds. Knife wounds. A map of violence. “Get used to it.”
I grabbed the silk robe from the chair. Wrapped it around me like armor. “I’m not your wife.”
“Yo
