Dr. Hot Stuff - Tawna Fenske Page 0,23
praying he doesn’t drop it and get hurt.
Once, when I was thirteen, Dante tackled a man who tried to grab my mother in a crowded market. Back then, Dante couldn’t have been more than twenty, though the Duke loved to crow about the military expertise of his right-hand man. Maybe Dante’s older than I think. The asshole big brother I always wished for, though I never envisioned a sibling with his own personal arsenal.
He’s still not saying anything, which makes my mind run wild. Maybe he’s here to kill me. I don’t think so, but I’m hardly an expert in predicting hitman behavior.
Because that’s what Dante is. A hired gun. A killer. A bodyguard. Lord knows which capacity he’s acting in now, which is why I need to get to the bottom of this.
“Dante!”
“I said d—”
“I don’t care about using your name!” I shout the words, demanding to be heard. To hell with his stupid rules. “Why. Are. You. Here?”
I clap with each syllable, trying to sound fierce. Instead, I sound like a child playing patty-cake. My hands are still shaking, so I shove them in my pockets just as Dante meets my eye.
“It’s nice here,” he deadpans. “Maybe I needed a vacation.”
I throw my hands in the air and produce an exasperated sound I’m sure I’ve never made before. “There are more than a dozen luxury resorts in Dovlano!” I yell. “Thousands across Europe. There is absolutely no reason for you to be here, at this one, in the middle of nowhere Oregon.”
For a long time, he regards me with an expression I can’t read. When he finally speaks, his voice lacks any trace of emotion. “A pig.”
I blink. “What?”
“You’re adopting a pig. Interesting choice.”
It’s not a question because he already knows the answer. “How the hell do you—you know what? Never mind.” That’s the least of my concerns right now.
I’m debating how to address the rest when he speaks again. “Had a pig as a kid. Name was Elias.”
This is without a doubt the most random piece of trivia Dante has ever delivered, but I file it away. Interesting that he chose the Duke’s middle name for his childhood pet. Coincidence, or does it tie to what Dante shared ages ago about his childhood dreams of working in palace security?
He continues talking as though this is a normal conversation between two regular humans. “Did you know they’re hypoallergenic?” he asks. “Pigs, that is. Very clean animals, plus they’re the third-smartest animal on the planet.”
I stare at him. Thank God he’s not looking at me or he’d see me gaping like a dumbfounded little fool. “Dante, I—” Stopping myself, I recalibrate. “Wait. What are the top two smartest animals?”
“Dolphins,” he says without hesitating. “Chimpanzees.”
“Pretty sure those aren’t on my approved pet list.” Probably they fall under Bradley’s definition of exotic pets. Thinking of Doc Parker makes my face heat up, and again, I’m grateful Dante is so fixated on his blasted gun.
When he glances up, I jump. His laser-like eyes lock with mine. “Got something you want to tell me?”
“No.” I cross my arms again and fight to hold eye contact. “Got something you want to tell me?”
Why you’re here.
What you’re planning to do.
What you’ve already told the Duke and Duchess.
I say none of this out loud. If he can zip his lips, so can I. With my hands wedged in my armpits, I fight to keep Bradley’s face from my brain. I’ve wondered sometimes if Dante reads minds, and the last thing I want is for him to know I’ve got feelings for the handsome doctor.
Swallowing hard, I drop my hands to my sides. “Look, can you just leave? Please? I’m appealing to your sense of decency here.”
One edge of his mouth twitches. “It’s cute you think I have one.”
I close my eyes and fight the urge to scream. “Fine. Just—could you please stop following me around? It’s creepy.”
“No can do, princess.”
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
One eyebrow lifts. “Whatever you say, m’lady.”
“Go to hell, Dante.” I shout that last bit, making it clear I’ll call him whatever I want. “Fine. Stay here. Get a pedicure at the spa. Swim laps in the pool. Go horseback riding for all I care.”
He tilts his head, lamplight turning his ice-blue eyes to something paler. Colder. “They have horses?”
“Yes, they have horses. For God’s sa—”
“I always wanted to ride a horse.” He looks thoughtful, then picks up the gun again. “You can show yourself out.”
I glare at him, then flip two middle