by Day Leclaire
“Do you really think so?”
Stark longing filled her expression, ripping him apart. “Give it a chance and see,” he suggested roughly.
She teetered on the edge of temptation. “How long do you expect me to keep up this charade?”
“For as long as it takes.”
“But it’s a lie,” Francesca protested.
“Is it?”
A single tug had their bodies colliding in the sweetest of impacts. Sev wrapped his arms around her. The mere touch of her body fomented a reaction unlike anything he’d ever felt with another woman. He’d assumed the acuteness of their passion would ease after a few weeks, that eventually they’d both become sated and the sexual intensity would diminish. It hadn’t, and from his perspective, neither of them was close to sated.
A tremor swept through her, one so slight he’d have missed it if they hadn’t been fused together from hip to shoulder. He recognized that shiver, felt it each time he pulled her into his arms, and it never failed to excite him. It betrayed a sensual helplessness, one reserved only for him. It whispered her secret to him, teased him with the knowledge that with one touch, her defenses would fall before his advance.
“Let me in, sweetheart.”
She gripped his shoulders, pushing even as she yielded. “We’re through. Whatever existed between us is over. It ended the minute you forced me into this devil’s bargain with you. Putting a ring on my finger to protect me doesn’t change that. You put business ahead of our relationship and that’s the end of anything personal.”
“You know that isn’t true.”
He swept a hand from the base of her spine to the nape of her neck. Her shiver became a shudder. The give of her body ripened into a heated abandonment, one that silently incited him to deepen their embrace. She wanted him. She might resist it, but nothing could stop the combustible reaction whenever they touched. Not personal preference. Not logic or intellect. Not even her hurt and anger at the hideous position in which he’d put her.
The dragon’s breath of The Inferno incinerated both reason and intellect, and left behind a single urge. To mate. To step into the fire of that joining and allow the flames to consume them.
He lowered his head, his mouth hovering above hers so their breath became one. “I wish this weren’t happening when it’s clear you don’t want it. I wish I could do what you ask and let you go. But I can’t.”
“You don’t have any choice,” she asserted. “Do you really think that after all you’ve done I could ever trust you again?”
“I’m not asking for your trust.”
“Just me in your bed.”
He didn’t bother denying the truth. “Yes, I want you there. Or here. Or anywhere I can have you. Any way you’ll allow it.”
He closed the final gap between them and sank into her mouth. He heard her sigh of pleasure. Felt it. Drank it inward. Their lips molded, shaping themselves one to the other, before parting. Her breathing grew ragged. Or maybe it was his. More. The insistent demand sounded in his head, so clear and sharp he almost thought he’d said it aloud. And maybe he did, because she reared back, breaking the kiss almost as soon as it began.
She turned her head a fraction to avoid any risk of their lips colliding again. “Making love to you is too intimate. It leaves me too vulnerable,” she told him with devastating frankness, the stark pain underscoring her words ripping through him. “I can’t open myself to you if I don’t trust you.”
“We’ll find a way to make this work,” he insisted.
He’d said the wrong thing. Instantly, she ripped free of his embrace. “There’s only one way that’s possible. I can work for you or I can sleep with you. But I refuse to do both. It’s your choice, Sev.”
She gazed at him and he could see the burgeoning hope in the inky darkness, a hope he had no option but to crush. “I believe we’ve already had this conversation. You work for Dantes.”
He forced himself not to flinch at the acrid disillusionment that shattered the last of her hope. Her chin shot up and she embraced her fury. God, she was even more gorgeous, if that were possible, filled with righteous indignation and feminine power.
“You’re the consummate businessman to the bitter end, aren’t you, Sev?” she said bitterly. “No matter who gets in your way or how many get hurt.”
He opened the door a crack so she could see inside. “There’s never been any other choice for me. My family has always depended on me to be the ruthless one.”
“I’m not in your way, Sev.”
He inclined his head. “Not anymore. You need to understand, sweetheart, that my family still depends on me to make the hard decisions. If I don’t make them, if I’m too weak to make them, I put Dantes at risk again.”
“Fine. Now you’ve made one more hard decision. You’ve chosen Dantes over our relationship.” She stepped back. “Just don’t expect me to reward you for that decision.”
He dared to touch her a final time. He scraped his knuckles along the curve of her cheek and pretended not to see her flinch. “I’m sure that’s your intention now. But you will be back in my bed. There won’t be any other choice.” He smiled, a painful pull of his mouth. “For either of us.”
Francesca twisted the engagement ring she’d worn for the past ten days, the fire diamond flashing fiercely up at her. It still surprised to discover it decorating her finger. “Who all will be at your grandparents’ house for dinner?” she asked Sev.
He shot her a quick glance of reassurance, which dashed any hopes that he hadn’t picked up on her nervousness. “Just Nonna, Primo, and my brothers this time around. I’ll save the rest of the family for another occasion.”
“Oh.” She started to twist her hands together again, but the fire diamond stopped her, flashing an additional message of reassurance. To her amusement, it worked and she found herself relaxing despite herself. “Does your family get together often?” she asked, honestly curious.
“Once a month without fail.”
“Do they know our engagement isn’t real?”
“It is real. For now. As far as my family’s concerned, you and I are engaged,” he warned. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t disabuse them of that notion.”
Her brows pulled together. “And how did you explain the suddenness of it? Or the fact that I used to work at TH and now work for you?”
“Easy. I told them we had no choice. It was The Inferno.” He shrugged. “I didn’t need any other explanation after that.”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. So much for relaxing. Whenever she’d been sent to a new foster home, that first meeting always proved the most difficult for her. Most of the time she walked into situations where the other foster children, or her foster parents’ natural children, had already formed tight family units. Sure, they always welcomed her. At first. But she dreaded those early days of adjustment, hovering on the outside of their too jovial camaraderie as she tried to figure out how to best fit in. What hole she could fill, regardless of whether the fit felt comfortable.
This time around they all believed her madly in love with Sev. How could she possibly convince them of that? “I don’t think I can pull this off.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he told her softly. “We won’t stay long if you’re not enjoying yourself.”
“I’ll be fine.” And she would. She could handle the situation. After all, she wasn’t a lost child any longer. And if she’d learned nothing else during those formative years, she’d learned how to fake it.
To her delight, she discovered she didn’t have to fake anything. From the moment she and Sev walked in the door, the Dantes welcomed her with open arms. Primo and Nonna both gave her exuberant hugs, exclaiming in pleasure over her choice of engagement ring.
“It’s a stunning design,” Francesca complimented Primo with utter sincerity. “I told Sev how envious I am that it isn’t my own creation.”
“I am honored,” he said, clearly moved. “And I am even more hon
ored that you have chosen this particular ring to wear for as many years as God blesses your marriage.”
The breath caught in her lungs, the weight of his words pressing down on her. “Thank you,” she managed to answer, shooting Sev a look of clear desperation.
He responded by lifting her left hand to his mouth in a move that should have come across as hackneyed. Instead it struck her as unbelievably endearing. Her throat closed as his gaze linked with hers. And just like that, in front of all the Dantes, The Inferno struck and she totally melted.
Nonna dabbed at her eyes and smiled at Primo reminiscently. Then she clapped her hands together, scolding in Italian. As one, the Dante men shuffled toward the kitchen, where they switched from English to Italian. Sev left last.
He ran his thumb along the curve of her bottom lip. “You okay?” he asked quietly.
She blew out her breath in a sigh, murmuring in an undertone, “Well, I don’t think we have to worry about whether or not they believe our engagement is real.”
He bent and captured her mouth, no doubt because he knew she didn’t dare protest. Not that protesting occurred to her until long after he’d released her. “No, we don’t.”
Nonna grinned as she watched their parting. “It is good, what you have. Special.”
“I think complicated might be a more accurate description.”
Nonna nodded in agreement. “With Dante men, it can be nothing less.” She gathered Francesca’s hand in hers. “He needs you, that one. Oh, you may look at him and wonder. He is so strong. So hard-nosed. He is quite capable of standing on his own. But he has had to be. He has had no choice but to take the one path open to him. Anything else would have meant disaster for his family.”
“Because—” Francesca broke off, realizing it might not be politic to mention her son’s poor business skills had almost destroyed the business her husband built.
Nonna nodded. “You are tactful. I appreciate that. But what you are thinking is true. Dominic almost destroyed Dantes.” Lines of grief couldn’t detract from a face still handsome despite the weight of her years. “If not for Severo, Dantes would be no more.”
“It couldn’t have been easy for him.”
“It was more than difficult. The decisions he has made . . .” Nonna shook her head. “Any man would find them near to impossible. But at so young an age, so soon after the death of his mother and father?” She clicked her tongue in distress.
“You’re saying he had to be ruthless.” As he’d proven to her on more than one occasion these past weeks.
“Yes.” Nonna closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer. Then she looked at Francesca, joy replacing her sorrow. “But then he found you. He needs you, ciccina. You soften him. And after all that has been forced on him, all the horrible choices, you give him peace. Best of all, you give him The Inferno.”
With a grateful smile, she linked arms with Francesca and urged her toward the kitchen. It troubled Francesca to see the situation from Sev’s side of the fence. She didn’t want to sympathize with all he’d been through.
Worse, rather than fading, her physical and emotional response toward him grew progressively stronger with each passing day. Considering all that stood between them, it would make life easier if it would just go away. She entered the kitchen and spared him a swift look, confirming those feelings weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.
To her surprise, she spotted Primo at the stove, commandeering the burners like an admiral overseeing his fleet, while the Dante men moved in practiced synchronicity, taking care of all the domestic chores in preparation for the meal.
Her surprise must have shown because Nonna grinned. “This is my night off. It is a Dante tradition,” she explained, gesturing toward her grandchildren. “They take care of me on family day.”
“I like that.” Francesca’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “They do dishes, too, right? You don’t get stuck with those?”
“No, no.” She gave a broad wink. “I am too clever for that. Here. You take Gianna’s seat next to me. She’s in L’Italia. Visiting famiglia with her parents and brothers. You will meet them next time.”
Assuming there was a next time, Francesca almost said, before catching back the words at the last second. Fortunately, dinner came together just then and the Dante men descended on the table like they hadn’t eaten in a month. After grace, conversation exploded, for the most part in English, occasionally in Italian, as a bewildering array of dishes passed back and forth.
The choices were endless. Marinated calamari vied with panzanella. Cannellini beans cooked with garlic, olive oil and sage competed with stuffed tomatoes. Then the main dishes marched around the table. Chicken Marsala with red peppers, tortellini, pasta with a variety of sauces.
“Save room for dessert,” Sev warned as he piled her food high.
She shook her head at the overloaded plate. “I can serve myself, you know.”
He gave her a look a shade too innocent. “I just wanted to make sure you try a bit of everything.”
She knew him too well to buy into that one. “I think you want to stuff me full of carbs so my brain goes to sleep.”
“Now why would I want to do that?” But his mouth twitched, giving him away.
“So I can’t think fast enough to argue with you.”
He grinned. “But, cara, I love arguing with you.”
A liquid warmth swept through her again at the teeny-tiny accent that crept through his words. No doubt the setting contributed to it, and the fact that he constantly switched back and forth between English and Italian.
“Ho-ho. What a liar you are,” Nonna corrected in Italian. “It is not the arguing you love. It is the making up afterward.”
“Well . . .” Francesca offered judiciously. “He does excel at both.”
Silence descended over the table. “Parlate italiano?” Nonna demanded in astonishment. “And why did you not tell us this?”
Francesca grinned. “How would I know what you were all saying about me if I admitted I spoke Italian?”
Delighted laughter rang out as they all bombarded her with questions in rapid-fire succession. Primo rapped his knuckles in an effort to regain control. Instantly, silence descended. “I will ask the questions at my own table, if you do not mind,” he informed his grandsons. Eyes identical to Sev’s fixed her with uncomfortable shrewdness. “You have Italian relatives? This is why you learned Italian?” he asked.
She shook her head. “As far as I’m aware I’m not of Italian descent.” A shadow of regret came and went. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about my ancestors, so anything’s possible, I suppose.”
She caught a hint of compassion in Primo’s expression, though he didn’t allow it to color his voice. “Then why?” he asked. “Why did you learn Italian?”
“Because it’s always been my dream to work at Dantes,” she admitted. “It made sense to learn the language.” A subtle shift in attitude occurred after her confession, one that left her somewhat puzzled.
“Figured it out yet?” Sev asked softly.
Her gaze jerked up to meet his. “Figured what out?”
“You’ll get there.” He gave her a small wedge of panforte, a traditional Tuscan dessert filled with nuts, fruit and a hint of chocolate, serving her a cup of strong coffee to accompany it.
“Do you mean . . . ?” She glanced around the table, reassured to see that a heated discussion about the best time to expand Dantes raged on, preoccupying the rest of Sev’s family. “Do you mean have I worked out the change in your family? The change in their attitude toward me?”
“Almost there,” he murmured.
She shrugged. “That’s easy enough. It’s because they found out I speak Italian. I blend in better.”
“Not even close.”
Startled, she gave him her full attention. “What? They love me now because I told them I’ve always wanted to work at Dantes? So what? Lots of people would kill to work for you.”
“Nope. Come o
n, honey. You know. You just refuse to accept the significance of it.”
He saw too clearly and it left her far too vulnerable. She returned her fork to her plate, before confessing, “It’s because I learned Italian in the hope I’d someday work for Dantes. That I took that extra step.”
A slow smile built across his mouth. “I knew you’d get it.”
She scanned the table again, realizing that with that simple, painfully honest statement she’d become one of the family, her acceptance into their inner circle absolute. Most important of all, she’d done it by being herself. Even so, the knowledge filled her with guilt. “But it’s a lie.”
He helped himself to a second slice of panforte. “You didn’t learn Italian because you wanted to work for me?”
“Not you,” she stressed. “Dantes. And not that.” She shoved her left hand under his nose. “This. This is a—”
He leaned over and stopped her with a kiss. “We’ll discuss that later,” he murmured against her mouth. “In the meantime, don’t worry. These things have a way of sorting themselves out.”
They lingered over their coffee for another hour before Sev stood and told his family they needed to leave. Hugs were liberally dispensed before they made it out the door. The instant they slid into the car, she returned to the concern uppermost on her mind.
“Can’t we tell your family the truth? I really like them, and I’d rather not lie to them.”
“We’re not lying to them. We are engaged.”
“You know what I mean.” Impatience edged her voice. “They think we’re getting married.”
“That might prove a problem at some point,” he conceded. “But not today.”
They both fell silent until he pulled up outside her apartment complex. After curbing the wheels to keep them from rolling downhill, he threw the car in Park and shut off the engine. A gentle rain tapped against the windshield and blocked out everything but a watery blur of city lights.