“Never have I bled from a woman’s passion before. Alas, it is only fair.”
She didn’t pretend to understand his meaning, nor did she have time to think it over. His hips moved in an easy rocking motion, a rhythm she soon embraced. He slipped out of her and glided inside again, his fluid movements astounding. The pain had indeed disappeared, as did her tension.
He intertwined their fingers and lifted her arms above her head, pinning them to the pelt. His kiss turned tender, meaningful, trapping her in a sensual prison. Her feelings for him intensified, blossoming in her heart like a field of beautiful spring flowers. She was among those flowers, bursting in her newborn role as a woman. Dante’s woman.
He faintly squeezed her fingers in his grip as he undulated over her and gazed down into her eyes. To reassure her, he caught her mouth again, his kiss impassioned. Drawing her irrevocably under his spell, she barely noticed he’d rested more of his weight upon her. She couldn’t believe his body didn’t crush her. He was no heavier than a stack of blankets.
Wiggling her fingers out of his, Alessa circled her arms around his neck. She held him tightly to her breasts, her sensitive nipples tangled with the haze of hair on his chest. Waves of excitement poured through her veins. When she lifted her hips to meet his thrust, he tore away from her mouth with a beseeching groan.
“Ah, Alessandra, do not be so bold.” He lovingly stroked the hair away from her temples, and a tender shine slipped into his eyes. “You are so new, so tight, and it is taking all my strength to keep from spilling into you too soon.”
She smiled with honesty and guile. “Mayhap it is not soon enough.”
His breath sucked in at her suggestion.
She traced the edge of his hairline, drawing the tip of her finger down his prominent forehead and nose, to his lips. “Mayhap my need is far stronger than your will.”
Fire spread where they joined, and only Dante could squelch the soaring flames of passion. She brazenly slid her hands down his waist and hips, snaking her fingers around to grip his tight haunches.
He gritted his teeth, and a small muscle along his jaw pulsed rapidly. In a heartbeat, his hands molded to her bottom and lifted her higher. His thrusts urgent now, his mouth closed over hers with the same intensity. Each powerful downward stroke filled her deeper, reaching closer to the spot where excitement built unbearably. Alessa pushed upward to help him attain the same glorious sensations raining through her body.
Her hands hastened to his shoulders, the muscles there corded. Without thinking, she circled his hips with her legs, unaware of how much deeper it would drive him. One more powerful thrust and her internal dam broke. Alessa held onto him, riding one strong wave after another of pure heaven. Reveling in his guttural moans, she wasn’t the least bit shy over her own sounds of fulfilled pleasure.
Dante slowed his hips and kept himself nestled between her thighs. Alessa found it difficult to let go of her husband. She rubbed her palms over his shoulders, loving how his flesh was slick with sweat. When he rose to rest upon his forearms, she smiled up at him, treasuring the look of satisfaction turning his lavender eyes brilliant.
Not a moment later, he frowned. Alessa cradled his warm cheek in her hand. “You are having regrets?”
“More is my fear that I may have hurt you.”
Relieved by his reply, she grinned. “If you did, I would be crying, not smiling.”
“A point well made.” His handsome smile returned. “I must beg you to release me before my lust returns posthaste.”
“That is possible?”
When he chuckled, his chest pressed into her breasts, teasing her still sensitive nipples. Alessa tried not to react.
“I will show you all that is possible.” He rolled to the pelt and propped his head on his hand. His other rested on her belly. “But first, you must heal from what we have done. I fear you might be tender for a few days.”
A few days? She was uncertain she could await days before having him again. Blushing from her naughty thoughts, she glanced away. Dante returned her gaze to him and searched her eyes, likely worried by her sudden shyness.
“Mayhap you are sorry?”
“No,” she quickly dispelled. “It is just that—” She knew not how to tell him he had exceeded all her expectations of mating.
Or explain how her body craved him more now than it had in her dreams.
He brushed a fingertip across her belly. “It is not enough to be together just once.”
Embarrassed he had read her thoughts, she attempted to turn away again. He wouldn’t allow her to.
“Bella mia, do not be ashamed. Your desire is no more wrong than is breathing.”
If that were true, she knew she’d never stop desiring Dante until she drew her last breath.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Early the next morning, Dante sat on the chair beside the hearth, dressed only in hose and boots, while Agata saw to the tiny cuts on his shoulders. They were insignificant compared to the damage he’d done to Alessandra. He still couldn’t believe he allowed his desire for her free rein when he knew deep down theirs was not a match meant to be.
“Damn,” he said harshly. When Agata jerked away, he reassured her. “You did no harm.”
Not far away, his wife lounged in a tub of scented water, submerged up to her chin. Her eyes roamed repeatedly to the droplets of blood on the pelt from her lost virginity. Dante cringed each time she glanced at them and twisted her mouth into a wounded pout. He’d had enough of seeing the torment in her eyes and pushed Agata aside. He yanked the pelt off the floor then shoved it at the shocked maidservant.
“Take care of this,” he commanded, his brutish tone guilt-driven. “Then return and help my wife dress.”
Agata bowed her head. “Sì, my lor—” Her fearful gaze snapped up. “Sì, Signor Santangelo.”
Grumbling, Dante traipsed over to one of two clothes trunks. He pulled out the first tunic and surcoat his hand touched and slipped into both. “I must go to the French camp.” Of a sudden, he knew not what to do with his hands. If he gripped his hips, he would appear angry. Dangling them at his side made him seem aloof. He held his splayed fingers aloft. “Damn me. Never have I wondered what to do with these.”
Alessandra blushed a most beautiful soft red, the color of the roses his mother grew in her garden every year. He recalled the intimate places his fingers had ventured and, uninvited, his body reacted from those enticing images.
With long, purposeful strides, he closed the gap between him and the tub. He looked down at her, hoping his visage was more pleasant than his insides from the brutal beating his conscience wrought. “We cannot take back what is already done.”
“A mistake is seldom easy to retract.” Her eyelashes fluttered reticently, and he absorbed her quiet mourning in his heart. Perhaps that is the reason her biting words left him stunned.
“Mistake? Was it not you who wanted more? I held back solely to give you time to heal.”
“Do not be offended,” she told him crossly.
His gaze shifted to the twin peaks of her breasts when they jutted through the water’s surface. He couldn’t bear to look at them without the strong urge to fondle each stiff bud. His voice fairly cracked when he spoke. “Offended?”
Alessandra crossed her arms to shield her breasts. “Sì, my ogling husband.”
Guilty as charged. He realized how difficult it was to stop leering at his wife. Neither could he stop himself from remembering how soft and silky her skin felt beneath his exploring fingers.
Dante whirled away on a boot heel and walked heavy-footed to the door. “I will ready my horse and return for you.”
He heard the motion of water and knew instinctively she sat upright. He kept his back to her.
“You are taking me along?” Surprise lilted her voice.
“I am. And I expect you to behave.” He started over the threshold when her honeyed voice stopped him cold.
“Or what?” she challenged. “W
ill you tie me naked to your bed again?”
Dante flew down the stairs, passing Agata, who shrieked. Whether or not Alessandra knew it, she teased his manly appetite unmercifully.
****
Upon Dante’s horse, Alessandra sat half across his spread thighs, her hip jostling against the hub of his body. He sat stiffly to avoid undue contact with her, though it was near to impossible, and stared straight ahead to the huge city gates.
She clutched his arm, relishing the graceful shift of his muscles when his hand flexed. Unmindful of being in public, she squeezed his bicep. His strength enticed her, gave her a sense of security. She drew her hand down his forearm and over his fist gripping the reins. His muscles jerked where she roamed, and she was pleased how a mere touch caused him to weaken with desire. She exulted in the newfound power she held over him.
“Why do you spend so much of your day with the French? Are they in great need for a tutor all the day long?”
At his prolonged silence, Alessa studied his solemn features. He had narrowed his eyes to shield them against the bright early morning sun. Or, perhaps, against her seeing more than he wanted her to.
“Did you not hear my questions?
“I heard them.”
When he still didn’t respond, she broached another subject, one surely to entice him into conversation. “What will you tell my father when he arrives?”
“I need not explain to your father the reason I bedded you. You are my wife. Your body is mine to do with as I please.”
Taken aback by the finality in his response, she looked away from his impenetrable expression. Stung by the coldness in his words, she felt reduced to a whore. Albeit a married one.
Alessandra said naught else as they entered the city. She held her head high, despite the heat of tears welling behind her eyes. Yet she refused to cry, or to show Dante how terribly he had diminished her dignity.
“I will see you to your cousin’s home.”
She cleared the emotion thickening her throat. “Why?”
“To keep you safe from harm.”
“I thought you did not trust my cousins.”
He gave her a strange look. “Why would you think that?”
“You made it clear you do not care for Benito.”
He snorted unkindly. “I doubt you will find one person in Naples who cares for him.”
She couldn’t disagree. “What am I to do there while you are…working with the French.” She didn’t mean to sound like a spiteful, jealous wife, but she knew what temptations lurked in the French camp.
His mouth curved with an amusing smile. “I take my ale in the tavern, not the wenches.”
How did he know what laid heavy in her mind? Airily, she said, “I care not.”
“Good, because you do not have the right to complain should I choose another woman to warm my bed.”
Angry and upset, Alessa made a rash decision. She ducked under his arm and jumped from the horse. The anguished sound of her name on Dante’s lips echoed down the street. She jutted her hands out to break her fall, then hopped up to her feet and dashed away, her hands covering her ears so she couldn’t hear the clopping of his horse.
“Alessandra!”
“Leave me be!” she shouted back.
The horse darted ahead to block her path. She ceased running and shrunk back against the wall of a shop, huffing from the depleted air in her lungs. “I know not what I have done to make you turn against me.”
Alessa’s tears begged to run down her cheeks. She sniffled them back.
Dante dismounted and held her in his embrace. “You have done naught.” He ran his hand down her head and tried to console her. “I have taken my worries out on you, and for that I apologize.”
She inhaled a tremulous breath and burrowed her face into his surcoat. The comfort and soundness of his body spoke of security, yet it did little to ease her anguish over his thoughtless words.
“What worries?” she inquired.
He cupped her face in his gentle hands. When he passed his thumbs under her eyes, she was shocked to discover tears had fallen.
“None that concern you.” He smiled. “Come, now. I will see you to your cousin.”
With reluctance, she moved away from the building. “Will you share them with me, perhaps another day?”
“Share what?” he asked absently as he grabbed the reins of his horse.
“Your worries.”
He looked away briefly. “Mayhap they will be gone before that day comes.”
****
At the kitchen worktable, Alessa stirred bread dough in a bowl while Amalia prepared the toppings of fish and herbs for the picea the dough would make. The woman rarely spoke, neither did she spare a glance at Alessa. Boredom set in, and she prayed for Dante to return soon.
In the silence, she revisited the past night in vivid detail and grew warm from thinking about the inexplicable sensations that had ravaged her body. The one thing that paralleled her wanton stories was his sensitivity for her first coupling.
“Mind what you are doing,” Amalia scolded.
Alessa came to with a start. She gaped down at the mess and reached for a cloth to clean the flour and water she spilled out of the bowl and onto the surface of the worktable. It really wasn’t anything to get upset over, but Amalia was positively furious.
“It is a miracle you have found a husband at all.” She ranted on, and her features twisted with abhorrence. “You are inept at woman’s work.”
Not true, but Alessa kept the thought to herself. She had learned well from Amalia’s tutelage, although the woman was never kind enough to acknowledge her progress.
Benito appeared at the door, his glare directed at Alessa as he spoke to his mother. “You are needed in the shop.”
Amalia dropped what she was doing and hurried away, leaving Alessa alone with Benito. Instead of returning to mixing the dough, she lifted her chin and stared him down.
“Are you with brat yet?” he snickered.
“Even I know it does not happen so quickly. Besides, is that not the consequence of marriage?”
His upper lip curled, and he snarled like a rabid dog. Alessa’s courage did not wilt.
“My husband has business to attend to, then he will return for me. So go on your way and leave me to my work.”
Benito rushed forward and cinched his fingers around her neck, squeezing strongly. Alessa clawed at his fleshy clamp, but his hold was steadfast.
“Do not command me, whore.”
He released her with a shove, and she was forced to grip the worktable to avoid tumbling backward to the floor. Horrified, she rubbed a hand over her neck as she watched him march though the door leading down to Fabroni’s shop.
After a while, Alessa’s concentration waned. She wiped her hands on the apron she wore and removed it to the worktable. At the top of the stairs, she sat and leaned her shoulder and head against the wall. Her intention was merely to reflect on how close she came to Benito strangling her to death and how she’d never again feel Dante caress and kiss her. But when voices drifted up from the shop, she strained to hear.
“Marrying that wench to Santangelo did not reap the rewards you hoped it would.” Benito’s sarcasm frightened her. She prayed he’d not attempt to strangle Fabroni as well.
“It matters not. We have amassed enough for Alfonso to gather a sizeable army. Once we transport the gold to him, he will set into motion his plan to overtake Naples.” Fabroni’s tone was as rigid as a wooden toy soldier.
“How do you plan to get the gold out of Naples?” another man asked. Alessa furrowed her brow at the familiar voice.
“We have one,” Benito replied. “You will be made aware of it soon enough.”
“How will you keep Alfonso’s approach from the French?” the same man inquired.
“With all these questions, I wonder if you are on our side or with the French.”
She envisioned the meanness in Benito’s eyes as he spoke his scathing remar
k.
“Your side, of course,” he responded nervously.
“Return to your duties. We will summon you once we are ready to move the gold,” Amalia said.
“Sì, Signora Valente.”
Silence ensued until the shop door opened then closed. “I do not trust him,” Benito said.
“You trust no one.” Fabroni’s sigh sounded weary. “As before, we will proceed with caution when dealing with him. We are getting close. I’ll not see the plans we carefully laid destroyed.”
“If we are fortunate, the wench will keep Santangelo busy in the bedchamber so he’ll not pose a problem. Should he interfere, I will take care of him.” Benito seemed to enjoy the notion.
“We cannot be sure he is involved with the French,” Amalia argued.
“He is,” Benito spat.
“You are certain of it?” she asked.
“I am. But once Alfonso arrives and destroys the French army, we will no longer have to worry about Santangelo standing in our way.”
Their conversation ceased the instant the shop door opened. Alessa wondered if the other man had returned. She tried to peek under the low ceiling and scooted down two steps, careful not to make a sound.
“Signor Santangelo,” Fabroni greeted jovially.
“Signor Valente. I trust my wife has been on her best behavior.”
“I shall fetch her.” Before Amalia reached the stairs, Alessa flew down, almost knocking her over to get to Dante.
“You are here at last!” She leaped into his arms. “I have missed you so.”
Consternation creased his brow. “And I have missed you.”
Alessa faced her cousins. “I thank you for your hospitality. Buon giorno.”
“Freeze,” Dante commanded when she grabbed his hand and tried to pull him to the door. Suspicion lit his eyes. “What have you done?”
She had the good grace to appear afflicted. “Why, I have done naught. Have I?” She glanced at Amalia.
“She speaks the truth.” Amalia avoided looking at Dante, The woman removed herself to the stairs, behaving like a servant who had been dismissed.
Fabroni smiled, though he appeared ill-at-ease. “She has been in the kitchen with my wife, helping her with the afternoon meal.”
Dante's Flame Page 18