Breaking Him (Love is War #1)(20)

I sighed. It was tempting, but I was not in the habit of taking the coward’s way. Also, Dante was a stubborn son of a bitch. I doubted he’d just go away after coming all the way here.

I’d face him, if only to rub my win from last night in his lying, manipulative, evil, shoe-buying face.

I opened my bedroom door and met Demi’s worried eyes. “I’ll handle him. Don’t worry about it. And eat as many cupcakes as you want. All of the red velvet ones are for you.”

She cursed me for that (even her curses came across sweet, and dammit, even cute) and left me to it.

I didn’t rush to meet him. I didn’t have a problem making him wait. In all our time together, I rarely had.

Of course, I didn’t much dawdle, either. Wasting his time was one thing, but it wouldn’t do to give him the impression that I dreaded seeing him as much as I actually did.

I applied one last precise bit of nude lip-gloss like it was war paint and went to answer the door.

I braced myself for the sight of him, taking one deep breath before I faced him again.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked the moment our gazes clashed.

He looked like hell, wearing the same suit he had the previous day, his golden hair unkempt, his normally precise, perpetual stubble turned to outright scruff.

He looked exhausted and hungover, but also, good enough to eat.

His eyes were taking in the front of my shirt, a smirk forming on his lips as he read it when he replied, “Love the shirt, tiger. Very appropriate. Would you believe me if I said I was in the neighborhood?”

“No. You hate L.A. with a passion. Why are you here?”

“To see you, of course. Can I come in?”

“I’m surprised you recovered and made it here this quick. Must be nice to have a private jet.”

His smirk died and his jaw set. “Do you know how wasteful it is for one man to use a private jet to get around? I’m not my dad. I flew commercial. The only thing wasted was my money on a last minute airline ticket.”

I rolled my eyes. Oh Lord. If I had a private jet, I wouldn’t fly commercial on a bet, in fact, I’d probably fly to New York for pizza on a whim, but then Dante had always seen his wealth as a sort of a hindrance, something to feel guilty about, a bigger weight on his shoulders than it was worth.

Again, that had always pissed me the hell off. As a twenty-seven year old that still lived paycheck to paycheck, it was more infuriating than ever. “If I see you driving around in a Prius, I’m seriously going to barf. Right before I key the hell out of it.”

He grinned. “Can I come in?” he repeated, tone polite, conciliatory even.

“What do you want?” My tone was rude. I was determined that his charm was not going to make me any less hostile. On the contrary.

Because, obviously, I was contrary.

“Same thing I wanted last night,” he replied, face and voice gone very solemn.

“Not likely, stud,” I drawled out, though some part of me quickened at the thought. Or at least at the picture his words brought up for me, a flash of the two of us writhing naked in bed. “Not in the mood. And even if I was, you weren’t exactly impressive enough for another round. One lackluster performance from you was plenty to last me for quite some time, thank you. You aren’t what you used to be, if you know what I mean. Or hell, maybe I’ve just grown accustomed to having better.”

He flinched just the slightest bit, tried to catch himself, smoothed his features into blandness in a blink, but I caught the slip. “I still want to talk, is what I was trying to say,” he added, voice gone stiff and formal now.

I could tell I’d struck the nerve I’d been going for. There we go. Point for me.

I flashed my teeth at him in a snarl thinly disguised as a grin. “Care for a drink?”

Perverse creature that he was, that made his smile reappear. “I don’t think so. Not falling for that again. Not today. That was a dirty trick, you know, but I suppose it was my fault. And as for last night, I’d like to defend myself; obviously I had way too much to drink.”

I eyed him top to bottom, the regard deliberate and insulting. “That’s what every guy says when he’s past his prime.”

“I had a lot to drink. You know because you served it to me.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

“Want me to prove it to you?” His smile was way too self-assured.

“Don’t make me slam this door in your face and call the cops if you don’t leave.”

“Sorry. That last one just slipped out. I really meant it about the truce.”

“A truce?” I tasted the word in my mouth, and it tasted as wrong as it felt. “You call that note you just sent me a truce?”

“The shoes were for the truce. The note was for that cheap shot you took at me last night,” he tried, smiling again, back to his charm routine. “But now that I got it out of my system, I’m back to just wanting a truce.”

“I don’t like you coming to my home,” I pointed out. He knew as much, but it never hurt to point out boundaries when it came to Dante. There was a time we’d been boundary-less, and the results had been disastrous for us both.

“I know. That’s why I tried to catch you the first time at work.”

“Work is not better.”