by Day Leclaire
“Are we almost there?”
“Almost.” And it wouldn’t be a minute too soon. “Tell me about these accidents you’re experiencing.”
“I’m not experiencing any accidents.” That brilliant smile flashed again. “I’m experiencing a failure to walk and talk at the same time.”
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d come across a recruit with that problem. He’d get her straightened out soon enough. “You’re a klutz.”
Her breath escaped in a sigh. “I wish I could deny it. But your assessment is pretty close to the truth. I guess I’m distracted.”
“Because of your financial problems?” he hazarded a guess.
“That’s part of it. I’m also struggling to learn everything I possibly can before I take over Bling. I never expected to inherit the place, so it hasn’t been easy,” she confessed. “There’s a lot to learn not covered in my business degree at Stanford.”
“And you’re certain Connie doesn’t have a hidden agenda to ensure you don’t make it to twenty-five?”
No hesitation. “I’m positive. He’s actually planning to start his own business as soon as I’m able to take over the reins. He can’t wait to get out from under his responsibilities.”
The cab pulled up just then and Luc handed over the fare. After assisting Téa from the car, he led the way up the front steps of the apartment complex to the door. He swept his keycard across the lock and gestured her in. They crossed the foyer and he rang for the elevator. The doors slid open almost immediately and he used his card again to access the top floor. The instant they were enclosed within the suffocating confines of the car, Téa returned to their earlier topic of conversation.
“So now we’re alone,” she began.
“We are.”
Ignoring proper elevator etiquette, she turned to confront him. “Tell me why we keep getting zapped every time we touch. What’s going on?”
He watched the digital numbers tick off one by one. After all, someone had to follow proper protocol, especially if it helped him keep his hands to himself. “Magnetic attraction?”
“Not a chance.”
“My electric personality?”
She dismissed the suggestion with a delicate snort.
He allowed the silence to consume them while the elevator finished its ascent. The doors slid open directly into the foyer of his suite and she stepped out of the car before freezing. “Good Lord, is all this yours?”
“Yes.”
To his relief, her interest in his living accommodations sidelined her questions about The Inferno. “You live here alone?”
“I’m a bit of a hermit.” At least, these days he was.
She took her time looking around, examining the Spartan interior, the over-the-top electronics, and the smattering of photos from family gatherings on his walls that offered a few reluctant peeks into his past. She studied each in turn. First the ones of his Dante-filled childhood and those carefree years of raw emotion and puppylike wildness. Then the group shot of his unit revealing his transition to manhood, as evidenced by his uniform and military bearing. It also marked his loss of innocence and rendering of character and spirit until only sheer grit and the drive to survive remained. In that narrow space, life ended or continued based on a confusing combination of fate and experience. And finally, the professional man and the men who’d worked with him, the lone wolf standing ever so slightly apart from the others, who still carried the taint and scars of what had gone before, closed now to the emotional openness of youth. Innocence twisted to cynicism. Joy and hope tempered by reality. Normal, everyday dreams for the future layered beneath caution.
She took it all in, absorbed it without a word, then moved on. And yet, he saw the comprehension in her gaze and realized she understood what so few others had when they’d looked at all those group shots. She’d seen the emotions that existed behind the two-dimensional photos, seen his pain, as well as his determination. She wandered deeper into his sanctuary, forcing him to regard it with fresh eyes. The place would have come across as too austere if not for the warm redwood trim accenting the twenty-five-foot ceilings and the parts of the floor not covered by carpet. She paused in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows and the spectacular view of the bay they afforded with a deeply appreciative expression. Apparently, she approved of the uncluttered look. Somehow that didn’t surprise him.
Nor did it surprise him when she gathered herself up and transitioned back to business. “Okay, time for answers,” she announced, swiveling to face him. “Before we discuss this bodyguard business, I want to know one thing.”
“Funny. So do I.”
He approached, impressed that she simply stood and waited for him. Allowed him to reach for her. To take her hands in his while desire exploded around them and through them.
“What is that?” she whispered, dazed.
“That is Dante’s Inferno. Which, if I’m not mistaken, means we’re both condemned to hell.”
Not giving her time to react, he swept her into his arms and kissed her.
Violent heat flashed through Téa, mercurial swift and burning with white-hot need, making her forget her responsibility to her family—something that hadn’t happened since she was sixteen. Her reaction to him was identical to when he’d first taken her hand, igniting where their lips melded, the fit sheer perfection. It flashed downward to the pit of her stomach and lower still until the feminine core of her throbbed with the urge to join with this man. It raced through her, tripping over sense and emotion, instinct and logic, turning every part of her inside out and upside down. And still it didn’t stop.
The desperation grew so intense that if he stretched her out on the floor of his foyer, she would have allowed him to strip away her clothing and lose himself in her. Just the thought of having him on her, in her, over and around her, joined with her in the most intimate way possible . . . She shuddered.
“Luc . . .” His name escaped on a sigh, became part of the kiss, greedily consumed.
His mouth slipped from hers, following the line of her throat, scalding the sensitive skin as he drifted relentlessly downward. Somehow the buttons of her blouse escaped their holes. The edges of the crisp material separated, giving him access to explore the gentle swells rising above the lacy cups of her bra.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen skin like yours before. So pale.” He trailed a string of kisses along the demarcation line of silken skin and protective lace. “It seems such a cliché to say it’s like cream.”
She laughed softly. “Not magnolia blossoms?”
He spared her a swift grin, though his eyes remained a shocking molten gold, flaming with a passion unlike anything she’d seen before. “Definitely magnolia blossoms. Only softer.”
She didn’t know what had gotten into her. This wasn’t like her at all. Not the joking. Certainly not the lovemaking. But one touch from Luciano Dante and she tumbled. Her cell phones began to ring and chirp and plead, and with an exclamation of impatience, Luc opened one of the doors leading off the foyer—a coat closet—and shoved her handbag and briefcase inside.
It gave her just enough time to clear her head. “Wait, Luc.” Those cell phones were her lifeline. They were a vital link that kept her grounded and connected to her family. Besides, she owed them. She couldn’t allow this sort of selfish distraction. “Those calls could be important.”
“There’s nothing more important than this.”
He pulled her close and all coherent thought vanished. How did he manage to do that, when she’d always been so careful with her priorities? Maybe it was because she’d never known real desire before. Not like this. In fact, she’d gone out of her way to avoid it.
Family always came first. Duty and responsibility had been her obsession ever since the death of her parents. She didn’t dare let down her guard and surrender to her baser desires. Not since one hideous occasion when she’d done just that and her world had come crashing down around her.
She’d le
arned her lesson well that night. From then on, taking care of her family became her life. Her obligation. Nothing else topped that one crucial demand. Nothing. At least, nothing until Luciano Dante exploded into her world and—with a single touch, palm against palm—short-circuited every last rational thought but one.
She wanted this man. Needed him. For so many years she’d been in control. The steady leader. The mainstay who looked after her family and protected them. She couldn’t and wouldn’t indulge her own selfish interest until she’d accomplished that. Once she received her inheritance, she’d be in an even better position to care for her family, instead of constantly scrambling to make ends meet.
But with one shocking touch, Luc took her burden from her. It vanished from thought and awareness, replaced by a passion she’d never experienced, never even knew existed until he’d shown her the stunning possibilities.
His mouth covered hers again, inhaling her, and she simply tumbled. Duty and responsibility floated away, as did reason and intellect. All that remained was a shattering. Intense. Unspeakable. All consuming.
Without breaking the kiss, Luc swept Téa into his arms. She had the sensation of movement from living room to bedroom—a light floating, then a gentle descent, the softest of cushions at her back when they sank into the mattress and a blazing heat that blanketed her. It settled over her, pressing into her, molding hard, powerful angles against the soft, willing give of her body.
She stared up into his face, at the hard, uncompromising features, examining them one by one. He had chiseled cheekbones coupled with a tough, squared jaw. His mouth curved wide and sensuous, bracketed by deep grooves that could convey both humor and displeasure depending on his mood. His hair, cut almost military short, grabbed tight to the darkest shade of ebony and showed a tendency to wave, a tendency he kept under ruthless control. But his eyes dominated his face. He possessed the deep, ancient golden eyes of a predator. Eyes that cut straight through to the soul and lay bare what she most wanted to keep hidden.
He would never be called handsome. Powerful, certainly. Bold. Aggressive. Blatantly masculine. His face had been carved to intimidate, yet contained those elements that—despite lacking prettiness—were wildly appealing to women.
Heaven help her, but he was an impressive male specimen. Tough. A body both strong and muscular, while his touch showed infinite control and tenderness. How was it possible that a man so clearly cut from the cloth of a warrior could also be so gentle?
“What are we doing?” she managed to ask. “What’s happening to us?”
“Dante’s Inferno.”
She shook her head in confusion. “I know it’s an inferno. But why is it so intense?”
She caught the smile he couldn’t suppress and it dazzled her. “No, that’s what it’s called. What we’re experiencing. Or so the legend claims.” He trailed his hand, harshly callused, in a fiery path from throat to breast. She shuddered beneath the dichotomy of rough and soothing. “We call it Dante’s Inferno. It happens to the men in our family when they first meet certain women.”
She managed a laugh. “How did I get so lucky?”
“I have no idea.”
“How long will it last?”
He lowered his head and replaced his hand with his mouth in a leisurely exploration. “I have no idea.”
“If we—” She inhaled sharply, shuddering beneath his roving lips and tongue. Her thoughts scattered for an instant before she gathered them up again. “If we make love, will it go away?”
“I hope so.” He shook his head with a groan. “Or maybe not. Maybe it’ll continue for a while. I wouldn’t mind so long as it’s not permanent. We could work it out of our systems over the next six weeks.”
Relief flooded through her. “But it will go away?”
He reared back, hovering above her like some pagan god. “It better. I’m not like my cousins. They ended up married when it struck. I’m not after the fairy tale, or commitment, or even love. You understand that, don’t you?”
“I don’t understand any of this,” she confessed.
He shook his head as though to clear it. “This isn’t permanent.” The words were filled with grit and honesty. “This is a temporary affair. It’s sex. That’s all. If you’re expecting a fairy tale ending—”
She allowed a hint of the darkness that had shadowed her over the years to reflect in her gaze. “Don’t worry. I don’t believe in fairy tales. And I definitely don’t believe in happily-ever-after endings.”
“But you believe in this.” He released the front clasp of her bra and cupped her breasts. Sunshine splashed and rippled across her skin, chasing away the darkness. He traced his thumbs across the sensitive tips, eliciting a soft moan. “You believe in the physical, the same as I do. What we can touch. Desire. Sating that desire. You believe in that, don’t you?”
“It wouldn’t be hard to make a believer of me,” she confessed.
His mouth curved to one side and his eyes glittered like sunrays, threatening to blind her with their intensity. “Trust me. By the time I’m finished, you’ll believe.”
She found herself laughing, a sound free and lighthearted and utterly alien to her. She bracketed his face with her hands and tugged him down, covering his wonderful mouth with her own. His taste intoxicated her and she rejoiced in the dizzying explosion of pleasure. For long minutes they kissed, slow and sultry. Deep and wet. Learning. Testing. Discovering. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
Téa tugged at Luc’s shirt, struggling to find the buttons and holes and get one through the other. They resisted all efforts and impatient with her own lack of skill, she simply ripped at the edges until buttons pinged all around them. To her delight the edges of his shirt parted and she swept her hands across a broad chest, sharply delineated by gorgeous dips and ridges of toned muscle and sinew.
She’d never felt so free with a man before and she took her time, exploring this one to her heart’s content. She rubbed the flat discs of his nipples and bit into his golden flesh, soothing the small mark with her tongue. A soft groan rumbled through his chest, caught within the palms of her hands, and she rejoiced in having provoked the reaction. She’d never wielded so much feminine power. It was a heady sensation.
She took a circuitous route in a southern direction, exploring all the side roads and byways of what she bared, until she hit a roadblock. She made short work of it, her fingers coordinated for a change. The belt parted, the zip of his trousers rasped downward and she slid her hands to the very heart of all that heat and masculinity.
He was hard and swollen, sliding into her hands with greedy urgency. She’d never done this before, either. Never given full rein to her curiosity and her own need to explore. But she couldn’t help herself. Not this time. Not with Luc. He didn’t stop her or attempt to take charge. Instead he encouraged her with soft, biting kisses and velvety, rough words.
She sensed the effort it took to control himself, could see the iron grip he maintained in order to hold himself back. Instead he devoted himself to stripping away her barriers. Bit by bit her clothes drifted away, her blouse and bra, her skirt and stockings, until all that remained was a scrap of triangular silk guarding her core. She was so caught up in her own exploration she barely noticed.
Until he turned the tables on her.
Just as she familiarized herself with his body, he began to map hers. First her mouth and throat. Then her breasts and abdomen. Degree by degree he turned up the heat, catching her unaware until desire swamped her in great crashing waves, turning her mindless with need. She stared up at him in utter confusion.
“What are you doing?”
The laughter gleamed again. “Can’t you tell?”
“We’re making love. I . . .” Her eyes fluttered closed and she fought to draw breath, to gather her wits long enough to speak. “I don’t remember this part.”
“This part?” He spread her thighs and feathered a line of kisses from the curve of her knee to her inner thi
gh.
“No,” she quavered. “Not that part.”
Before she could even draw breath, he stripped away her panties. “What about this part?”
And then he kissed her, a kiss more intimate than any she’d ever known before. A climax ripped through her, unexpected and violent and utterly spectacular. The sound that escaped her was part scream and part denial. She’d never . . . ! Not ever. Pieces of her lay scattered all over the bed and it was several long minutes before she could gather them up and paste them together well enough to speak again.
“Not that part,” she said. “I definitely don’t remember that part.”
“We’ll have to do it again, just to keep your memory refreshed.” He fumbled in the drawer beside him. An instant later she heard the distinctive crinkle of foil. “But not right now. Now we have other refreshing to do.”
She lay beneath him, stretched in more ways than she could count. Stretched to the edge by a desire that still hadn’t been quite sated. Stretched by muscles still quivering and clenching from the aftermath of her climax. Stretched emotionally by a man she’d just met. A man she’d allowed to touch her in ways she’d never before allowed. A man she’d allowed in, or who had forced his way in. She was too overwhelmed to figure out which.
Before she could analyze it further, he came down on top of her. His hands—such tender, powerful hands—slid deep into her hair, anchoring her. Their gazes locked and held, and she felt herself sink into him just as his body sank into hers, mating them together in a perfect fit. She felt herself join with him in ways that were more than just physical. Ways that upended her tidy little world.
And she gave herself to him, totally and unconditionally.
He moved within her and all thought slipped away, replaced by something far more primitive and elemental. A driving need consumed her, an urge to become one. To complete the connection hovering so close. She strained for it. Reached for it. Grasped it eagerly.