by Day Leclaire
“What difference does that make?” she asked in sharp retort.
He lifted an eyebrow. For some reason what he intended as a throwaway question had provoked an unguarded response, and clearly a defensive one, which made it all the more interesting. It told him a lot. Without even intending to, he’d hit a hot button with her. It showed him how tight a control she kept over her words and emotional responses. Until now.
“You were the one who suggested we get to know each other better. That’s what I’m doing.” He pushed a little harder. “Tell me about her. What’s her name? How did she make ends meet after your father died?”
Kiley’s mouth tightened. “I think you’re stalling.”
He shrugged. “Believe what you want. I’m just trying to figure out whether she’s in on this little scam or if you came up with it all by yourself.”
“It’s no scam.”
“So you say. But I suspect Seamus will tell a far different story.”
Her movements slowed, fluttering to stillness like a bird settling to its nest. It was a “tell,” an unconscious look or movement—or lack thereof—that betrayed a lie. He’d always had an innate ability to pick up on them, a prime reason his brothers refused to play poker with him. He could always tell when they were bluffing, just as he could with Kiley.
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, a second, more obvious “tell.” “Seamus?” she repeated.
Nicolò took a stab in the dark. “According to Primo, he’s still alive.” He offered an expansive smile. “Tell you what. Why don’t you sit tight for the next few days and enjoy the amenities Le Premier has to offer, while I track him down? I’m sure he can clear up this confusion in no time.”
“Give me my papers.” The words escaped, raw and harsh.
Without a word he gathered them and passed them across the width of the coffee table to her. Their fingertips touched during the exchange, just the merest glancing brush of skin against skin. A brief flash of electricity burst between them, sizzling for an instant, but not quite catching. Nicolò shot to his feet.
“What the hell are you trying to pull?” he demanded.
She shrank back against the divan, her eyes huge and vivid in a pale face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
For the first time in his entire life, Nicolò ignored instinct and went with pure suspicion. “Sure you do. You read The Snitch, didn’t you, Ms. O’Dell? You read about the diamond mine, no question there, since it’s what prompted you to contact us. But you also read all about the Dantes and their little Inferno problem. And it gave you the most brilliant idea. Let’s gather up these old family papers, you tell yourself, and see if you can’t fake a case for partial ownership in the fire diamond mine. And if that doesn’t work, let’s see if you can fake The Inferno.”
She shot to her feet. “You are hands-down certifiable.”
“Then how do you explain that little pop of electricity?”
“How the hell should I know? Maybe your brain short-circuited.” She hugged the documents to her chest. Giving him a wide berth, she skirted the coffee table and crossed to the door of her suite. “I think you should leave.”
Nicolò followed her to the door. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until we have this out. Because, we’re not done here. We’re not even close to done.”
“Yes, we are. First thing in the morning I intend to contact my lawyer. Until then, get the hell out of my room.”
He leaned in close, so close he could feel the tiny charges of electricity skipping off her and latching onto him. Pulling and tugging him toward that ultimate commitment, attempting to sear him with that final fateful touch. “This isn’t over, you know.”
Her breathing grew jagged and he could see his want reflected in her eyes, a mate to his own, just as he could sense their heartbeats thundering as one. He almost sealed her mouth with his, the temptation nearly overwhelming. It took every ounce of self-control to pull back at the last second. Without another word, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The door slammed closed behind him.
Nicolò stood there for a moment. He could still feel her, right through the damn door. She was leaning against it, fighting the same attraction he fought, telling herself, just as he did, that what she felt was insane. Impossible. And to be avoided at all costs. He shook his head in disgust. Right there with you, Gorgeous.
Nicolò headed for the bank of elevators and took a car to the main floor. Once there, he hesitated. The lobby offered a spacious sitting area, with groups of chairs arranged in cozy settings. Large, carefully tended ferns, bushes, and even a few ornamental trees created oases of privacy.
He eyed a set of chairs that were discreetly screened, while still offering a prime view of the elevators. Instinct kicked in again, growing too loud to ignore. In his thirty years of existence, he’d learned not to question that gut-deep demand. It always signaled something his subconscious had picked up on that his conscious mind hadn’t caught up with quite yet.
Giving in, he took a seat and waited. It didn’t take long.
No more than five minutes later Kiley came barreling out of one of the elevators with that brisk, hip-swinging stride he now realized was her natural way of walking. She wore her hair up and had thrown on a black jacket to match her slacks. Very businesslike. She made a beeline for the concierge, her foot tapping impatiently as she waited for him to answer her question.
Nicolò sensed a purpose behind her actions. She had a destination in mind and he intended to find out where . . . and with whom. It would be interesting to see if she had a partner in crime. The concierge must have given Kiley the answer she needed, for she rewarded him with a broad smile that seemed to cause the man’s brain to short-circuit the same way Nicolò’s had earlier. Then she spun around and started toward the lobby doors. And that’s when disaster struck.
Even though there was absolutely no reason for her to notice him or glance his way, even though he was practically buried in a jungle of shrubbery, the instant she came level with his position, she stiffened and her step faltered. Whatever connection had been forged in those few minutes they’d spent together crackled to life, sending out tendrils of awareness.
Time slowed and stretched. The chatter of voices and clatter of humanity grew muffled and distant. Even the light seemed to dim, leaving just the two of them within its brilliant embrace. With unerring accuracy, Kiley’s head swiveled in his direction and her gaze locked with Nicolò’s. The instant she spotted him, her eyes widened in shock. Acute distress followed on the heels of her shock.
Her distress caused an unexpected stab of concern that threw him off stride. He didn’t want to feel anything for this woman. Unfortunately, he couldn’t deny fact. During their brief time together, something had sparked to life, and it was more powerful than anything he’d ever experienced before.
Time resumed its normal pace and Kiley shot toward the entryway and whisked through the glass doors embossed with Le Premier’s name and logo. Nicolò followed, instinct urging him to run, the hunter giving chase to his prey. He hit the sidewalk outside the hotel just as she reached the corner intersection. People were still crossing, though the crossing light blinked a bright red hand of warning. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder. Spotting him, she darted into the crosswalk just as the light changed.
He saw it coming before it happened. A cab broke around a slow car, accelerating directly toward the intersection. Clearly, the driver didn’t realize Kiley was there. Nicolò thought he shouted a warning. He knew he broke into a run. The driver didn’t spot her until the very last instant. He hit the brakes at the same instant she tried to leap out of the way, but it was too late. The cab’s bumper clipped her with just enough force to send her somersaulting into the air before connecting with the pavement. Even as Nicolò pelted toward her, he reached for his phone. He hit the emergency link without even looking and barked the information at the operator the moment the call went through.
&nb
sp; He reached her side and knelt down. She didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to breathe. From what he’d seen of her fall, she’d been sent flying toward the opposite sidewalk and hit her head on the curb. Vibrant blush-red hair flowed around her, still shimmering with life, while her pallor warned of something far different. Her locket rested against her cheek like a kiss.
“Kiley!” He didn’t dare touch her, though he wanted to. And then he saw it, the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, and he almost lost it.
“I didn’t see her.” The driver of the cab appeared, staring down at Kiley and wringing his hands. Unabashed tears rolled down his bearded face. “She came out of nowhere.”
“I saw what happened. It wasn’t your fault.” Nicolò’s mouth tightened. The blame was all his, not the cab driver’s.
“Is she—” The cabbie broke off, swallowing hard. “Is she . . . ?”
“No. I’ve called for an ambulance.”
As though in response, sirens wailed in the distance. A small crowd gathered around them and Nicolò kept them back with a single terse command, followed by a look so black that it sent most of the onlookers scurrying on their way.
The police arrived minutes later, the ambulance shortly after that. Nicolò watched helplessly as they secured the area and tended to Kiley. He vaguely remembered giving his identification. Vaguely recalled claiming Kiley as his own, because on some visceral level he knew that she was. Her well-being had now become his responsibility.
All through the hideous ordeal, he watched the EMTs stabilize her, watched them attach endless medical equipment to her, watched them fit her head and neck with protective devices. And the only thing he could think about was that if he hadn’t followed her, she’d never have run. She’d never have been hit by the cab. Never would have been injured.
He’d been so caught up in proving her a con artist, he’d put her life in danger. Based on the grim glances he saw the emergency personnel exchange, he may very well have killed her. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to face facts.
There was a connection between them whether he wanted it or not. That spark of electricity they’d experienced earlier hadn’t been part of her con. She’d been as surprised by their physical reaction to one another as he had. The truth was this woman could be his Inferno mate. Since they’d never fully touched, he couldn’t be one hundred percent positive. But he doubted they needed complete contact. Deep inside he sensed the truth, sensed it with every fiber of his being.
The Inferno had sent him his soul mate. Granted, she wasn’t the one he’d have selected for himself. But by driving her to act so impetuously, he could very well have destroyed their future “might have been” before he ever got to know her. He’d claimed he didn’t want an Inferno bride.
It looked like fate had given him exactly what he wanted.
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Meet Day Leclaire
I love family first and foremost, which is why writing a family saga is so much fun. Maybe you can tell that from my books since they always feature the warmth and joy that comes from having a close-knit family. I also love animals and have taken in rescue dogs and cats and fostered dogs for the local animal shelter. And of course, I love writing. All I need is a functioning brain (batteries not included), a pen, and paper, and I can write anywhere. Please don’t let a conversation with me lag because my imagination takes over and I. Am. Checked. Out!
USA Today bestselling author, Day Leclaire is the author of more than 60 novels and has received an impressive eleven nominations for the romance industry's most prestigious award, Romance Writers of America RITA© Award. Day lives in Charlotte, NC and spends her days obsessively writing while vaguely remembering to pay attention to her adorable husband, busy son and daughter-in-law, two tiny grandchildren, and two even tinier Teddy Bear dogs. Not to mention a whole lot of dust!
Thank you so much for taking the time to read The Dante Inferno: The Dante Dynasty Series. I hope you enjoy this very special Italian-American family. I love hearing from my readers. For a personal response, please contact me at [email protected]. And be sure to visit my website. Sign up for my newsletter for my latest releases and insider info available nowhere else!
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Dedication
To Danielle Andre Skeen, who knows
all about chasing her dreams!
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Cover Design by Melyssa Naujoks, 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Day Totton Smith. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. ISBN-13: 978-1-939925-23-7
Copyright © 2008 Dante’s Stolen Wife by Day Totton Smith. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. ISBN-13: 9780373768707
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