Free Do Us Part (The Dumont Diaries (#4)) by Alessandra Torre Page B

and curl up against his hard body. He moves closer to me, dragging me higher until my head rests on his chest, his heart beating a strong rhythm in my ear, its steady beat soothing and secure. There, with his hand tracing a soft pattern on my naked back, I sleep.

    I wake up to a dim room, the foyer light casting soft awareness over the room, the double doors open, an ocean breeze floating over the space. The crashing waves give the empty room a soothing presence. I lay there for a moment, listening, trying to sort out where Nathan might be. I have a faint memory of his arms lifting me, then setting me back down, the soft warmth of a blanket pulled over me, pillows placed under my head. I sit up, sliding the blanket back and standing, my eyes catching a note on the bedside table, my cell on top of it.
    I’ll be in the casino. If you feel up to it, please dress for dinner and come down. I’ll be in the poker room.
    ND
    I set the note down, picking up my cell and pressing a button to illuminate the display. 7:45. I’ve slept for almost three hours. I move to the closet and turn on the light.

    I find Nathan in the poker room, his face grim and chip stack low. He looks up, a smile crossing his face and rises, gesturing with a hand for me to come closer. When I reach his side, he pulls me onto his lap, kissing my neck gently and throwing in his hand. “I’m going to cash out,” he says to the dealer, his eyes sweeping the low neckline of my dress, his hand smoothing down the side of my waist and affectionately squeezing my curves. “Did you get this one today?” he asks, tugging on the dress.
    I nod. “How do you like it?”
    “Absolutely stunning. Half the room noticed you come in.”
    “Only half?” I tease, standing and moving aside, letting him push his chips toward the dealer.
    He flashes me a smile. “You hungry?”
    “Starved.”
    “Then let’s eat.”
    We step into an upscale Japanese restaurant just off the casino floor, and sit at the bar, ordering sake bombs and sushi. The restaurant is crowded, and we sit close, our arms touching, the heat of his body close to mine.
    The sake is cold, the sushi delicious, and I relax, allowing myself to notice the light in his eyes, the ease in his manner, his good mood obvious in every smile, laugh, and touch. We touch frequently, his hand stealing to my knee, slipping salaciously underneath my dress, a soft kiss on my shoulder, my hand gliding into his hair, a stolen kiss over sashimi.
    We stay ‘til almost ten, stories and discoveries bubbling out, our different worlds having more in common than we thought. We are both David Baldacci fans, both love Scrabble, both grew up around horses, and allergic to pine nuts. He promises to take me skiing; I swear I’ll out-grill him in a steak-off. He wants a dog, and I promise to start researching a breed with rugged masculinity. We both think Beth is a bitch, and he promises to fire her upon our return. And he pays me the best compliment of the night, over gourmet fortune cookies, his face serious, eyes soft.
    “You’re a lot like her.”
    I tilt my head at him. “Who?” I am both terrified and hopeful that he would say her name. Cecile. The woman who so carelessly tossed aside the heart I covet.
    “Jennifer. She was so wonderful, Candy. I wish you could have met her. She had a fire in her that glowed. It showed when she was pissed — God she could set fire to half the town when she was upset. But as mad as she got, she loved even fiercer. She was my other half. It was she and I against the world — even scarier — against our family. What she did for me? When Cecile took everything and left? She didn’t just pick me up financially. She’s the reason I made it through that at all. She fortified me, picked up my pieces and put me back together. You have her strength, her compassion, her fire. You are the only woman I know worthy to have her name.” He looks sadly at me, his mouth turning up in a smile that