was beginning to realize Dante would go to any lengths to save another. She couldn’t help but admire, and fear, his relentless determination.
While it was honorable, it might one day get him killed. And why was he so determined to find others? What happened to make him this way, or was he simply born with the ability to put other’s needs ahead of his? No matter the answer, she couldn’t help looking at him in a whole new way as she considered crawling into his arms and never letting go.
“You’re welcome,” Dante said.
Cassidy glanced at the driver. They were going to change his memories anyway, but she didn’t want to freak him out beforehand, so she was careful with how she worded her question. “What about those guys who took off earlier?” she asked about the vamps who were losing control before.
“I know everyone who was there tonight. I’ll take care of it.”
“Good,” she said.
“Don’t take offense to this, but I hope never to see the two of you again,” Zan said.
“No offense taken,” Dante told him. “But if you see Julie or Preston, call me.”
“Stubborn motherfucker,” Zan muttered before slamming the door.
Unable to resist, Cassidy leaned against Dante as they went to Walmart and then his apartment. And now, they were standing outside the door to apartment twenty-two. She was about to see the place where he lived; she was excited to see if it would offer more insight into the mysterious man who was steadily working his way into her heart.
“Home sweet home,” Dante said as he removed the keys from his pocket.
She didn’t know what to expect as he slid the key into the deadbolt and turned it. He lived a couple of blocks from her in a brownstone remodeled to hold as many apartments as possible. She suspected they were all studios or one-bedrooms, and the bedroom was more like a large closet.
Dante pushed open the door and gestured for her to enter ahead of him. When Cassidy stepped into the apartment, his leather scent, along with the aroma of books, assailed her.
As she’d suspected, he lived in a studio. Thick slabs of pine, each about a foot wide, ran across the space, which was a little bigger than she anticipated. Across the way, a small kitchen with a stove, white cabinets with metal handles, and a refrigerator were separated from the main living area by half of a countertop. Black marble countertops contrasted with the cabinets and oak wood floor.
The neatly made, queen-size bed was to her left and covered in a navy-blue comforter. At the foot of the bed lay a quilt; the vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows comprising the quilt reminded her of the sunrise.
A single recliner sat in a corner near a closed door she assumed led to the bathroom. Bookshelves made of metal piping and wood shelves covered all available wall space and were stacked full of books. More books sat on the nightstand next to the bed and on the table beside the recliner. Mounted to the wall across from the recliner was a small TV.
A handful of pictures decorated the bookshelves, and when she looked closely, she recognized a young Dante in a couple of them. In the closest photo, he sat beside a young woman who didn’t look much older than him. Behind them stood a beaming couple who had their hands on the shoulders of what could only be their children. A panorama of Fenway hung over the bed, one of the Boston Garden hung in the kitchen, and nailed over the recliner was Gillette stadium.
Cassidy tore her attention away from the picture when Dante closed the door. The exhaustion etching his face created lines where none were before. His dark hair stood on end from running his hands through it, and they both reeked of smoke so bad, she could barely stand to breathe through her nose.
“You can shower first,” he said as he walked across the room and opened the closed door. “There are towels in the closet.”
“Thank you,” Cassidy said as she slipped into the small bathroom and closed the door behind her.
Unlike the bathroom in her apartment, which could have stepped out of a nineteen seventies issue of home and garden, this one was entirely modern. The dark wood medicine cabinet and sink were masculine but also warm.
The shower, with its gleaming white surface, looked more inviting than a fluffy bed full of pillows. It was spotless; not even a speck of toothpaste