Seeing it in a heap on the bedroom floor.
Except he never got the chance.
Everything spun out too fast after that—the anger, the lies, the deal, the danger, the pull between us twisting into something bigger than either of us had planned.
A slow smile curves my mouth.
Well.
Maybe he deserves the chance now.
I slide the dress off the hanger and hold it against me, then glance toward the bedroom door.
A second later, Antonio appears there, another box in his arms.
He stops when he sees the look on my face.
Then his eyes drop to the dress.
And darken instantly.
“Tell me that’s coming with us,” he says.
I lean one shoulder against the closet frame, letting the dress drape from my fingers.
“Oh, it’s definitely coming.”
His gaze drifts over me, slow and deliberate, like he’s already imagining it on my body.
Or on his floor.
“Good,” he says quietly.
The word wraps around me like heat.
I lift a brow. “You look very pleased about that.”
“I am.”
He sets the box down without taking his eyes off me.
There’s something about the way he starts toward me—slow, certain, entirely too focused—that makes my pulse skip.
“Antonio,” I murmur, though I’m not sure whether it’s a warning or an invitation.
He stops in front of me and takes the hanger from my hand, letting the dress fall over his arm.
Then he reaches for me.
One hand settles at my waist, warm and possessive, and he draws me toward him until there’s no space left between us.
“This dress,” he says, voice low, rougher than it was a second ago, “has been unfinished business fora while.”
I laugh softly, but it catches in my throat when his thumb traces over my side.
“I seem to remember being very angry with you the first time.”
“You were.”