Dante's Fire

by Jennifer Probst

  She stood up from the chair, dragging her sweaty palms down her smart Jones suit. Why was she so nervous? They had cake at least once a week, since it was office tradition and they employed hundreds of people. She tilted her chin up with determination and walked into the conference room.

  "There she is!" Tom and Ed motioned her over, and her assistant began shouting about forty being the new thirty. A large sheet cake sat on the table, with shots of champagne in plastic glasses being passed around. Black balloons were tied to the chairs, and a withering, dried, black rose made up a centerpiece.

  Selina held up her hand in acknowledgment, forcing a smile at the cheers and claps attacking her ears. Usually she adored participating in celebrations with her co-workers and took the role of cake cutter. Sweat pricked her brow. What the hell was wrong with her? Her throat locked at the idea of squeezing in between the mass of bodies to get to the cake. Why was she acting ridiculous?

  "We got cooties, Rogers?" Tom shouted out. Laughter broke out.

  Patricia, the birthday honoree, raised her glass in the air. Short, dark curls flopped about her face in artful fashion. "She wants a break from cutting! Screw you, Tom! Next time you get me a black rose let's see if your lunch order ever gets delivered correctly."

  Whistles rang out. Her heart pounded so hard she wondered if everyone could hear it. The noise continued as they cut the cake, teased each other, and drank the bubbly liquid. Her back pressed against the wall, and suddenly a hard, muscled arm dragged across her chest, brushing her breasts.

  Selina froze. Terror chopped through her. A silent scream rose to her pursed lips and then she was pushing the intruder away, backing away to safety. Drew Coleman, one of the top salesmen in the unit, raised a brow and lifted both hands in the air.

  "Sorry, Selina. Just trying to get some cake."

  She tried to laugh it off and make a joking remark. The words got stuck, and feeling on the verge of a panic attack, she ducked her head and raced out of the conference room.

  The moment she shut the door behind her, her legs gave out. Selina sank into the matching leather armchair, much smaller than hers, and buried her face in her hands.

  What was happening to her? She wanted normalcy. She wanted to forget. But she was so damn jumpy. Even at lunch, she'd tried to venture out to the deli with her team, but the thought of walking down the street close by the incident twisted her stomach. When she headed past the main lobby, the noise level jolted her. Dialogue, keys tapping, laughter, phones ringing. The only place she felt safe was in her office, but the isolation caused a different fear.

  The weekend had been a blur. With bright sunlight streaming through the windows, she'd felt a bit stronger and capable. Dante vanished with the night, until she wondered if she'd made him up with her subconscious in order to get through a traumatic experience. So, Selina pushed him out of her mind and made herself go through the rituals of a Saturday. She decided to lay low and heal from the night's traumatic events.

  Wash. Dress. Eat breakfast. She'd tried cleaning her apartment but her muscles ached. Instead, she'd worked most of the day on her laptop, sipping tea, television blaring for company. She buried Friday night's event to the recesses of her mind, closed the door and locked it tight.

  Until night fell.

  Still exhausted, she tried desperately to sleep. But the nightmares came.

  "Shut up, bitch." Slapped, pushed down to the cold ground. Hands ripping away her sweater, pulling at her jeans. Her naked breasts exposed for their laughter and groping fingers.

  She screamed and sobbed uncontrollably at the raw images behind her lids.

  "I'm here." Dante's voice reached into the nightmare, grabbed her tight, and brought her to safety. This time, she knew he was no apparition. He was real; he was her priceless gift to keep away the demons. At least for a while.

  He stood guard over her both Saturday and Sunday night. Kept the nightmares at bay. Held her hand, brought her water, and let her talk when she wanted. His calm strength flowed through her as if a blood transfusion, allowing her some peace.

  It made no sense, yet she didn't care. A masked stranger was now the only person she clung to. A million questions swirled through her mind, but she was too tired and battered to voice them. Accepting his comfort was the only thing that kept her sane.

  Selina shook off the memory of her weekend and tried to re-focus. Time to get back to work. She needed to be ready for Forrester on Thursday, and still had a dozen phone calls to make.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  She jumped out of her seat, and then turned red at her obvious skittishness. Daniel hovered by the door with a banded pile of mail. "Hey boss, can I come in?"

  She'd been avoiding people all day, but found herself nodding at his question. "Sure, Dan. Want a cup of coffee?"

  "Sounds great, as long as you have a few minutes."

  "I need a coffee break." She watched him walk to the farthest table where she kept her one-cup coffee maker fully stocked and consistently brewing. Her gaze took in his Judas Priest t-shirt, worn jeans, and Sketchers sneakers. The light streamed over his loose dark hair and illuminated the jagged scar, but she only saw the deep pull of his eyes, the strong slope of his jaw covered with a bit of stubble, and his graceful motions as he took the chair opposite hers.

  "Heard about the mugging." He looked her over. His face gentled. "I've been worried about you but didn't want to push. How are you holding up?

  Selina opened her mouth to give her usual statement. Instead, the truth tumbled out. "Not great. I got spooked, and now it's pissing me off. I'm jumping at things like a baby."

  He stared at her thoughtfully. "Do you think you're Wonder Woman or something? You need to give yourself a break. I can't believe you came into the office today."

  "I'd rather work." She took a sip of her own coffee. "Anyway, it's over now. I need to move on."

  "Sounds like a plan. But your mind may have a different agenda."

  "I hate weakness," she muttered.

  "You don't have a weak bone in your body." His voice dropped and caused shivers to run down her spine. Odd. For a quick moment, he sounded so familiar. Suddenly, her casual friend across the table struck her as a powerful man. His dark intensity ruffled her nerve endings. Her belly dipped, and confusion marred her brow as she stared at him. Instead of his usual retreat, his gaze locked with hers. Those piercing eyes, so like Dante's, pinned her to the ground. Energy sizzled between them. This time, Dan challenged her right back. And not as a friend.

  As a man.

  Selina swallowed hard and concentrated on her coffee cup. A low chuckle echoed in the room at her obvious surrender but she refused to acknowledge it. She couldn't take a change in their relationship right now. Between the after effects of the assault, and her strange nightly visitor, Selina couldn't handle the idea of her steady friend Dan suddenly wanting more. No wonder she was beginning to compare them. Their looks and build were similar. Of course, she doubted poor Dan was masquerading as a nightly superhero with the power of fire.

  She so needed some therapy.

  Selina tried to make light of the moment. "I have plenty of weaknesses. Ever see me devour a cupcake in under three seconds?"

  "Loving dessert could never be a weakness. I think your biggest issue is championing lost causes."

  Her eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

  "You like the Mets. That's scary."

  She gasped. "Unfair! Their time just hasn't come."

  "Don't think it ever will. How about when we do the company pool for the Triple Crown horse race? You always pick a fifty-to-one shot."

  "I want to make money."

  His lip quirked. "You pushed for Inferno to buy the Eastwood property and no one has been able move it for over a year."

  She tilted her chin up in sheer defiance. "That's gonna sell. The place is an artistic gold mine, and his mother is in a nursing home. He desperately needed the money, and eventually we'll make up for the loss
of profits."

  This time, his lips curved into a full-fledged smile. "See, I rest my case. You're weak, but in only one place: your heart."

  That part of her anatomy stuttered, paused, and restarted with a vengeance. How did he know so much about her? Sure, they had daily conversations, but never saw each other outside of the office. Yet, he seemed able to look straight past the surface and see her completely bare.

  No. She would not deal with these odd emotions right now. The last thing she needed was more confusion.

  She forced herself to sound casual. "Well, thanks for the support."

  "No support. Just truth." He paused and cleared his throat. "I don't know the details of the mugging, but I do know it takes a long time to heal. I had a similar experience when I was younger."

  She leaned forward with curiosity. "What happened?"

  Darkness stole over his face. His features seemed carved from stone. "Someone I loved was killed. For a long time, I didn't know how to handle it. I lashed out, angry at the world, angry at my weakness. I finally realized in order to be strong; we have to allow ourselves to feel the grief first. The rage. The helplessness. Then we can heal."

  As if they shared the same soul, pain shuddered through her body, imagining him as a boy watching someone get hurt. Someone he couldn't help. "Is that how you got your scar?"

  Dan touched his face. A lifetime of memories flickered in his eyes. "Yes. I had nights I didn't think I could handle because of the nightmares."

  The words drove deep. Him too. Maybe she wasn't so alone after all, but like most bad things, people kept them locked inside and refused to share. Suddenly, he reached over to her. His finger trailed down her bruised cheek with so much tenderness tears stung her eyes. "But I learned something important. Scars aren't a weakness, Selina. They're signs of strength because we survived."

  The truth struck her full force. Her hands gripped her coffee mug as she struggled to process this new energy between them, this intimacy that made her suddenly ache to have his arms wrap around her and hold tight. To feel his hands stroking while his lips took hers.

  She froze, waiting for him to do something, waiting for him to do nothing. Last week she might have made the move. Might have. But now?

  His hand dropped.

  "I better go." His gruff words broke the spell. He dumped the paper cup in the garbage and headed toward the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Yes. See you tomorrow."

  She watched him walk away and wondered if she'd ever be the same person again.

  Chapter Five

  "No!"

  Her cry shook through him as Dante hushed her sobs and took her in his arms. The first few nights he kept his distance, and only allowed himself to hold her hand. There were stringent rules regarding building back a woman's trust. Selina was especially vulnerable only because of her strength, and her ability to push past barriers she regarded as weakness. He wasn't surprised her dreams were worse than most, since she dealt with many of her fears within her subconscious.

  This time, he sat on the bed and held her. The softness of her curves cradled his hard muscles. The delicious scent of vanilla and sandalwood rose to his nostrils in drunken pleasure. He buried his face in her silky hair and rocked her, soothing away her tears and the images of evil that haunted her.

  She wore a thin t-shirt and boxer shorts. The sheet had twisted around her body, revealing a length of bare thigh. Her peach-toned skin was well muscled, obvious from the strict regimen she kept at the gym. Her breasts were small but perfect, her nipples poking through the fabric of her shirt and stabbing into his chest. His erection throbbed in demand, but he fought for his usual ironclad control.

  He had a job to do. Getting emotionally involved with women was a liability and against the rules. If he intended to help Selina, he needed to suck it up and stop acting like a horny teenager with his first lover.

  But, God, she was heaven to hold.

  Dante took a deep breath, knowing that tonight he needed to push her. The healing only began with some emotional truth and pain. "Tell me about your dream, Selina."

  She shook her head against his chest and clung to him. "Don't want to."

  He smothered a curse and made himself ignore her. God, she was killing him. "I need to know. Tell me every detail you remember."

  She hesitated. "It's always the same. I'm happy and safe. Then suddenly someone grabs me from behind. I try to scream but my lips are glued together. I try to fight; I try to stab them with my keys like I learned in self-defense class, but nothing works. I'm too weak. I'm too stupid."

  He winced. A normal reaction. He longed to comfort her as she craved but knew that would only hinder the healing process. Dante pushed harder. "Why do you think you're weak or stupid? Those men were stronger than you were. There were two, not just one. How was a key going to help?"

  "My fault," she whispered. "My fault."

  "Why? What did you do to make those men want to beat you up and try to rape you? What did you do wrong?"

  A sob caught in her throat. "Ed wanted to walk me home. I said no. I was too strong, too independent. If he had walked me home, I wouldn't have been attacked. My fault."

  His heart tore; shred; ripped. Dante gritted his teeth and completed his job. For her. "Selina, if you hadn't been on that street alone, they would've waited for another woman. Maybe a woman who wasn't as strong as you were, who couldn't get through it. Maybe a woman I wouldn't have been able to save. And what if they thought it'd be fun to take out Ed, too? They could have easily jumped him first, and then attacked you. This is not your fault."

  He forced her chin up. He still wore the mask, knowing one glimpse of the scar would reveal his identity. He was already playing way too close to the literal fire, knowing in a light bulb moment Selina could piece together the clues and realize his true identify. Sure, he changed his voice, and tried to mask his usual scent, but she was smart. It would be smart to back off.

  But he couldn't.

  He needed to be here to help heal her. Already, those jeweled eyes glimmered with tears and grief, but with an inner strength that took his breath away. Dante looked deep, not allowing her to look away. Slowly, the realization dawned, the truth of what had happened to her, and the unfairness of the situation. But not her fault.

  Selina broke. She shuddered against him, and Dante knew the wall had crumbled. First destroy, then rebuild. His mother had taught him well, and he felt grateful to use his powers to help the woman in his arms. The woman he'd been secretly in love with for the past two years.

  When she was emotionally spent, Dante took the opportunity to lie beside her for comfort. She needed to get used to a man's touch again in a non-threatening way, and cuddling in bed was the best antidote to sexual violence. The layer of trust was already strengthening to a degree he'd never experienced before. He tucked her close against him and lowered her head on his chest. Her tight muscles slowly began to relax.

  Conversation both grounded and soothed, so he stroked her hair and began speaking. "Have you ever seen the movie, Happy Gilmore with Adam Sandler?"

  She paused. Dante figured she was trying to figure out the ridiculous change of subject. "Umm, yeah. It wasn't an Academy Award winner, but pretty funny." He remained silent, waiting for her to push. "Umm, Dante?"

  "Yeah?"

  "There's a point to the question, right?"

  He smiled. Distracting her was the best form of medicine, and when she calmed down, she'd be able to sleep. That's where real healing began. "Of course. Do you remember the main theme of the movie?"

  This time she snorted against his chest. "Golf?"

  "No. Finding your happy place."

  "You cannot be serious right now. If the whole point of this conversation is about midgets on bikes, I may need to kick you out."

  He laughed. "Close. His was midgets on bikes, sure, but who are we to judge? As cliche as it sounds, finding a scene in your head to concentrate on when you're panicking is a good way to ca
lm down. Between controlling your breath, and focusing on your happy place, the bad things go away faster."

  "What's yours?"

  He rarely shared personal information with the survivors he helped. Being with women in such intimate settings was a fine line to walk, and he was already emotionally involved with Selina. But tonight, for a little while, he needed the connection just as badly as she did.

  "I was ten years old, and it was the last day of school. Instead of taking the bus home, my parents picked me up and took me out. They'd planned the entire day around things I loved, saying I worked hard and got good grades. You know, I hear about these big vacations like Disney World kids go on, but nothing was better than that day. We went to the park and ate hot dogs. Rented these paddleboats and sailed them on the water. We stopped at the Central Park Zoo, and ate ice cream, and then they we drove upstate and I went to my first drive-in movie."

  "What movie?"

  "Batman Forever. So cool. When we got home, I was exhausted, but I'd never been so happy in my life. Everything was just...perfect."

  He let her process her thoughts, her silky hair wrapping around his fingers in a caress. "I like that day," she said.

  "What about you? Something you remember from your parents?" She stiffened beneath him. What had he said wrong? Did she have issues with her family and he'd brought up something painful? "You don't have to share with me, Selina. It can be a private memory; I had no right to ask."

  Sometimes, in sifting for a happy memory, people shut down. The past was a closet full of secrets, and many he'd found were not pleasant. He craved to know everything about Selina, but he needed to keep the distance between them or he could make a terrible mistake. The most important goal was to heal her.

  "I didn't have any real parents," she said softly. Her face pressed against the cotton of his shirt. "I was in foster care my whole life."

  Shock filled him. She was so capable and confident; he would've never guessed she didn't have a solid family supporting her in the background. He remained silent, waiting for more. Finally, she spoke.

  "My parents died when I was little. Car crash. I lived, but they didn't. I don't remember much about them, but I was in the hospital for a while, and then I went into the foster care system. I didn't speak for a long time, so I saw a lot of therapists, and I guess I was too damaged to have anyone want me full time."