Forever Dante: Lucia (The Dante Dynasty Series: Book #11): The Dante Inferno

by Day Leclaire

“Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Just so you know, we haven’t finished what you already poured.”

  His hands tightened on the chair and she half-expected the wood to splinter beneath his hold. “If you’ll sit here, I’ll get our wine and we can finish it. Then I’ll pour more.”

  “Okay,” she said again.

  Lucia slid into the chair, keenly aware of him behind her. His heat surrounded her and his breath stirred her hair. She closed her eyes, longing flooding through her. His fingertips stroked her cheek and down her neck to the opening of her blouse. Inch by inch, he followed the downward vee, pausing just above the edge of her bra. He didn’t move for a long moment. Aware she’d been holding her breath, it burst from her in a gasp, her breasts shuddering beneath that barely-there touch.

  Her head tipped back against him in open surrender. “Ty . . .” His name slipped from her, filled with want.

  He leaned down and took her mouth in a single, blistering kiss. Then he stepped back without a word, leaving her in a puddle of unfulfilled need. A moment later he returned with their wine. He set one glass in front of her, then took the seat at right angles to hers. She reached for her drink, praying her fingers didn’t shake. To her relief, they remained rock-steady, which allowed her to lift the glass to her mouth for a sip that turned into a gulp. She noted he followed suit and hoped that long, desperate swallow indicated he’d been as affected by their kiss as she had.

  Silence settled between them, though she didn’t find it uncomfortable. More of a moment to regroup. Joe brought out an appetizer, spiedini, a dainty skewer holding a steak pinwheel encrusted with an herbed bread crumb, marinara, and a hint of sweet gorgonzola.

  The chef remained to chat, though for the life of her, Lucia couldn’t recall a word they exchanged. The spiedini left more of an impression, practically melting in the mouth and whetting her appetite for the next course, a cup of very delicate wedding soup.

  “Are you ready for tomorrow?” Ty asked.

  She winced. “I have to admit, I’m a little nervous. But at least I have the day off to prepare.”

  “Why are you nervous?”

  It amused her how he cut right to the main question, always concise and to the point. The juxtaposition of his succinctness to Joe’s lavish flattery was striking.

  “I’m not a model. I’m not particularly outgoing,” she confessed. “And I’m definitely not a saleswoman.”

  Ty nodded. “The Dantes don’t expect you to be.” He took her hand in his, stroking his thumb from her knuckles to her wrist. “The gala is far too high end for an overt sales job. You’re supposed to suggest a dream, create an illusion.”

  She took a sip of a second wine that Joe had paired with their soup, a fruity sauvignon blanc, and considered Ty’s comment. “The men and women who attend will see me and imagine how they or their partners will look wearing something similar?”

  “Exactly. Just be seen. Mingle when you can.”

  “Okay. I can do that.” She grinned. “And when I start feeling uncomfortable, I’ll chat with my bodyguard. Do you know who it is?”

  “Juice.”

  “Not you?”

  “You wouldn’t be here if it were me.” A strange expression settled over his face. A remoteness. “I never mix business and pleasure.”

  “That sounds ominous.” She deliberately kept her tone light and easy. “Bad experience?”

  “You could say that.”

  “I gather it isn’t something you want to talk about?”

  “No.” He glanced away and then back again, amending his response. “Not yet.”

  “Okay. Fair enough. There’s plenty in my own background that I’d rather not talk about. Maybe when we get to know each other better.” She tilted her head to one side. “Or should I say if?”

  To her delight, he didn’t hesitate. “When. Definitely when.”

  The next hour passed in a total haze. Joe brought endless dishes, each course offering small, elegant portions, just enough to get a taste. Oftentimes, they each had a different option and he encouraged them to sample each other’s dishes. A few questions followed, Joe quizzing them about various aspects of what they’d eaten. Though still exuding endless amounts of charm, when it came to food, she couldn’t mistake his seriousness.

  “I love trying all these dishes,” Lucia confessed at one point. “You’ve done an incredible job. Do you ever get tired of cooking?”

  “Never. I love experimenting. It . . . fulfills me on an almost spiritual level.” He laughed. “I sound ridiculous, I know. But it is what I was meant to do. A job and aspiration I hope never ends. Does that make sense?”

  “It makes perfect sense,” Lucia replied.

  The final course arrived, a frothy dessert in an unusual handblown forest green crystal flute, one side taller than the other. The higher edge looped over like a half-curled leaf to kiss the side of the glass. Long, small-bowled spoons allowed them to dig through the mousse all the way to the bottom of the flute to an airy raspberry sponge.

  Replete, they took their coffee in the living room while Joe tidied the kitchen and the dining room table, before offering a brief farewell and departing.

  Instantly, the atmosphere changed, grew charged and filled with a delicious tension. Oddly restless, Lucia crossed to the bank of windows and stared out at the sweep of lights crossing the bridge and dotting the bay.

  Ty joined her after a moment, breaking the growing silence. His deep, dark voice slipped through the room, flowing over and through her. “Tell me what you want, Lucia.”

  She debated her options, but knew what she wanted. She’d known from the moment they first touched. “I want you to make love to me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She turned to face him. “Very sure.”

  His face remained in shadow, though his eyes gleamed in the darkness. They were filled with heat and undisguised desire. “I want you, too.”

  She didn’t bother to play coy. She’d never liked that sort of deception in a relationship. Besides, she wasn’t a virgin. She’d been married and divorced. And though she’d never been with anyone other than her ex-husband, she was far from an innocent.

  “Where’s your bedroom? I’d like to freshen up.”

  He jerked his head toward an archway. “Turn left.”

  She followed his directions and discovered a large, masculine bedroom decorated in earth tones. A single light lit the area, a soft shimmering glow emanating from his bedside table. His view matched that of the living room, offering another gorgeous view of the bridge and bay.

  At one end she noticed another shadowy archway and discovered this one led to a huge master bath. She took her time freshening up, then debated her next move. Strip or leave that to him? Borrow a shirt or robe? She almost laughed aloud.

  She hadn’t really thought the evening through, hadn’t brought anything with her in anticipation of spending the night. No female stuff. Shaking her head at her shortsightedness, she decided to return to the bedroom and allow events to unfold naturally. She entered the room to find Ty already there.

  He was naked.

  He was also painfully aroused.

  Chapter Three

  She’d never seen such a perfectly built man before. He was huge in every regard, his shoulders so wide she wondered if she could span them with both arms outspread. Muscles topped muscles along his biceps and down a chest lightly furred with dark hair, hair that darted downward in a sharp line, bumping across impressive abs, before surrounding his impressive erection. A worrisome scar carved a diagonal path across his chest and she wondered if the wound dated from his years in the military. At a more appropriate time, she’d ask.

  Lucia forced her gaze back upward to meet Ty’s. “I guess I should have stripped, too.” She stepped closer, filled with a painful hunger that burned through her veins with each beat of her heart. “I did consider it.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “I thought maybe you’d like to do it.”<
br />
  Oh, God. The comment hung between them like a hot demand. He instantly reacted, crossing to her side in two swift strides. She expected him to strip her without delay. He didn’t. Instead, he stared down at her with an odd smile.

  Ever so gently he cupped her face and took her mouth in a slow, leisurely kiss that threatened to melt the clothes right off of her. His tongue slid across the seam of her mouth, edging inwardly. And then he took her under in long, deep kisses. She shuddered within his hold, every part of her coming to life in urgent demand.

  She pressed against him, her aching breasts tight against his chest, her arms equally tight about his neck, fingers tunneled deep into his hair. Desperate desire arrowed downward, settling in the very core of her. She needed him, needed him to remind her of what it meant to be a woman. It overrode every hesitation, every hideous memory of the only other times she’d been with a man.

  He tugged her hair free, allowing it to surround them in a cloud of curls. “You are so beautiful. I’ve never met a woman I wanted as much as I want you.”

  “Never?” She pulled back slightly, searching his expression. Did he truly feel that way? Or was he feeding her a line?

  He cupped her face again and looked directly at her. “Never.”

  “I shouldn’t admit this, but I’ve never felt this way, either.”

  The palm of her right hand throbbed in reaction. A reminder from The Inferno. They still hadn’t discussed the Dante curse. She debated bringing it up now, then decided against it. No. This was most definitely not the time. Especially, since it only seemed to go one way. She couldn’t trust The Inferno. Refused to trust it.

  He swept her under with another kiss and when she resurfaced again, she discovered he’d stripped away her shirt and bra. How had that happened? She’d never felt a thing.

  He changed all of that in an instant, cupping her breasts and teasing the nipples into painfully hard peaks. His teeth closed over one and she cried out in sharp pleasure. “Ty! That feels so good.”

  “I promise, it’ll feel better soon.”

  She didn’t doubt that for a moment. He swept her into his arms as though she weighed nothing, catching her by surprise, and carried her to the bed. Tossing the covers toward the bottom of the bed, he set her on the mattress. For a long moment, he stood over her, an immense mountain of a man, simply staring down at her, as though memorizing this moment in time.

  He planted one knee on the bed beside her and lifted a long strand of hair, winding the curls around his fingers. “I’ve never seen hair like this before. I think there’s every color in there.”

  “Maybe not every color. But there are quite a few.”

  He lifted her leg to slip off her ankle boot, an instant later following suit with the other. Then he unbuckled her belt and lowered the zipper of her jeans. With infinite care, he slid her jeans and panties down her hips and legs in one slow move, uncovering her inch by inch.

  His breath deepened. Thickened. Grew harsh and heavy. He reached for her, taking his time and giving her plenty of opportunity to end the moment if she chose. She didn’t choose. She welcomed his touch, yearned for it. Longed to be touched with genuine passion and caring.

  As though reading her mind, he accommodated. He ran his hand from shoulder to breast, waist to hip. Abdomen to the warm core of her.

  “Tell me what you like.”

  “I don’t know,” she confessed.

  For the first time, he drew back. “What do you mean?” A frown touched his brow. “Are you a virgin?”

  She shook her head. “I was married.” The less said about that, the better. “It didn’t end well. He wasn’t particularly interested in my pleasure.” At all. In fact, he did everything possible to ensure she never experienced pleasure.

  “Okay. I can work with that.”

  If she hadn’t been half in love with him before, that one simple comment did it for her. He was seriously aroused. In her—admittedly limited—experience, men were more interested in taking care of their own desires, especially when in such obvious need.

  He settled beside her and took her in his arms. “Tell me if I do anything you don’t enjoy.”

  “I have a feeling I’ll enjoy just about anything we do.”

  Despite his lips quirking upward, his expression remained serious. “Just let me know, though I suspect I’ll pick up on it.”

  “Please,” she whispered. “I want you to touch me.”

  Ty studied Lucia, blown away by how beautiful she was. Her hip-length hair spread in a halo around her head, thick, heavy ringlets that clung to him whenever he gathered them in his hands.

  Her face was open, every emotion blazing across her elegant features. A flush swept across her cheeks, hinting at passion, and her teal eyes were dark and filled with mystery, a suggestion of longing peeking out.

  Need rode him hard, and he fought to keep from revealing just how hard. Unwilling to alarm her, he considered his options, touching her with just his gaze. She didn’t appear the least self-conscious, much to his relief. Definitely a good sign considering what she’d told him about her past.

  For such a petite female, her curves were all woman with full, rose-tipped breasts, a narrow waist, rounded hips and slender thighs. A tidy strip of brown hair covered her mons, the curls even tighter than those on her head. She lay beside him, a visual feast awaiting a starving man.

  He couldn’t help wondering about her marriage, about her inexperience when it came to true passion. Had she never enjoyed being with a man before? God, he hoped not. That would be a damn shame. He didn’t ask. Just like certain incidents in his past, he suspected that topic should remain off limits until they knew each other better.

  She’d told him to touch her. Okay, then, he’d keep his touch light and easy. Slow. After all, they had all night.

  He started with her face, using just his fingertips the way he had before dinner. He drifted from her eyebrows to her cheekbones to her jawline, and finally to the long, graceful sweep of her neck. And accompanying each gentle caress, he gave her a slow, deep kiss, drinking in her soft moans and sighs.

  She lifted toward each stroke of his fingers, shifting restlessly. Cupping her breasts, he lowered his head to tease them with lips and tongue, and her back arched in response, pressing her body closer. She was so deliciously responsive, so unfettered in her reactions. He scraped her nipple with his teeth, releasing it long enough to gently pinch the hard bud.

  “Ty!”

  “Good or bad?”

  She groaned. “Good. Too good. Not enough.”

  He gave each one another love pinch and followed it up by tracing a path downward to her abdomen. She had the softest skin he’d ever felt. Satin and silk and velvet all in one. He slid lower, parting her legs wide in order to wedge his shoulders between her thighs.

  He inhaled deeply, reveling in the scent of her passion. “Do you like this?” he asked. Gently he lapped at the core of her, parting her to reveal the deep pink inner layers. “And this?”

  She shuddered in his hold. “I . . . I think so. I’ve never— I don’t—”

  “I can stop.”

  “No! No, don’t stop.”

  He smiled against her, kissing the warm, sleek skin of her inner thigh. “Grab a pillow and hold on.”

  To his amusement, she fumbled for a pillow and buried her face in it, muffling her cries. He gave himself up to pure bliss, teasing the bundle of nerves peeking from its protective hood and sliding a finger deep into her passage. Her hips rocked upward and he added a second. She was tight, but her moist heat eased the way and he slowly pumped in and out. Curling his fingers slightly, he drew them repeatedly across the rough inner patch of her G-spot until she stiffened. With a muffled shriek she exploded in an intense climax.

  He let her ride it out, then grabbed a condom and rolled it on. She instantly threw aside the pillow and wrapped her arms and legs around him. He took his time sheathing himself in her heat, pausing for an instant once he was fully seat
ed. And then he moved, slowly and cautiously, giving her time to adjust to his girth.

  They found their rhythm after a minute of experimentation, a brief fumble of give and take that elicited a breathless laugh. Her laughter turned to sighs of pleasure, then gasps of blatant need. Finally, she matched him, stroke for stroke, the breath heaving in her lungs. He drove her upward again, drove himself upward. Her cries filled his ears, urging him on. More than anything he wanted the moment to last forever. To hold them within this passionate bubble of time. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t.

  With a cry, Lucia came and Ty followed her over, driving into her a final time, emptying until he had nothing left, locked within her.

  “Don’t leave me,” she whispered, holding him tight. “Not yet.”

  Her words hit on some horrible, visceral level, tearing at him. They revealed such a heartrending vulnerability, spoke of a deep hurt that had never been excised.

  He enclosed her in his arms, hugging her close. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here with you.”

  Ty woke in the early hours of the morning. At some point, he’d wrapped himself around Lucia, spooning her tight against him, enclosing her in arms and legs. Her head fit just beneath his chin, her hair twining around him as though taking root.

  He smiled, surprised by the level of his contentment. Normally, he’d have held himself at a safe distance, but with Lucia, he didn’t want to maintain that distance.

  Mine.

  The word echoed through his head again, a refrain he couldn’t silence. Lucia murmured in her sleep, a small whimper of distress, and he gently turned her to face him. Instantly, her arms wrapped around him and she burrowed into his chest.

  “You’re okay,” he whispered against his temple. “I’ve got you. I’ll keep you safe.”

  He didn’t know where the words came from or why the protective instinct hit so hard. He just knew he wouldn’t allow any harm to come to her. Ever. She was his now.

  For now, the bleak warning sounded.

  He tried to thrust the cautionary voice aside. He’d learned he functioned best on his own, that lesson taking a bitter toll. He attempted to thrust the cautionary voice aside. When he didn’t succeed, unease seized him.