Her Little White Lie. Maisey Yates

worth that. He set it back down on the table.

      “I understand that.”

      “It’s not just for her. It’s for me, too. I love her. Like … like she really is my baby. I saw her come into the world. I cared for her from the start, did the midnight feedings and visits to the doctor. I can’t … I can’t just let her go. Let her go to someone else. Someone who might not love her like I do. How could anyone love her like I do? I love her so much that sometimes it overwhelms me.”

      Paige spoke with conviction, so much it vibrated from her petite frame. Dante couldn’t imagine emotion like that. It was so far beyond where he was now.

      In truth, he couldn’t imagine a good emotion that strong. Fear, grief, the type that had the power to reduce a man to a quivering, raw mass of anguish … that he knew. But nothing like it since. Nothing that even came close. He was numb to feeling.

      But he could sense hers, could feel them radiating off her. She didn’t hide them, didn’t sublimate them to try to deal with them. He doubted she could. She was too honest.

      Well, except for that one little lie. The one he was currently enmeshed in.

      “You cannot keep the pink in your hair,” he said. He needed to tone her down, to make her less distracting.

      “What?” she sifted her fingers through her dark hair, the movement unconsciously sexy.

      “I would hardly become engaged to a woman with pink hair.”

      “Um … but you did. You totally just did.”

      “I didn’t know about the pink stripe until recently. When I found out I nearly broke it off with you, so you promised to go to the hairdresser.”

      “You can’t even see it if I have my hair down.”

      “I saw it when we were in bed.” Again, the images of her skin against his sheets hit him hard.

      Her cheeks colored a deep rose. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a woman blush, discounting Paige, and he certainly couldn’t remember ever finding it so fascinating.

      “Uh … and that was your predominant thought? My pink hair? We did something wrong, in that case.” She looked away from him and took another long drink of her vile wine.

      “Just color over it,” he said.

      “I have an appointment in a few weeks. It’ll keep.”

      “You seem to forget that I’m doing you a favor.”

      “I didn’t think that was your predominant motivation. And anyway, I’m doing you a favor, too.”

      He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know what the reaction will be. I’m curious to find out.”

      “So, this is just a social experiment to you?”

      “It’s interesting, yes. Ultimately though, it’s with a mind to improving business.”

      “And deceiving people doesn’t bother you?”

      “Does it bother you?”

      She frowned. “Usually. But not now. Not for … not for Ana. I would do anything for her.”

      “So I gathered.”

      “I’m far more bothered by the fact that we’re actually … that we’ll be getting married.” She looked down, giving him a view of long, dark lashes spread over pale skin, and lids that were lined in emerald green, a sprinkling of golden glitter adding sparkle.

      “If you can think of another way …”

      She raised her focus, her expression open, honest. “I can’t. Nothing this certain.”

      “Then don’t trouble yourself over it.”

      She frowned. “I won’t. So, now what do we do?”

      “I’ll text your ring size to Trevor and send him to procure something suitable. You will have it on your desk by lunch. Then … then we have a charity event to go to.”

      “I don’t have anyone to watch Ana.”

      “I’ll pay Genevieve to do it. She’s good with Ana, isn’t she?”

      “Well, yes, but … I’ll have been away from her all day.”

      “Leave early,” he said. “I’ll come here and pick you up before the event.”

      “Why do you keep having answers to all of my problems?” she asked, her tone petulant.

      “I would think that would be a good thing, especially since you have so many problems at the moment.”

      She let out an exasperated sigh. “Granted.”

      He stood, taking his glass of nearly untouched wine off the coffee table. “Good night, then. I’ll be by to pick you and Ana up at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.”

      “Wait … pick me up?”

      “You’re my woman now, Paige, and that comes with a certain set of expectations.”

      She blinked. “I didn’t … I didn’t agree to this.”

      “You brought me into this. That means you aren’t making all the rules anymore.” He turned and walked into the kitchen, pausing at the sink and dumping the contents of his glass down the drain. “That wine is unforgivable. I will teach you to like good wine.”

      “And you’ll teach me to like good jewelry, and the sort of hair you deem ‘good.’ Tell me, Dante, what else will you teach me to like?” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts—rather generous breasts—and a rush of heat assailed him. Intense. Impossible to ignore.

      The desire to lean in and trace her lips with his fingertip, with his tongue, was nearly too strong for him to overcome. But he would. He would keep control, as he always did.

      He took one last, lingering look, at her pink lips. “That’s a very dangerous question, Paige,” he said. “Very dangerous.”