Dante’s Salvation

by Anna Leigh Keaton

  “Here ya are, luv,” Dante said, holding out a glass of white wine to her.

  She accepted it with a smile and put her wound out of her mind. “Thank you.”

  “Why don’t we head into the living room? I’m sure Dante will be out in a minute.”

  She motioned to Frannie to follow.

  “Grab yer drink, luv,” Digger said to Frannie. When her niece hesitated, he chuckled. “We’re not so formal ’round here. Dante can clean a rug like no one’s business if ya should spill.”

  Frannie smiled. A big, full-on grin, and Wendy’s heart tilted on its side. Maybe tonight was a good thing for the girl. Lord only knew how often she was left alone with sitters or the nanny while her parents were out. No wonder she was so shy. She had no experience with other adults.

  They settled on the plush, leather sofa, and Digger sat down across from them in an easy chair.

  “So, li’l Frannie, do ya like magic?”

  Frannie nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Digger flicked his wrist, and a quarter appeared between his fingers.

  Frannie’s eyes went wide.

  Wendy smiled and sipped the light, sweet wine.

  Digger rolled the coin over his knuckles, and then it was gone. “Oops,” he said with a grin and a wink. “Where did it go?” He made as if he were searching under the coffee table, then stood up and lifted the cushion of the chair...and there it was.

  Frannie giggled. “You put it there.”

  “Did I now? How about this?”

  Digger vanished.

  Wendy gasped along with her niece.

  “Now do ya think I put it there?” he asked from the doorway to the kitchen. “Stand up and look where ya were sittin’.”

  Frannie stood up, and there was the quarter. Or a quarter. Digger was an illusionist, and very good at it, too. She had no idea how he did it, but she was impressed.

  “Wow,” Frannie said. “That was awesome.” She picked up the coin and handed it to him when he came back to the table. “Can you do it again?”

  “Maybe after supper,” Dante said, carrying the glass bowl of salad to the coffee table. He cast a look at Digger that plainly said he wasn’t pleased.

  Digger shrugged, sat back down, and lifted his bottle of beer from the table. “After supper then.” He winked at Frannie, and the girl giggled again.

  Dante dished salad into bowls for the four of them then sat down on the other easy chair at the end of the table. Wendy would have liked for him to sit next to her, but she supposed the less touching—accidental as it might be—the better right now. She’d just about melted into a puddle on the floor when he’d stood behind her, his body so close, his scent so provocative, those beautiful hands on her bare arms.

  “I’m sorry we cannot sit at the dining table,” Dante said. “I will have it replaced before your next visit. I promise.”

  Next visit. Wendy licked her lips in anticipation. She prayed next time they’d be alone. Just the two of them. And if that were the case, she didn’t give a damn about the table.

  Frannie held her bowl on her lap and tried to pick out the almond slivers with her fork.

  “Eat the whole salad, honey,” Wendy whispered.

  Frannie glanced up at her then nodded and speared a tomato. She didn’t put it in her mouth, though.

  “Is something wrong?” Dante asked, leaning forward and peering at Frannie.

  The girl shook her head, but it was obvious something was wrong.

  Wendy smiled at Dante’s show of concern. “She’s ten,” she offered as an excuse. “Onions, tomatoes, lettuce and vinegar dressing aren’t favorites.”

  Digger set his salad on the table. “Come with me, luv. We’ll find ya somethin’ good.” He held out his hand, and when Wendy took the bowl from Frannie and the girl stood up with Digger, she heard Digger say, “I don’t like salad either. I was just bein’ nice.”

  They disappeared around the corner into the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to Dante. “I like it.”

  Instead of saying anything, he set his own bowl down and moved to the sofa next to her, his arm going around her shoulders. “I do not care about the salad, but if I don’t kiss you—”

  He didn’t finish the sentence. His warm, moist lips touched hers, stealing her breath and making her whimper as lightning bolts of lust shot through her. His goatee tickled her chin, and his hand closed over her bare shoulder. She sighed into his mouth, and his tongue swept in, gliding against hers in a smooth, seductive action that brought her to a fevered pitch, quivering with need, in the span of a heartbeat.

  She leaned into him and raised her hand to his neck. He was so warm, and his spicy, masculine scent wound around her, blanketing her in a cocoon of lust. Her nipples beaded against the snug bra, and she squeezed her thighs together to prolong the tempting, naughty pulse of heat and dampness gathering in her center.

  Dante broke the kiss and touched his forehead to hers, his breaths coming in heavy pants, fanning against her cheek. “I have been dreaming of your soft lips since yesterday.”

  She sighed out a shuddery breath. “Me, too.”

  He brushed his mouth against hers again but didn’t linger. “You are dangerous, sweet Wendy. I have never had a need for a woman as I do you.”

  So straightforward. She didn’t know how to take his words. Was it just a line, or did he mean it? And if he did...why?

  “Chicken’s ready,” Digger said.

  Dante slowly pulled away from her, his dark, dark gaze snaring hers. He touched her cheek with the back of one knuckle. “I am glad you came tonight.”

  She felt the honesty of those words and smiled even as her cheeks heated with a blush. “Me, too.”

  “I will return shortly.” He stood then and went toward the kitchen.

  Frannie sat back down next to her, her eyes wide. “He kissed you?” she whispered.

  Wendy grinned and nodded.

  “Wow.”

  She held a small plate with cheese, crackers, apple slices, and store-bought chocolate chip cookies. Wendy gave her a look and shook her head. “Some dinner you have there, kiddo.”

  Frannie grinned. “All Digger’s favorites.”

  Digger sat back down in his chair, crunching a slice of apple. “If a grown man shouldna be made to eat that,” he said, nodding toward the salad, “a sweet little girl shouldna.”

  Barbara would have a coronary if she saw her daughter eating cookies for supper. “Don’t tell your mother.”

  Frannie’s eyes widened, and she glanced at the glass of cola.

  “Donna worry, luv,” Digger said with a teasing smile. “What happens in this house, stays in this house. Right, Wendy?”

  She nodded in agreement. No one, not even Candice, would ever know about Dante. He was all hers for as long as he wanted to...whatever. She wasn’t about to take the chance of Candice getting her sexy claws into him. No way. She’d lost three boyfriends over the years to her friend. She’d kill Candice if she ever so much as looked at Dante. Thirty years of friendship be damned.

  Dante sat next to her as they ate spicy chicken parmesan and garlic-roasted baby red potatoes. She couldn’t remember a man going so far out of his way to cook for her before.

  Digger and Frannie shared the plate of snacks then went and got some more. This time when they were alone, Dante simply watched her. Seemed to watch every single move she made.

  “This is very good food,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Dante reached up and touched his thumb to the corner of her mouth. “I enjoy cooking but do not do it often.” He licked a bit of sauce from his thumb he’d removed from her lip. “Perhaps next time you will stay for breakfast.”

  Her heart thudded so hard she thought it might jump right out of her chest. He did want to sleep with her. Oh, Lord, she wished Frannie weren’t with her. She wanted that breakfast to be tomorrow morning.

  Play hard to get. Play hard to get. “I think that would be...” Screw hard to
get. Just get him. “Really nice.”

  That slow, seductive smile spread over his lips.

  He took the empty plate from her lap and set it on the coffee table then, when she thought for sure he’d kiss her again, he lifted her wine glass from the table and handed it to her. Settling back into the sofa, he sipped his drink and stretched his arm along the back.

  When she settled against the cushions, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders then kissed the top of her head as he tucked her up against his side. She sighed and closed her eyes. It had been years since she’d just...cuddled.

  “Hey, mate,” Digger called from the kitchen. “Ya want me and li’l Frannie to finish with the strawberries?”

  “That would be nice, thank you,” Dante said. “Do not eat them all in the process, though.”

  Wendy chuckled.

  “Digger loves fruit. We cannot seem to keep enough in the house for him.”

  She tipped her head to the side and looked up into his gorgeous face. “And what’s your favorite?”

  He licked his lips, and his eyelids lowered a bit. He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring the slightest bit. And then he leaned in close, his whiskers just barely touching her cheek, and whispered in her ear, “Lately, I’ve been fantasizing about lilacs and sweet cream.”

  Every nerve ending in her body quivered with excitement. She used lilac-scented shampoo. She clutched her fingers around the stem of the wine glass and tried to breathe normally. That feat became impossible when his tongue traced the rim of her ear and tingling spirals curled through her body aimed straight at her heated, pulsing center.

  “Don’t,” she whispered. She couldn’t take it. All this teasing was going to make her insane.

  “I can’t help myself, sweets,” he murmured in her ear. “You taste of heaven, and I have lived in hell so long.”

  She definitely understood what a man with a silver tongue meant now. He could probably talk her into an orgasm without much difficulty.

  His short fingernails lightly scored her bare shoulder, and she jerked in surprise at the electrical currents shooting through her. Her wine splashed on the front of her blouse, and she pulled away with a muttered curse.

  “Goodness,” he said, his tone anything but contrite. “I do think we need to take care of that before the stain sets.” He set his glass on the coffee table then took hers and did the same with it.

  She made a face at him. “It’s white wine on dark green. It’s not going to stain.”

  He stood and held out his hand. “We would not wish to take any chances, would we?”

  When she glanced up into his eyes, she realized he didn’t give a damn about her blouse. She licked her lips and glanced toward the kitchen.

  Dante raised an eyebrow. “Do you wish to let me dry your shirt, or shall we call the chaperones back into the room?”

  Wendy slipped her hand into his and let him pull her to her feet. She hadn’t counted on their first time being a quickie while they hid from the chaperones but, at this point, if she didn’t relieve some of the pressure building inside her, she wasn’t sure she’d survive.

  Chapter Seven

  Dante sighed with relief when Wendy took his hand. His cock ached to be in her. His body’s needs had never been so urgent. He would have called Digger back into the room and accepted her wishes if she’d said no, but he thanked God she hadn’t.

  “Wendy spilled wine on herself,” he said as he tugged her along through the kitchen. “We’re going to find her something else to wear.”

  Wendy smiled at Frannie, who was carefully slicing strawberries on the cutting board.

  “Take yer time,” Digger said, humor lacing his words.

  He led her to the hall then up the stairs. Her hand in his was slightly damp, and he sensed her nervousness. He wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want, but from the way she’d kissed him, the way she responded to his every touch, she was ready for him.

  She followed him into his darkened bedroom, and she was the one to shut the door. He turned to her, pressed her against the hardwood door, and cupped her cheeks in his palms.

  Her sweet wine-scented breath sighed out with a little bit of a hitch and brushed against his cheek.

  “You are nervous,” he said, his voice low, slightly rough.

  “It’s been a while.”

  Her admission made him grin. He’d known, but he enjoyed hearing it. Running his fingers into her hair, he pushed it away from her cheeks. The cool, silky strands made him sigh as her elemental scent rose from her. Sweet honey. Lilacs. A woman ready for a man to pleasure her.

  She tipped her head back, and a soft, sexy moan slipped from her lips. “You make me feel like the only woman on earth when you touch me.”

  “You are the only woman on earth for me, Wendy. Don’t ever doubt that.” He leaned in then, before she could say anything else, before her insecurities made her ask questions—question his sincerity—and captured her mouth in a hard, deep, wet kiss.

  He swallowed her soft cry of surprise as he pressed his hard-on against her belly and wound his arms around her, holding her tight to his chest. Her breasts were full and soft, her nipples hard nubs scraping against his pecs.

  “Ohh,” she sighed when he moved from her full, warm lips to her jaw, to her ear. Her blood roared loud, her heart beating a frantic tattoo against his chest, and his fangs started to descend.

  Not now. Not now. He needed her body, not her blood. Only her body.

  She raised her hands to his chest and, for an instant, he worried she’d push him away, but instead she curled her fingers into his shirt and bumped her hips forward, grinding his cock between their clothed bodies. He rocked against her, reveling in the sensation of her softness.

  Skimming his palms beneath her blouse, he brought the silky material up, and she raised her arms over her head, letting him pull it off. A black, lacy bra covered breasts nearly spilling from the cups. He groaned and dipped his head, kissing each beautiful, satiny mound. A thin gold chain ended at her luscious cleavage in an intricate gold crucifix inlaid with tiny seed pearls.

  Wendy’s fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her. His fangs descended fully—he couldn’t control his reaction to the heavy beat of her blood—but he fought the urge to graze a razor-sharp tooth over the lovely swells.

  She moaned again and thrust her chest forward, begging for more.

  He nuzzled her, licked her flesh, as he found the zipper of her skirt. It opened, and he shoved it to the floor. When he cupped her bottom, it was bare. For a moment, he thought she’d gone without, but then he felt the lacy straps of her thong.

  “Wendy,” he chided softly as he raised his head enough to see into her sparkling eyes. “You are a bad girl, aren’t you?”

  She laughed but drew in a sharp breath when he traced his finger along her cleft. Her panties were slightly damp. The sweet aroma of her arousal caught him so hard he dropped to his knees in front of her and buried his face against her mound, breathing her in.

  She whispered his name on a sigh as her fingers weaved through his hair, curling and petting him as if he were a cat. Her touch was so light, so gentle, yet so arousing he almost couldn’t stand it. So long he’d been without the loving touch of a woman. He’d forgotten what it was like. What it could do to his body.

  He slipped her panties down her legs then leaned forward once again, this time his lips meeting warm, soft, damp flesh and crinkly curls. He swiped his tongue out, and Wendy gripped his hair in fists.

  She was as sweet as he knew she’d be. Warm cream, a woman in full lust. He spread her legs a bit and delved his tongue deep.

  She thrust forward and whimpered, riding his face with inexperienced grace. Her entire body shook with the building force of her orgasm. He gripped the back of her thighs to hold her steady as he ate and suckled at her heated core, unable to get enough. He’d never have enough of her.

  He felt her orgasm approaching as if it were his own. Her blood pounded, her body he
ated, her gasps grew loud. At the last second, he pressed two fingers deep into her cunt, flicked her clit with his thumb, and turned his head. Finding her ephemeral artery, he punctured it with the tip of one fang.

  She screamed in ecstasy as her hot, sweet blood flowed over his tongue. While her orgasm rocked through her, he sipped, reveling in her taste, in the pleasure of her vibrancy. But he quickly sealed the wound with his tongue.

  Guilt shook him nearly as much as her release shook her. He hadn’t meant to feed—he hadn’t taken enough to be called a feeding—but she tasted of heaven—of his redemption.

  “Dante. Dante...” She tugged at his shoulders. When he stood, she reached for his belt.

  He stood still and let her open his pants, unbutton his shirt, and then reach into his slacks and draw out his rock-solid cock. When her sweet mouth closed around one flat nipple, he groaned and dropped his head back, planting a hand on the door by her shoulder to keep steady.

  She stroked his shaft in a rough, greedy motion as she suckled his nipple. She moved to the other. And then she bit his pec, and fire shot through his body. He grunted and grabbed her ass, lifting her. She wound her legs around his waist, her gaze locked with his, and he slammed deep into her.

  She cried out and gripped his shoulders as he set a pounding pace. She stared into his eyes and for the first time in...three hundred years...he looked at a woman as a man would. He fought his own release, waiting for hers to build. He would not use her again for his own selfish needs.

  This was a woman he could love, and he would never taste her blood again without her knowledge, without her permission.

  “Feel me,” he whispered. “Know me.” Love me.

  A single, sparkling tear fell from her right eye, as if she’d read his thoughts. Then she threw her arms around his neck and clung to him, her face buried against his shoulder, as he thrust into her again and again.

  Her breaths grew shallow, her arms around him tightened, her velvet heat gripped his cock. He held her tight, buried his face against her hair, and breathed her in. His Wendy. His woman.

  She screamed against his shoulder, his flesh muffling the sound, and he pressed into her one last time, letting himself find oblivion.