“You like your lady, Hannah?”
He rubbed his hand against his pants leg. “Well, sure, I guess. I only met her three days ago. I don’t really know her.”
“I imagine she might mean much more to you, on the whole.”
“If you say so. I don’t know. Maybe I just need to get laid.”
Barnaby smiled. “You can do that anytime. With any woman.”
He didn’t meet the old man’s eyes. “Good point.”
“I’d wager if Jerahmeel or the minion realizes that she can inspire you to break the contract, they’ll try to prevent that from happening.”
“Jerahmeel did say that if I stayed away from Hannah, I still have the chance to attain the Meaningful Kill.”
“He’s nervous. Fascinating.”
“So if I walk away from the situation now, I might be free of the contract. But Hannah will suffer.” He raked his hands through his hair. “If I try to help Hannah, I’ll never be free of the contract. But she might be safe.”
Barnaby sipped on the tea and leaned his head back on the cushions. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you thinking of the consequences to others, my boy.” He set the cup down with a clink. “I believe Jerahmeel is trying to manipulate you to stay away from Hannah. There are other ways to get out of the contract, however.”
“Really? I’m not sure where to start with breaking the contract.”
“When it’s time, you’ll figure it out.”
“How can you be sure?”
The corners of Barnaby’s lined mouth curled downward. “It doesn’t matter, my boy.”
“What doesn’t matter?”
“Never mind.” He honked into a handkerchief. “Your friend, she may be a target because of her abilities or because of your desire to break the contract. I can’t say which for certain. Be very careful, my friend. Something is mightily amiss about this situation. She’s in grave danger.”
Urgency gripped Dante. He needed to watch over Hannah, protect her. As in, right now.
“Um, Barnaby?”
“It appears you have made a decision. You’d like to leave immediately, I imagine. Find this Hannah and make sure she’s still safe?” He smiled broadly, pale blue eyes twinkling, his skin creasing again into numerous wrinkles.
“Yes, old man, I would like to leave.” Dante’s mind whirled. Contract. Minion. Hannah? How was he going to remove her safely from this situation without her getting hurt?
“You have my number; please call if there’s anything I can do for you.”
“Thank you.”
He bent down to give the old man an awkward shoulder hug but had to be careful not to injure the man’s frail bones. Ruth silently escorted him to the front door. His knife pulsed again in proximity to another Indebted.
He grinned. “Thank you for the hospitality, my compadre.”
The color in her cheeks betrayed her. At least he could change that poker face.
Chapter 7
Hannah had sorting and shelving duty today, which suited her fine, despite the residual aches and pains. Not only did she enjoy arranging books on the stacks, but she often would read passages as she worked. The words transported her to another world, if only for a few minutes.
But today, it wasn’t the treat of quiet time with the books that tempted her. Rather, in the depths of the store, she would be less likely to see Dante. That is, if he came back. Maybe Scott was right, and Dante truly angled to have some fun and then toss her away. But why would he go to all the trouble? She tried to look at the situation objectively but couldn’t visualize the malicious intent her brother saw. In fact, part of her wanted to see Dante again, if only to be close to him, to smile at his obvious passes.
Huh. She’d avoided men for the past four years. Since when did she want to be around a man?
Since Dante had been a perfect gentleman on the walk home. Since he had teased her but not pressured her. Since he had treated her like a normal woman. For the first time since well before she left Philly, she had a glimmer of what it would be like to feel safe. What woman wouldn’t want more?
The news of Ray dying had gutted her. Still, she should have tried to thank Dante for the information. Poor guy—his smiling expression had frozen and then fell when her reaction wasn’t what he expected. He seemed to really care how she felt, and she couldn’t remember the last time someone gave a flip about her. Scott did, of course, but he had to—he was her brother.
Perhaps she had fallen for a handsome guy and missed the real jerk inside, although that was unlikely. She was normally a good judge of character. Well, except with Ray. She hadn’t predicted the depth of his sickness, so maybe she’d missed the mark with Dante as well.
Ray. Dead. Wow. If Dante spoke the truth, then she and Scott might be free of the unending fear of retribution that had hung over their heads for years. Unless Dante had lied to her about Ray.
No, that answer didn’t feel accurate. But how could she find out for certain?
Not today—too many people around—but maybe tomorrow, she could get on the bookstore computer when she opened the store and glean some information about Ray’s death. She could always call the number to her old house, too.
Or not. What if Dante was wrong about Ray being dead? No way would she risk hearing Ray’s thin, disgusting voice, even if it was a thousand miles away.
She pulled wisps of hair out from under the arms of her glasses and readjusted the frames. Now that Dante had been chased off, she might never know the details about Ray’s death.
“Here’s another batch for you, Hannah.”
Her manager rolled over another cart.
Hannah ran her hands over the spines of the books. “No problem. I’ll take care of it.”
Ignoring the soreness in her joints, she pushed the cart to the back of the store into the literature section. She tugged at a library ladder, the squeak on the rails shrill in the quiet store. Careful not to step on her brown patterned skirt, she lifted the hem to climb up the ladder. Always cautious with her numb foot, Hannah centered it on the rung. The pressure sensation on the sole of her foot registered faintly, even through the sandal, but there was zero sensation on the top of the foot. It made her foot feel odd, like it was round or incomplete.
When she leaned out to push the ladder over a few inches, it bumped against something solid, stopping her abruptly. A book fell as she clung to the ladder.
Dante. His sky-blue eyes shone brightly. She forgot to breathe.
As he reached down to pick up the book, the fabric of his tailored navy slacks stretched over his thick, muscled thighs. Her mouth went dry. She gripped the rails.
When he stood up, Hannah found herself a few inches above his chiseled features. His sensual lips curled into a sardonic smile.
“Here you go. Tristan and Iseult. One of my favorites.”
“You’ve read this?”
Although they had discussed books yesterday, she didn’t envision him with this particular classic.
“Don’t act so surprised.” He laughed. “Of course. True love. Eternal love. Tragic love.” He gave her a rakish grin. Her heart flipped over. “My favorite line is ‘Apart the lovers could neither live nor die for it was life and death together.’ They don’t write stories like this nowadays.”
She blinked hard, took the book from him, and placed it in the stacks, all the while aware of his intense perusal. Why had he come back? After she’d sent him away and after Scott had been so rude to him.
He maintained a casual stance, not approaching her but not retreating. The swagger from yesterday had dropped a notch today, but he still radiated masculine assurance with his feet set shoulder-width apart. And why not? The tailored shirt fit his broad shoulders perfectly.
He didn’t seem like a bad person. If he were someone she was supposed to avoid, she struggled to find a reason why.
“So can I help you?” he asked.
Although he stood loose-limbed and spoke in a nonchalant manner, she d
idn’t buy the act for a second, especially compared with his Don Juan demeanor from the last few days. What did he want?
“Isn’t that my line? I’m the one working here.” Unbidden, a smile pushed the corners of her mouth upward. A smile? What in the world?
He passed another book to her. “I do enjoy being helpful.”
The double-entendre was subtle, but she heard it. A shiver went up her spine.
“Well, good,” she said.
She stood on tiptoes to shelve the book.
“What happened to your ankle?”
Panic short-circuited her brain.
Frantic, Hannah leaned over to smooth the skirt over her sandals and stepped down one rung but didn’t detect the step with her numb foot. She lost her grip on the ladder and flew backward, only to land in very solid arms. Instinctively, she grabbed Dante’s shirt, wrinkling the expensive gray fabric.
“My apologies.” His voice rumbled through their connected chests, sending unfamiliar swirls down to her toes. “I’m not always the most tactful.”
His words tickled her hair. He smelled like mocha latte and cologne today.
Inches away, he pinned her with his clear, blue gaze. His strong arms surrounded her as he held her securely. Amazing heat radiated from his body. She’d heard of people running warm, but this couldn’t be normal.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m, uh, very glad to see you again.”
That deep voice did strange things to her equilibrium, or maybe it was because she rested firmly in the arms of a giant.
“Me too.” She swallowed. “Dante, I’m sorry about my brother and his stupid—”
“Don’t worry about it; those guys don’t bother me. I only wanted to make sure you were okay.”
What the hell? Since when did a hot guy want to see to her welfare? Apparently, since now.
Her heart rate sped up, and her voice came out light and breathy. “They’re just hotheads. I’m fine.”
She bit her lower lip, and Dante’s gaze fixated there. His eyes darkened. What in the world?
“Your eyes. They’re changing.”
“It’s nothing. Um, they just do that sometimes.”
He shifted her in his arms as he watched her. Maybe her glasses looked funny? Hannah froze, locked in Dante’s arms.
His inscrutable stare unsettled her.
“Perfect,” he whispered. His voice rolled through her bones.
He lowered his head another few inches until his breath fanned her face. Pressed up to him, Hannah enjoyed the chiseled planes of his chest and belly, the tight muscles that clenched as he widened his stance. Trapping her in his arms. She couldn’t escape—
Oh, God. No. That night. Images of the basement and Ray flooded her mind.
She pushed, ineffectively, against Dante’s corded arms. Desperate to get away, she twisted her head away from his mouth. What Ray did ... she’d been trapped. She couldn’t move. She had to escape. Ray. Dante. She was going to be sick.
Struggling against the arm that snaked behind her back, she shoved against his chest.
“Dante, please.” Her voice cracked.
Dark spots danced on the edges of her vision. When he lowered her to her feet, Dante’s arousal jutted solid and insistent against her stomach. Her stomach lurched, and she swallowed bitter acid. The inability to get away squeezed her ribs until she couldn’t breathe. Tears pricked then the damp warmth trailed down her cheeks.
Like a man waking up from a dream, Dante blinked his nearly black eyes a few times.
He released his grip but rested his hands on her upper arms.
“Please let go.” She backed up against the end of a stack, gasping, as stars in her vision heralded impending unconsciousness. She fought to slow her thudding heart, to slow her shallow breaths. That night in the basement. Oh, no, not again. The vice around her chest tightened again. Damn Ray to hell.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. You’re just so ...” He dropped his big arms.
“It’s me. I’m not, I can’t—”
She wanted Dante, wanted his arms around her. But when he held her, all she could think about was being in that basement prison with Ray. Dark. Her chest burned when she tried to inhale.
“Can you sit down?”
Dante guided her to sit on the hardwood floor and eased her head forward between her knees. “I’ve heard this helps. Take a few deep breaths.”
When his warm hand rested on her shoulder, she clutched it, like a damned lifeline. She took a breath and tried to loosen all her muscles. The barrier in her mind dropped.
Transfer started.
Transfer? What the heck?
But there it was, the connection between their skins, her cells’ primal desire to blend, to enter, to trade substance for substance. This time the transfer worked differently. It didn’t hurt, didn’t try to consume injuries or illnesses. It flowed both ways, less painful, more curious. Searching.
Too easily, her skin accepted contact with Dante. Her body found nothing to heal, but her essence flowed through the contact nevertheless. And then it happened: Her soul, her physical and emotional pain, flowed from her into Dante. Aches and pains that had lingered from yesterday’s healings faded, like rubbing away a smudge on the cheek, a light sense of a soft wave lapping away at her pain. Nothing dramatic, but only physical relief remained in her connection to him. And it was good.
When she dug her nails into his hand, he didn’t move. Somehow she had unleashed her healing ability. Backward.
She was the beneficiary.
She snatched her hand away from his arm.
He cleared his throat. “Um, can I hold your glasses for you?”
“No,” she mumbled against her knees. “I can’t see anything without them.”
“Okay. Ah, okay.” He hovered nearby, not exactly retreating but not moving.
Hannah found that a funny concept: Dante unsure. All because she had a meltdown. Great. She glanced up at him, expecting to see revulsion from ... everything. From her panic, from the healing reversal, from the ludicrous scene here in this bookstore.
But nothing in his grim expression indicated that he sensed the reversal of her healing. He simply knelt nearby, as she attempted to salvage something positive from her emotional meltdown.
Salvage? What a joke.
She was a mess, and Dante had no idea to do with a hyperventilating woman. What a pair they made. She took a few deep gulps of air and blew them out. Fine. She’d be fine. Of course she’d be fine, but she wasn’t convincing herself.
It’s Dante. He’s here right now. Not Ray. His warm hands on her arms brought her back to reality, as did his now perfectly normal, electric-blue eyes.
“I must apologize. It was inappropriate of me to take advantage,” he said.
Worry and disappointment etched lines on his chiseled features. Hot shame warmed her cheeks.
“No, it’s my fault. It’s complicated.” She waved her hand. “This has nothing to do with you.”
She braced her legs to get up; he steadied her. Once she stood on her own, he let go and stepped back. Without the contact, her skin cooled and her knees went weak. Despite the fact that she craved his warm touch, she grasped the stark reality of her circumstances. What future did she have with any man?
Dante cleared his throat. “So, maybe I can help you organize books for a little while?”
The uncertainty his wrinkled forehead conveyed struck her as odd. He usually oozed self-assurance.
“Unless you’d rather me leave, which I will immediately do, upon your request.”
Her cheeks and neck heated up. He’s throwing you a line. Carry on like nothing happened. Pretend. It’ll be fine.
“All right, then. Since you’re offering. Let’s make a junior bookstore worker out of you.”
“I’m yours to command. Tell me what to shelve.”
He straightened up, but his grin didn’t quite make it to his wary eyes as he continued to study her. Dante had decided to stic
k around, although God knew why. She didn’t know whether to be thankful or feel sorry for herself or for him.
• • •
Hannah moved efficiently, her fingers trailing over spines until, finding the book she sought, she briskly pulled it out and handed it to Dante. He fixated on those delicate hands, wanted them trailing over his spine. He couldn’t focus.
What the hell had happened just minutes ago? He’d never seen a woman so terrified of anything or anyone, much less himself. Her stiff shoulders and mouth pressed into a thin line painted quite a picture of a person fighting to maintain control—and succeeding only by the barest of margins.
Whatever demons haunted her, he’d like nothing better than to destroy them and take the grim weight of fear from her thin frame. Curiosity pricked at his tongue, but he resisted asking questions. The last thing he wanted was to scare her further.
For now, he’d concentrate on the job of shelving. The questions would wait until later, but he was determined to find answers.
Except for the top shelves, they no longer needed the ladder thanks to his height. At least he could be useful. He certainly didn’t want to leave her alone for one moment, what with the minion running around. Truth be told, he didn’t want to leave her alone for one moment for no reason resembling altruism.
Other than the occasional brush of fingers, which zinged dangerous sensations straight to his groin and stole his breath, they worked smoothly through the afternoon. Dante tried to keep conversation light, but he continued to watch Hannah. Behind those rectangular glasses were two orbs of deep chocolate, flecked with sparks of gold. While the long skirt and loose top hid her curves, he knew better. He recalled the indentation of her tiny waist, the flare of her hips, her firm breasts pressed against him. Her fragile frame made him want to wrap his arms tightly around her and keep her safe. Not usually what he went for. He liked the taller, buxom women. The curvy, willing women. But Hannah had something indefinable that he couldn’t resist.
He wanted more.
Tread carefully.
At times, she acted like a deer about to bolt. He wanted to avoid scaring her away more than anything he’d wanted in a long time. He frowned. Vad i helvete? What happened to keeping his options open? To more conquests? To women throwing themselves at his feet?
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