Now that he’d met Hannah and was prepared to deliver Jackson’s deathbed message, so to speak, Dante found he didn’t simply want to be a messenger and then leave. If he delayed his announcement, he could spend more time learning more about this intriguing woman.
And then do what? He had nothing to offer, even if his news endeared her to Dante. His entire existence personified the definition of morally corrupt. At this point, though, his interest was more than professional and more than his usual sexual interest.
When was the last time he’d felt so strongly about anyone? Two, three hundred years ago? Why try again? It would only bring pain for all parties involved.
Thoughts churned in his mind until he gave up trying to create order out of chaos. His unhappiness changed nothing. At a loss to raise his spirits, he simply tucked into a delectable multicourse meal.
Just after seven o’clock, the faint jingle of the bookstore door drifted over to him in time for him to see Hannah leave the store and walk up the street. Her hips swayed unevenly under the long skirt. He briefly indulged in envisioning her body beneath her clothes. Would his hands span her tiny waist? What would she feel like, folded into his arms or, even better, lying beneath him?
As if he had the right to think about such things. He did not.
He easily caught up to her slow, limping gait. “Hello, Hannah.” He spoke without preamble, pouring on the charm.
She gurgled a cry and jumped back, tears welling in her bespectacled eyes. It was true: He was an idiot. Damn it, he had to consider what she might have endured with Jackson. Time to back off and try a softer approach.
“I’m sorry to scare you,” he said, letting his deep voice vibrate the air.
When he reached out to her, she flinched away like a wounded bird desperately trying to fly away. He cursed himself again. Gently, man. Tone down the machismo.
“What ... what are you doing here?” She flicked glances up and down the street.
He could listen to her low, breathless voice for centuries, and it wouldn’t get old.
“I, uh, was walking by when you came out of the store. Would you like a ride home?” He cringed. Still didn’t hit the right tone. He needed this encounter to come across as less creepy stalker, more casual happenstance.
“No, no. That’s not ... no. I’ll just walk like I usually do. On my own. Alone.”
Okay. Kid gloves, then. “Could I walk with you?”
“No, I don’t—no. But thank you.”
He enjoyed how the flush crept over her face and neck, and his hands itched with the desire to see if that skin was as baby soft as it appeared. And that pulse jumping at the base of her neck? Ja, he wanted his lips there.
“I’d really be more comfortable walking you home. It’s getting darker earlier these days. Um, because it’s fall,” he stammered.
Lame. Where had the smooth operator gone? He’d deserted Dante, pure and simple.
“Yes, but it’s more than a mile,” she said.
“I think I can manage.”
“I’m not sure ...”
When she crossed her arms, the barest shadow formed in the fabric nestled between her breasts. It took all of his unnatural strength not to stare at that spot.
He kept his arms close to his body but turned his palms up to her. “Look, we got off on the wrong foot, and I apologize. Sometimes I’m less than ... couth. I truly want to walk you home, nothing else. I promise. And I do sincerely believe that it’s dangerous for a lady to walk home alone in the dark.”
He pretended to consider the twilight sky, drawing her attention upward, then stood still for a full minute. Her silence nearly killed him. He wanted to plead his case, try another round of sure-fire seductiveness, but he now knew those tactics wouldn’t work. Quelling the urge to squirm beneath her scrutiny, he tried to come across as nonchalant and nonthreatening, which for someone of his size was an almost impossible task. Please.
“Okay. Big streets only. And I have pepper spray.”
She stood as tall as possible, which wasn’t saying much. Dante tried not to laugh out loud. If only she knew what he was capable of, with his unhuman Indebted strength, his occupation, she would never walk with him. Barehanded, he could destroy any mortal man, to say nothing of this scrap of a female. But her safety was his paramount concern, even if she didn’t realize it.
Trying to pour reassurance into his reply, he smiled. “Sounds reasonable. You can pepper spray me at any time. Actually, you can do it once for practice if you will feel more secure.”
Forty years ago, he’d been pepper sprayed at an environmental protest in the Redwoods. He so did enjoy participating in citizen revolts over the ages. Ja, damn spray hurt like hell, but with his superhuman self-healing, the effect only lasted a minute or two. If Hannah needed to burn out his eyeballs to accept his company, he’d gladly let her do it.
At her hesitation, he added, “Would you like to carry the bottle in your hand? You’ll be ready to take action, if needed.”
She wrinkled her nose at him, rotated her purse to sling it in front of her, and damned if she didn’t fish out the spray can and palm it. Her sweet lips pressed into a thin line. Spectacular beståmning. Determination. Grit.
• • •
The walk home flat out hurt. Between her headache, every joint in her body aching—save that one finger—and the blond giant next to her who, bless him, hadn’t tried any funny business, Hannah had zero energy left.
Despite her exhaustion, she didn’t miss when several women flirted with him on the walk home. Beautiful women with hungry glances that locked onto him; a few women even licked their lips. What hurt more was the way their expressions changed as their eyes slid from Dante to Hannah. She wasn’t a threat to these women, just an aberration, a peculiarity, like a puzzle piece that didn’t belong. Despite the attention, Dante appeared to ignore it all and concentrated solely on Hannah, and that focus unnerved her.
Why was he here with her? As she drifted along with their light conversation, she only half listened. She kept searching for an ulterior motive, a hint of pity, an angle having to do with Ray, anything.
Somewhere a few blocks north of the bookstore, she’d returned the pepper spray to her purse. It hurt her fingers to hold the bottle. Besides, she could scream pretty loudly if he tried anything.
To his credit, Dante had planted his hands at his sides and hadn’t moved them for twenty minutes. He walked close enough that his massive frame gave her the perception of safety, but he didn’t encroach on her personal space.
Hannah experienced a fleeting illusion of companionship, rapidly replaced by a wave of terror. She was alone with a man. Never mind Dante’s kind, blue eyes and the heat that somehow radiated out from him and wrapped around her like a warm blanket. Despite the fact that he had made no advances, had done nothing improper, she couldn’t overcome the quaking inside her body. Her shivers had nothing to do with the handsome man next to her and everything to do with her wrecked state. Even the slight movement of his light hair in the breeze made her flinch.
God, her mind was a disaster zone.
If he noticed her jumpiness, he gave no indication.
Instead, their conversation, or mostly his, centered on weather, things to do in Portland, and one of her favorite topics, books. He’d transformed from a beefy flirt into a perfect, nonthreatening gentleman. He didn’t even seem bothered when he had to adjust his long stride to match her ridiculously slow pace.
But he paused a few times during the conversation, as if he wanted to say more but thought better of it. What was he hiding?
As if reading her mind, Dante finally cleared his throat. “May I share something with you?”
“Maybe. Depends on the information.”
“Good point.” His lips thinned. “Are you Jessica Miller?”
“What?” For the second time today, he rendered her speechless.
And terrified. With her bad foot, maybe she couldn’t run, but she could damn well pepper
spray him.
She fumbled in her purse.
Dante didn’t move.
Relief washed over her like a cool shower when her fingers wrapped around the metal tube, and she raised it in front of her. Damn how her arm shook.
“What do you want?”
He still hadn’t so much as twitched a muscle. “I need to deliver a message to you. I’m not here to harm you whatsoever. Please believe me.”
“Who sent you here?”
“I met a man in Philadelphia a little while back. I believe you know him. Raymond Jackson.”
Nausea churned in her belly. “Oh God.”
Her legs went weak, and when he reached for her, she waved him off with a menacing wave of the pepper spray. “Don’t touch me.”
He dropped his hand. “I met Raymond Jackson at the end of his life in Philadelphia.”
“Ray’s dead?” Damn it, but sound and light slid from side to side. She had to concentrate on Dante’s face to remain upright.
“Yes, he’s dead.”
“How did he die?” Like it mattered. At least that monster was gone for good.
He couldn’t look at her. “Stabbed in an alley. But before he died, he asked me to give you a message.”
“Okay.” She spared no sad emotion for that sick animal, dying in the streets of Philly. Good riddance.
“He said he had roughed up his children.”
That’s putting it lightly.
“And?” With her fingers still wrapped around her puny weapon, she dropped her shaking arm to her side.
“He was sorry for everything he had put you and your brother through.”
Dante smiled as though he’d delivered her the Ark of the Covenant.
Poor guy had no idea.
A simple apology didn’t undo Ray’s destruction. A simple apology only ripped open wounds that had started to heal.
But there was a tiny spark inside of her. A tendril of relief surrounded by layers of pain and fear. She’d have to take time to absorb this information. Maybe Ray’s death would help her move on with her life. She’d never be normal, but knowing that he couldn’t hurt her again gave her a flicker of hope.
Poor Dante stood there with such a hopeful expression on his handsome features.
She swallowed. “How did you know Ray? How did you come to be there when he died?”
He stared at the concrete for a long moment. “Happened to be in the right place. Um, when he gave me the information to deliver, I came to Portland.”
“You just picked up and came here to find me and deliver this message?” Something smelled fishy. He wasn’t telling her everything.
“I, uh, have a lot of flexibility with my job.”
“What exactly do you do?”
“Um, pest control.” His expression was more question, less statement.
“Looking like this?”
“I run my own business.”
“Hmm.”
He cleared his throat. “So isn’t that a good message?”
Darned if he didn’t look like an overgrown schoolboy, awaiting praise. She hated to burst his bubble.
“Kind of. Well. Thank you for going to all the trouble to tell me.”
“So Raymond wasn’t a nice guy?”
“I’d rather not discuss him, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” He hadn’t moved a muscle in the past five minutes.
“Can we just keep walking for a while?”
“Whatever you wish.” His stiff stance belied his polite words.
Perhaps she hadn’t shown the proper gratitude. He had come all the way from Philadelphia and somehow tracked her down, all to give her this message. That effort had to have taken time and money. Even if he was independently wealthy, he still had taken a lot of initiative on her behalf.
She tried to formulate a statement of appropriate thanks, one that she could say without breaking into pieces. Nope. Couldn’t do it.
Deep in thought, they strolled side by side in pensive silence. She’d be sure to thank him by the time they reached her house.
Fewer and fewer cars passed as they passed into the run-down residential area. The pleasant companionship eased the tension in her shoulders. For the time being.
Lulled into a relaxed state, she almost forgot about her disappointing life, almost forgot her aches and pains. Too easily, she imagined all of her days ending like this, walking home with a handsome man, enjoying polite conversation and companionship.
Until she blasted back into reality.
Up the street, Scott and his nasty friend, Brandon, stood at the front door of the house, beer bottles in hands. Their expressions were hidden in backlit shadow from the porch light, but the silhouettes of their heads rose as she approached. Oh geez, not good.
“Okay, so I’ll go on from here alone, thanks.” She smiled in what she hoped was a convincing manner.
Slowing down her pace, she prayed Dante would get the hint.
“I don’t mind walking further.”
“No, really, it’s fine. Thank you and good night.”
She had to get him away from here. Shame for her brother and for her life rose up. So much for the gentleman walking her home to her pleasant life. Nice dream while it lasted. Dear lord, Dante wasn’t stopping.
Scott raised his bottle in shaky salute. “Hi, sis, who you got there?”
At an encouraging nod and smirk from Brandon, her brother sauntered to the sidewalk, planted his feet, and crossed his arms.
“I’m Scott. Who the fuck are you?”
Mortified, Hannah opened her mouth, but the man next to her spoke up first.
“Dante Blackstone.”
She hadn’t heard him project his voice before, and the bass tones vibrated through the concrete into the soles of her feet. Wow.
Scott rocked back a half step. “What the hell are you doing fooling around with my sister?”
She wanted to dissolve into the cracked pavement.
Although he remained civil on the surface, Dante’s censure was obvious. “There was no fooling around, as you say. It didn’t seem right to make your sister walk home in the dark. I’m surprised you don’t have more concern for her safety.”
Scott sputtered. “Well, I’ve got my own business to take care of, my man. It’s cool. She can take care of herself. She’s a big girl.”
Her brother didn’t look at her but instead glanced at Brandon. After a long draw on the beer, Brandon leered at her and nudged Scott.
What the heck? Her brother had become another person altogether around this guy. How much she’d give to keep Scott permanently away from his so-called friend.
Brandon’s narrow face squished into a scowl. “You don’t want a random dude sniffing around your sister, do you?” His nostrils flared as he smirked at Dante with open hostility.
Just being in the same zip code as Brandon made Hannah’s skin crawl.
Dante reared back and stared at Brandon as if the ginger jerk had given him the worst news of his life. Dante’s brows drew together, and his mouth clamped into a hard line. Did these two men know each other? Their reactions were unusual, to say the least. In the silent standoff, she squirmed.
“No way, bro.” Scott wiped his mouth on his hand and glared at Dante. “All right, buddy. You did your charity work for my poor sister.” She flinched at Scott’s sarcasm. “You should head on home now before you try to get your hands on her. Payment for your services and all, right?”
Dante actually growled, and the heat coming off him increased until she started to sweat. How was that possible? It had to be her nerves. Mortified, she half turned to Dante. Although his hands had curled into massive fists, he kept them pressed to his sides. Maybe she could salvage the evening and whatever the heck was going on between these guys before an actual fight broke out. Dante’s electric-blue eyes had turned black. Had to be a trick of the streetlight.
“Thank you for walking me home.”
When she placed one finger on his arm, h
is black eyes bore into hers, and she froze. Thankfully, she had secured the transfer instinct, but warmth flowed up her finger into her hand, and she yanked her hand back. Somehow, Dante appeared bigger. Muscles stood out on his neck as rage radiated out from him, like a crazy, blond grizzly about to charge.
Standing stiff against the waves of disapproval behind her and the waves of anger in front of her, she repeated herself with as much force as she could muster. “Thank you again. I appreciate it. Have a good night.”
Dante looked like he was about to rip everyone’s arms off with his bare hands. Then he blinked down at her. Black eyes lightened to blue.
“I enjoyed the company. Hopefully, your brother will realize it’s inappropriate to make a lady walk home.” He stared down Scott and Brandon. Through gritted teeth, he said, “And adjust his priorities accordingly.”
He nodded curtly to her, spun, and walked off, his heavy tread fading into the night, leaving her empty and alone. And pissed.
She whirled around. “What’s wrong with you, Scott? Are you a gangster now, threatening folks?”
“Go in the house. Brandon and I have business to discuss.”
“What business?”
“None of your business, that’s for sure.”
“More drugs?”
“Shut up. Just let me do my work and look out for you. I need to provide for us.”
“This?” She motioned at Brandon’s thin, sneering leer. “This is looking out for me? I seriously doubt it.”
“You gonna let her talk to you like that?” Brandon asked.
“No way, bro. Get in the house, sis. Brandon and I need to talk about things.”
“I bet you do.” She gave him her meanest glare. “I’m disappointed. That was a nice guy just doing a good deed, and you were rude to him.” She poked him in the chest. “Grow. Up.”
“You ever wonder what a nice guy would want with you, sis? How about nothing?” He belched. “That guy was slummin’. Once he gets in your pants, he’ll throw you away like last night’s dinner.”
“How about you work on yourself? Would it be so wrong if a stand-up kind of man wanted to pay some attention to me?” She’d never snapped at her brother before, but he had really hit a nerve.
Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay) Page 5