by Day Leclaire
No matter what it took, he’d make this night one of the most special of her life. He drew out the preliminaries, stroking the softness of her breasts and belly. Tracing leisurely circles from her toes to her upper thighs. Sketching kisses from hip to hip before tenderly finding the heart of her. Urging her up and up and up until she hovered just within reach of the peak.
Satisfied that her pleasure was at its highest point, he carefully mated his body to hers, easing into her. Teasing and tempting as he penetrated. Moving. Then thrusting. Finally, driving. Edging her closer and closer to that tantalizing moment of climax. She matched his rhythm like a woman born to the dance. Her skin acquired a pearlescent sheen, flushed with passion. And when she gazed up at him, her eyes were ocean-deep, midnight-black and filled with the wonder of newfound desire.
He watched her climb, watched her climax knot the muscles of her body and burn in her eyes. Heard the pleasure of it ripped from her throat as she bowed backward, helpless beneath the onslaught. And he followed her over, one with her in the ultimate melding of male to female. Never had it been like this with any other woman. And he knew—knew beyond doubt and to the very core—that it never would be again. Only with this woman would he experience a bond that took him to such heights.
The aftermath hit and they collapsed into each other’s arms. A long moment passed where neither of them had the breath or energy to speak, a moment out of time. A moment where, as a Dante, Draco recognized the power of The Inferno and surrendered to it.
He didn’t understand how it had happened or why, but this woman was his soul mate, their destinies woven together in a tapestry just beginning. He had no idea what shape the final picture would take, only that they were bound together from this time forward. He couldn’t help but wonder how Shayla would react when she discovered the extent of their bond.
Gently, he rolled to one side and tucked her close. One thing he knew for certain, it would take time to claim this woman. She was quicksilver, impossible to pin down, held only through desire and temptation. She would have to come to him, be coaxed into his arms, his bed and his life through patience—not something he excelled at. But win her he would and before she knew it she’d wake up with a ring on her finger and a husband at her side.
He thought they slept for a short time because when he moved again it felt as though the night had deepened. With a groan, he levered onto an elbow and forked his fingers into her hair. She blinked sleepily at him, her smile filled with sweet delight.
“Hello, there,” she murmured.
“I believe you had a question a while ago,” he said in a low, husky voice. “Something about whether our lovemaking would be as good as our kisses. Care to offer an opinion?”
“That’s right. I did wonder about that.” She wrinkled her brow, pretending to give it serious consideration. “Your kisses are definitely superb. I had serious doubts that anything could surpass them.”
“Well, hell,” he grumbled. “Now you have me worried.”
“As for your lovemaking . . .”
“Seriously worried.”
“And taking into consideration that I don’t have a basis for comparison . . .”
“Duly noted.”
Her teasing expression faded, replaced by a satisfaction he couldn’t mistake. “It was beyond imagination, Draco.” Remnants of their shared passion underscored her comment. “I never realized it could be so wonderful.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “So you admit we Dantes—or at least this Dante—is talented in more arenas than just the jewelry business?”
The instant the question left his mouth she stiffened beneath him, staring in shocked disbelief. “What did you say?” The question came out low and furious and filled with feminine outrage.
He froze. “What’s wrong?” Because, clearly, something was. It must have been something he said. It sure as hell couldn’t have been anything he’d done. That had been as close to perfection as he’d ever experienced. “Shayla?”
Her breathing came swift and shallow, almost panicked. “You never told me your last name. Remember, we agreed? When we first met, you just said Draco.”
He stared blankly. “What does that matter now? We’re not at the reception and I promise I won’t tell the rest of my relatives that you crashed the party.”
She shoved at his chest. “But you’re a Dante.”
He kept her pinned in place, determined to have this out, suspecting she’d run if he let her go. “I brought you up here in a private elevator. I used a key, for crying out loud. Who the hell would have access to this floor and this suite if not a Dante?”
“You told me the apartments were reserved for clients. I assumed you were a client of the Dantes.” She thumped his chest with her fist. He reluctantly shifted back. The instant he did she squirmed out from beneath him and snatched the sheet against her chest, putting as much distance between them as the bed allowed. “So, it’s true? You . . . you’re a Dante?”
He glared at her, offended. “You say that as though it were a dirty word. What the hell’s wrong with being a Dante?”
Shayla scooped up the wings of her hair and hooked them behind her ears. How could this have happened? How could she not have realized? The one time, the very first time, she allowed passion to override common sense this happened.
She’d given her virginity to the one man she should have avoided at all costs, whose family had destroyed her own and left them utterly destitute. The family who, according to her grandmother, were responsible for the death of Shayla’s parents. Why hadn’t she known? Why wasn’t Draco on the list? If he had been, she’d have instantly made the connection and none of this would have happened.
She fought to keep from weeping. In a blink of the eye, something so spectacularly right had turned hideously wrong. It was as though the fates were conspiring against her. What next? Would her proposal to the Dantes also end in disaster because of her foolishness this night? Would Derek Algier call and tell her he’d changed his mind about hiring her? Would her precious chance at freedom evaporate with the coming of the morning sun?
Draco continued to wait for Shayla to answer his question, looking hard and fierce and dangerously male, epitomizing the nature of his name. She moistened her lips, scrambling to come up with an excuse he’d buy.
“I guess there’s nothing wrong with being a Dante,” she conceded. Okay, lied. “I just . . . I didn’t know and—”
He slowly relaxed, sliding back into his role of lover. “Got it. You’re intimidated.”
“Intimidated!” More than anything she wanted to escape the bed, but considering she’d be confronting the cocky bastard totally nude, she forced herself to stay put. She struggled to keep any hint of insult from her voice. “I’m not intimidated,” she corrected with a calm she was far from feeling.
His hazel eyes narrowed, the gold flecks glittering a clear warning. “But for some reason, my being a Dante makes a difference.”
She faltered, not quite certain how to respond, other than to use one small tidbit her grandmother had mentioned in passing. “The Dante men have something of a reputation.” Based on what just happened, a well-deserved reputation, she grudgingly admitted to herself. So, maybe he wasn’t being cocky so much as honest.
“And you think that because I’m a Dante all I’m after is a one-night stand?”
It was a tad like the pot calling the kettle black, considering she’d been after just that, herself. Even so, she met his gaze unflinchingly. “Yes.”
He shrugged. “Time will prove otherwise,” he alarmed her by saying.
Dear heaven. He couldn’t mean that, could he? But searching his expression she realized he meant precisely that. She crouched in a silken nest of rumpled sheets, at a total loss. What did she do now? How did she gracefully extricate herself from the situation? She wasn’t interested in continuing a relationship with him after this one night, though caution dictated she not risk the loss of her fingers by feeding him that particular piece of informat
ion. She also found herself at a serious disadvantage since she’d never before experienced this type of situation. Maybe if she were more sexually sophisticated she could figure a way to soothe his male ego while she slipped out the door.
Before she had a chance to devise a plan, he caught her hand in his and tugged. Unmistakable want fired in his eyes. “Any other objections, sweetheart, or can we move on?”
More objections than she could possibly express. She needed to make a decision and fast, before he seduced her options right out of her. Either she left now, the smartest choice available to her, or she returned to his arms and allowed him to prove yet again what he did better—kiss or make love.
The first time with him she could rationalize. She hadn’t known who he was. And then there had been that overpowering attraction. She stirred uneasily, aware the warm throbbing in her palm hadn’t diminished. Clearly, their attraction hadn’t dissipated, despite discovering his full name. But she knew his identity now. His family had deliberately ruined hers, a fact that—according to Grandmother Charleston—had indirectly led to the death of her parents. Whatever the actual truth, the bankruptcy of her family’s business had changed her life forever.
“Shayla?” Draco studied her expression. “Apparently you still have concerns. Maybe this will help.”
Before she had time to protest, he leaned in, his passionate kiss the first taking. Then his hands took possession of her. He’d learned a lot about her during the few hours they’d been together, how to arouse her with a few clever strokes. And finally, he took her under with his words, a tender suggestion that melted her resistance and made her hungry to experience his lovemaking again. Just one more time.
If she left now it wouldn’t change anything. What was done was done. She couldn’t regain what she’d given him even if she wanted to, any more than she could change how it would affect her meeting with his relatives. Tomorrow she’d turn twenty-five and wing her way out of the country. And truth be told, the memories of this night would linger in her thoughts for the rest of her life. Would it be so terrible to add to those memories, to stack up a few more to take with her when she left? To be mad and impetuous one last time? Who would know she’d given herself to a Dante, other than herself? Well, and Draco.
Did she leave? Or enjoy his lovemaking one more time? It was an easy decision to make.
Shayla surrendered with a sigh. The instant she reached for him and pulled him closer, heat ignited between them, dampening any lingering doubts. She’d spent a lifetime living according to her grandmother’s dictates, focused first on her studies, then on making as much money as quickly as possible in order to repay her college expenses.
Come morning she’d complete her familial obligations by stepping into the role of family negotiator while she bartered with the Dantes. Once through, she’d bid Draco a fond farewell and claim her freedom. But tonight would be hers. An indulgence. The one-night stand she’d accused him of wanting and another step toward her independence.
Draco drew her under him and mated his body to hers in one swift move. She gasped as intense pleasure ripped her apart and scattered the pieces. She wrapped her legs around his waist and moved with him. Soared with him. Shot straight through the clouds and winged toward the searing heart of the sun, all within his arms. She heard the low rumble echo through his chest as his climax approached. Knowing she drove him so hard and high so quickly sent her tumbling up, teetering on a peak that had her gasping for breath, before launching into thin air in a delicious freefall.
“Draco . . . !” His name burst from her lungs in a half sob.
“I know, I know, I know,” he chanted.
He drove home, losing himself in her heat. His head reared back and his throat convulsed. Then he said one single word. Shayla. He stamped it with such passion and possessiveness, it was as though he laid claim to her, changing the meaning so that it would forevermore be linked to him. Just as her body was linked to his. Just as her heart had become linked to his.
No. Oh, no, no, no!
She struggled to deny the possibility of it, scrambled for some other explanation. She was being foolish, caught up in the newness of their lovemaking, lost in a moment of intense desire. There was no connection, nothing to this Inferno that burned in her palm. Their joining was only temporary. Come morning she was leaving, and this night with Draco would fade to a fond and distant memory.
But even as she fought, sleep settled over her, just as she settled into the warmth of Draco’s arms, accepting his possession. Accepting the rightness of his protective hold.
She reached for him, cleaved to him. And with a tiny sigh of surrender, she linked her hand with his, palm to palm, cementing their bond.
Shayla awoke, the morning seeping through the darkness swathing the room, and discovered Draco missing from the bed. She glanced toward the windows. They were tightly shuttered once again, delaying the advent of a new day—her birthday.
She stretched sore, abused muscles and sat up, shoving her hair from her face. Time to get up and leave. She had a lot to accomplish in the next few hours. But part of her regretted. Regretted the need to leave both the bed and the man. Regretted she couldn’t squeeze in one more day and night of pleasure.
Before she could escape the bed, Draco returned to the room. It took only one look to realize something was terribly wrong. It also stripped her emotions bare. Acutely self-conscious, she covered herself with the sheet.
“Draco?” She despised the hint of nervousness that tripped through her voice and slithered down her spine. “Is there a problem?”
“Why don’t we start with this?” Her beaded bag dangled from one hand. In the other he held the leather pouch.
Shayla stiffened in alarm. How could she have been so careless? Even more damning, how could she have let her purse and its precious contents out of her sight for even one short minute? She must have lost her mind. Had lost her mind the instant Draco had put his hands on her. His mouth on her. Had taken possession of her, body and soul.
He took a step toward her, moving from the shadows that enshrouded the outer edges of the room to a position beneath the recessed spotlights in his bedroom ceiling. The light haloed him, giving him the appearance of a dark angel bent on vengeance. Or maybe he’d transformed himself into the dragon for which he’d been named.
“That’s my purse, as you well know.” She held out her hand. “If you don’t mind?”
“Oh, but I do mind.” He untied the leather pouch, extracted one of the six parcel papers from inside and unfolded it. A diamond tumbled into his palm, burning with brilliance. “This is a fire diamond,” he said.
Or was it an accusation? An odd roughness crisped the edges of his voice, something bitter-hot and laden with long-ago pain, the words overflowing with a subtext she couldn’t begin to understand. But it was definitely there.
“How dare you rifle through my purse?” Her response escaped in heavily accented Southern affront. “You have no right—”
“These are all fire diamonds,” he stated, more forcefully this time, the statement slicing like honed steel.
The overhead light gathered up the unmistakable sparkle captured within his palm and reflected the brilliance, seeming to fill the room with a fiery glitter—a glitter echoed in the equally fiery gold of Draco’s eyes. What an idiot she’d been. This was no ordinary man. Those eyes. The hair. The stunning good looks and charm, a charm now eclipsed by a tough, ruthless edge. It all screamed Dante, even the ruthlessness, a quality her grandmother had long warned was endemic to his family. How terrifyingly ironic that she was now in a position to confirm that firsthand.
Shayla fought to speak past a throat gone bone-dry. “Yes,” she finally said. “I do believe they are fire diamonds.”
“What the hell are you doing with them?”
She escaped from the bed with as much dignity as she could muster, winding the sheet tightly around herself in order to preserve some shred of modesty. Ridiculous considering wha
t they’d been busy doing all night and how many times and ways they’d done it. “They’re mine. Give them back this minute.”
His eyes narrowed. “Bull. Dantes doesn’t sell loose fire diamonds. The only way to purchase them is set in jewelry. So, unless you were foolish enough to pry the diamonds out of their setting . . . ?” He lifted an eyebrow in silent demand.
“I don’t owe you an explanation. The diamonds belong to me and unless you can prove otherwise, I suggest you return them to where you found them.”
She held out her hand and fixed him with an implacable gaze. He didn’t argue, which surprised her, but folded the diamond back into the blue-and-white parcel paper and returned it to the leather drawstring bag. Jerking the strings closed, he tucked it into her beaded purse and lobbed it toward her.
“You might want to get the clasp on that bag fixed. Everything fell out when I tossed your purse onto the couch last night.”
“I’ll get right on that.” Relief flooded through her now that she had her handbag back in her possession, a very short-lived relief.
“And what about this?” He flipped up his index and middle fingers, a folded piece of paper tucked between them, a very damning piece of paper that listed the main Dante players and their job positions. “Care to explain this?”
How could she have forgotten the list? And of more urgent interest, why wasn’t his name on it? Why hadn’t he been mentioned in any of the Dante literature or internet research she and her grandmother had done? This morning just kept getting better and better. Gathering the shreds of her dignity, Shayla lifted her chin. “It’s none of your business.”
His expression iced over, assuming a merciless aspect. “When it comes to the Dantes, it’s very much my business.” He stepped closer. “You claimed you didn’t know me. A lie, sweetheart?”
She refused to back down. “Do you see your name on that list?”
“Damn it, Shayla. What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing illicit,” she retorted, stung. “It just happens that I have a meeting with certain members of your family today and I was dismayed when I discovered your identity because I didn’t want a—” she almost said one-night stand and snatched back the words at the last possible second “—an intimate relationship with one Dante to affect my meeting with the others. That’s why I crashed the reception last night. I wanted to get a look at who I’d be meeting today.” Not that she’d managed even that. Instead, she’d allowed desire to get in the way of her promise to her grandmother. Shame filled her. “Just out of curiosity, why isn’t your name on my list?”