She did chortle. Sarah couldn’t help herself. When Dante was in a playful mood, he could certainly bring on the drama. Oh, she knew very well that he was playing her by trying to look pathetic. There wasn’t one feeble bone in his body. But she adored the fact that he was doing this for her entertainment.
Honestly, she probably did need to feed him. He’d expended so much energy, and it certainly wasn’t her who wore him out. Dante was . . . insatiable.
It had come as no surprise to her that Dante couldn’t cook well, and she’d found out from day one that she either needed to cook or they’d end up getting pizza or Chinese delivered every single day. She’d gotten into the habit of cooking here, a task she actually enjoyed but rarely fussed with at home because it didn’t seem worth the effort just to feed herself. But watching Dante consume multiple plates of food she’d prepared made her happy, like she was actually doing something useful for him. No one appreciated food more than Dante.
“Eggs, bacon, and pancakes as soon as I shower,” she informed him as she walked toward the bedroom door, feeling self-conscious about walking around as naked as the day she was born.
“I’ll be ready in ten,” Dante called cheerfully, rolling quickly to his feet and practically jogging to the shower.
Five eggs, half a pound of bacon, and five pancakes later, Dante was cleaning up the kitchen as Sarah sat at his piano in the living room. He was a big guy, but where the hell did he put that much food?
She’d just finished a concerto, and she cringed as she heard dishes crashing together as he loaded them into the dishwasher. It was his bargain. When she cooked, he cleaned up.
Thank God he doesn’t use real china.
Dante cleaned up the same way he did everything else: fast and furious.
She watched him emerge from the kitchen, dressed in a forest-green button-down shirt and a pair of faded jeans, looking good enough to eat.
He came toward her in purposeful strides, his expression stoic as he stopped behind the piano bench and held out his hand. “Okay. Let’s go. I have a surprise for you.”
His expression was unreadable. “What are you up to?” Sarah asked cautiously.
He grasped her hand impatiently and pulled her gently to her feet. “You better move before I change my mind. Go put on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt for protection.”
What for? She was already dressed in shorts and a tank top. Intrigued, Sarah scampered upstairs to her room to find some clothes. It was probably still hovering around the high seventies in temperature outside, and it was almost always humid. However, she wasn’t going to argue about wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Dante was definitely up to something, and she couldn’t wait to see what he had planned.
Apprehension seized him as Dante led Sarah outside. He’d put her present together several nights ago when he couldn’t sleep, haunted by the warmth and the temptation of her warm body next to his. He’d gotten up and come out to the garage, desperate for something to occupy his time and his dirty mind. He hadn’t planned on helping her learn to ride anything but him anytime soon when he’d purchased it. He didn’t want her outside or exposed unless it was absolutely necessary. But now his instincts to protect and his desire to make her happy were at war within his aching gut.
I just want to be normal.
That plea, that simply uttered need, had almost brought him to his knees last night. What he’d told her was true . . . she’d always be much better than normal. But she did deserve to do normal things. If he had his way, she’d stay safely tucked away until her attacker was finally caught. But honestly, there was a possibility that the guy had skipped town and he was keeping her sequestered for nothing. He could be vigilant. Still, bringing her outside in the open was nearly killing him. Sure, it was on the peninsula, and chances were that her location hadn’t even been discovered yet. But even a small risk with Sarah’s safety made him antsy.
Happy or safe?
Why in the hell did it have to come down to one or the other? He wanted Sarah to be happy and safe. Was that too damn much to ask?
His Glock was tucked into his waistband at his back and covered by the tail of his shirt. Dante silently scoped out his surroundings before dragging Sarah to the open area of the driveway. Releasing her hand, he went into the garage and rolled out her new bike, watching her face as she saw what he was doing.
“Oh my God. Is that mine? It’s beautiful,” Sarah exclaimed, her face glowing as she moved forward and reverently ran a hand over the black leather seat.
The bike he was rolling out was a metallic red with black accessories, and the look on her face was priceless, well worth the few hours it had taken to put it together. “This is a beach cruiser and it only has one speed. Perfect for this area and easy to learn to ride. It’s good for a starter.”
“It’s good forever. I can’t believe you got this just for me,” Sarah whispered softly, her hand moving over the shiny red paint. “It’s the best gift ever.”
“Better than the piano?” Dante said, amused. Only Sarah would think a starter cruiser bike was the best gift ever from a billionaire. However, he had no doubt that she was more excited about this silly bicycle than she would be about getting high-priced jewelry or anything else he could easily buy for her.
She lifted a brow at him. “You said the piano was for you.”
Damn. Busted!
The piano was never meant for him, but he knew he’d needed to make some excuse to suddenly have a grand piano show up in his living room. Yeah, his excuse had been lame. Still, he’d just stuck his big foot in his mouth. “It was,” he lied shamefully. He knew that she probably had never bought his excuse, but he wasn’t admitting it outright. More than likely, she’d want him to get rid of it.