The Sweet Taste of Sin
Published on 10-16-2015 Genres: Contemporary, Romance
Ashlyn just wants to move on with her life. Run her bakery. Heal her broken heart. She's had three years to try and forget Dante Fontaine.
To the rest of the world, Dante is Hollywood royalty, the ridiculously attractive oldest son of the notorious Fontaine family.
To Ashlyn? He's the guy who made her swear off men forever.
But when an accidental--and humiliating--encounter brings him back into her life, Ashlyn realizes that no matter how hard she's tried to forget him, Dante definitely hasn't forgotten her.
...and this time, he's not going to let her go.
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“I don’t want to talk about that night,” I say. “The past is the past. I’m surprised you even remember any of that.”
A little frown appears between Dante’s brows. “I haven’t forgotten a moment of that night, Ash. I never will.”
I snort a laugh. “I guess you’re more sentimental than I thought.”
My words are more barbed than I intend, but I can’t seem to help myself. What right does he have to sit here and act like that night meant something to him, when he was the one who was willing to throw all of this away?
Dante is very still. But his eyes are bright with some unnamed emotion, and his fingers are still tangled in my hair.
“I know what you must think of me,” he says.
“I don’t think you do.” If he did, then why is he here? Why can’t he just let me get on with my life?
His hand tightens, his fingers curling firmly—though not painfully—against my scalp. His expression has hardened, but there’s a fire in the depths of his gaze that makes me nervous.
“I’ve told you,” he says. “You can’t hide your emotions from me, Ash. I hurt you, and that’s something you might never forgive me for, but you still want me.”
“I do not—”
“You do. I know you. And I know it’s been a few years, but I haven’t forgotten a thing.” He leans closer. “I haven’t forgotten the way your eyes widen when you’re aroused. Or the way you can never seem to catch your breath when you’re overwhelmed.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “Or the way you suck in your cheeks when you’re trying to fight back your emotions. You’re feeling something very strong right now.”
“I am. Hatred.”
“You don’t hate me. You might be pissed at me, but you don’t hate me. You can’t. For the same reason that I can’t forget you.”
“You’re crazy,” I say, a little too breathlessly.
“Maybe.” His thumb stills. “But I don’t think so. I think you want me. As much now as you ever did.”
“I have a boyfriend. A boyfriend I love very much.” “And if you looked at him with half the emotion I see in your face right now, I might believe you.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. He knows. That excuse was my last line of defense, the one thing I could hold up between us. Now I’m vulnerable. “You’re a bastard,” I say. “And you have no right to come in here and talk like this. Jack is my boyfriend. I love him. I don’t care whether or not you believe it. This is not open for discussion.” I smack his hand away from my face. “I think you should leave.”
He sits back. “You still need someone to help you here until Jack bothers to show up.”
“I’ll manage. I want you out of my house. Now.”
He stands, but he looks more exasperated than concerned. “This isn’t over, Ash.”
“It’s been over for three years. But for some reason, I’m the only one who can accept that. Go back to Emilia.” Something flickers across his expression, but it’s gone before I have a chance to read it.
“I can see I’m not going to get anywhere with you like this,” he says, his face unreadable.
“You’re not going to get anywhere with me at all.” He doesn’t argue. He gathers up his food and—thank God—walks toward the door. But he pauses at the doorway and looks back at me. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but this isn’t over,” he says, and the intensity in his eyes belies his calm tone. “We both know it. And no matter how hard either of us tries to convince ourselves otherwise, it will never be over.”