Dante's Flame

by Jannine Corti-Petska

  Somewhere in her chest, she sighed yet again. Never had she imagined a man’s mating tool was a thing of beauty. Would that she could, she’d run her fingers along its length to know if it was coarse or soft.

  “Alessandra!”

  She startle to, embarrassed to be caught ogling him. His knowing grin deepened the hot color suffusing her cheeks.

  “I would ask what has captured your steadfast attention, but you are much too obvious, amore mia.”

  She bristled at his bluntness. “If you would refrain from standing there as naked as the day you were born,I—”

  “Then am I to assume the lusty look you were giving me had only to do with my naked body? Or, mayhap, desire in your heart makes you hot to have me nestled within you?”

  She tried to avert her eyes, but they had a will of their own. “Why is it men see coupling as their due, a mere act to satisfy their lust? Can you not believe in romance?”

  He stepped out of the tub. Water pooled around his feet, but he paid it no mind. He didn’t even dry off. Instead, he stalked the bed—and her—like a sleek predatory animal. Anticipation built, pressuring her woman’s apex with unbearable need.

  “Romance is for those who believe in fantasy, I think. A notion suited only to a woman’s mind, mayhap.”

  Trapped by the twin spears of lavender pinning her to the bed, Alessa scooted backward to the headboard. “Then you believe women are frivolous because they hold out hope for romance?”

  “On the contrary. Women are only frivolous if they do not believe in romance. It is part of a woman’s nature.” The mattress dipped when he leaned his weight on one knee. “And you, I fear, have illusions about romance far stronger than most women.”

  “And that is—” She couldn’t concentrate as he crawled toward her. “—wrong?”

  His hand hovered over her calf. Alessa swallowed hard. Her body was already on fire, and he had yet to touch her. The moment he did, his fingers seared her skin where they curled around her ankle. She watched with baited breath as he slipped his hand beneath her tunic. His fingers stepped up her leg, pausing only when they came upon the reward they sought. His eyes intent on hers, he stroked her there, turning her need into burning desire. Complete, unbridled surrender was just moments away.

  “Not wrong,” he finally answered, hoarse from his own building desire. His fingertip traced just outside her nether lips, teasing a response from her sensitive body. “But I wonder...”

  He parted her and slipped part of his finger inside. Alessa held her breath.

  “Do romance and love cross paths? Or can you have one without the other?”

  Romance? Love? She couldn’t think beyond the force of nature gripping her lower body, or the thrill from his intimate caress. She beseeched him. “Dante, please.”

  “What is it you want, Alessandra?”

  She could have thumped his head for his deliberate teasing. “I cannot tell you.” Her breathy voice displayed a modicum of dignity.

  He started to withdraw.

  “No, do not stop.” She had fallen over the boundary of shame and no longer cared if she begged him to appease her sexual need. “I want you inside me.”

  In a heartbeat, she was beneath him, her tunic raised and his body cradled between her legs. She lifted her knees to his narrow hips. Reaching down, she curled her fingers around his arousal, astounded by the silky texture of it. She heard his massive intake of breath, saw the pain scoring his features, and knew he was as ready as she. Placing the tip of him to her emanating heat, she jerked her hips upward, taking him into her slick passage with ease.

  Forgotten was the incident at the cave. As long as she was cloaked beneath Dante’s powerful body, naught else mattered.

  ****

  Kicking and crying out, Alessa battled the covers. She lashed out with her fists, battering Dante before he could fully rouse himself from a deep and gratifying sleep. He grabbed her wrists to still her pummeling and called her name gently, not wishing to startle her.

  The horror converging on her face turned to fear. She battled an invisible demon, and he could do naught but wait it out. The instant she stilled, he called to her again. She began to come around, her eyelashes fluttering before they rose and revealed a vacant look in her eyes.

  “Alessandra?” She turned to his soothing voice, and he brushed the hair away from her face. “You are better now?”

  “I am, now that I know I am safe with you.”

  He cuddled her in a one-arm embrace and stroked her shoulder with his fingertips until her tension flowed away.

  “I have not seen the musician of late,” she said.

  Dante stifled a tremor. “He shows himself only within the city, never elsewhere.”

  “Think you I am out of danger?”

  Should he be truthful or lie to ease her worries? He decided to speak a half-truth. “I think you are out of danger as long as you remain in this castle.”

  She raked her short fingernails across his chest, his flesh rippling in their wake. “If only I could remain as such...”

  She grinned up at him, the playful shine in her eyes giving him pause. He stilled her hand before his entire body reacted wickedly from her sly caresses. He kissed her lips, savoring their downy softness, and came away with an appreciative moan. “So I must hold you abed to keep you safe?”

  “Not so much abed as in your arms.”

  The notion pleased him immensely, knowing his wife cherished his embrace as much as their coupling. Sadly, the question of their trust in each other remained.

  Her hand drifted down his belly. Before he realized what she was about, her fingers found the object of their destination. He caught his breath in anticipation. As she lightly skimmed along the side of his awakening arousal, he groaned as if he’d already reached his climax. The playful shine in her eyes turned heavy with desire. She tentatively closed her fingers around him. It was all he could do to lie there, allowing her to explore his body.

  She leaned over and kissed his chest. Her hair fell forward, tantalizing his skin. Her kisses followed the path of his chest hairs down to his belly. When her blonde head disappeared beneath the covers, he could no longer bear the expectation of what she might do. He had thought it was too soon to show her how to please him with her mouth, as he had pleased her.

  His teeth gritted fiercely, and he crushed the sheet in his fists, wishing she would end his prolonged agony. Of a sudden, the bedchamber door crashed open. Caught between heaven and hell, Dante’s reaction was slow. He reached for the dagger on the bedstand, only to realize he hadn’t placed it there before climbing into bed last night. Before he had the chance to jump to his feet to defend himself and Alessandra, the ferocious giant descended on him and closed mighty fingers around his neck. He hauled Dante from the bed, dragged and pinned him to the wall, closing off the air from his lungs.

  Alessandra’s bright head popped up from the covers. Horror transcended her face. “Messer Cristiano! Let him go! He is my husband.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Dante bent forward, gripping his knees, and fought desperately to replenish the air to his lungs. With Cristiano seething like a madman, Alessa dared not go to her husband’s aid. As shocked as she was to see her cousin Bianca’s husband, she was more shocked that he’d attack Dante in his own bed.

  Cristiano stared at her for an explanation. “We were married three days past.”

  “Married?” Comprehension seemed to fail him. “You are not a kept woman?”

  She sat up tall at his lurid insinuation. “Who told you that?”

  “Your cousin.”

  Holding the cover protectively to her chest, she shifted to sit on bended knees. “Fabroni?”

  “Benito.”

  Dante’s ire darkened his face. “That bastardo.”

  Impatient and confused, Cristiano bellowed. “Will either of you explain what is going on here?”

  Unable to keep her gaze from wandering to her husband’s manly attributes
, Alessa swallowed back a sudden attack of humiliation. What she was about to do before the messere burst in, the brazen way she had held Dante in her hand and the bold manner in which she very nearly tasted his silk-encased arousal, deepened her shame.

  Agata stood meekly at the door, pale and crying, tearing Alessa’s overt attention away from Dante. The woman cowered when her gaze darted to Cristiano. “I am sorry, signora.” Her voice warbled, and her body trembled like the ground on the few occasions when Vesuvius awoke with a brief bellyache. “I could not stop him.”

  Thankfully, Dante was out of Agata’s view, else the woman might crumble into a heap of prayers. Alessa consoled the maid, and bade her to prepare a meal for their guest. Meanwhile, she swung her annoyance back to Cristiano.

  “You have managed to upset the household. And all for naught. Had you spoken with me first, you would have avoided this appalling incident.”

  “With no guards present, it was not a difficult task to find my way inside, as could any intruder.”

  “My husband needs no guards to protect his land and home.”

  “Then how will he protect you from thieves or criminals intent on capturing this…this modest castle?”

  “It is very different here in Naples.” She’d not delve into politics with Cristiano, who was well-versed on the subject. “And what is wrong with this castle?” Cristiano’s royal blue eyes glowed across the short space, warning her of his intrepid temperament. Wisely, Alessa took heed. “Mayhap we should continue this discussion at a more appropriate time and place. If you please, await us down below and we will join you shortly.”

  He slid his castigating gaze to Dante, who regained his courage in the face of certain death. Cristiano knew not his own strength. He was a celebrated warrior, and a sight to behold when angered. He commanded respect and had little patience for dishonesty, or for a man he felt took advantage of a woman.

  “Bah!” He pivoted sharply for the door. His black, shoulder-length hair waved like a banner in his hasty retreat.

  Alessa turned an apologetic look to Dante. “Remember when I mentioned my cousin had married a Medici?”

  His eyes widened, and he jutted a finger in the direction of the door. “That is—?”

  She nodded. “Sì, that is Cristiano de’ Medici. He has a tendency to react before inquiring about a situation.”

  “Indeed.” He rubbed the red handprint left on his neck. “What is he doing in Naples?”

  “Mayhap we should dress and go down to talk with him.”

  Dante look perplexed. “I’ll not forgive him for what he interrupted.”

  Alessa colored fiercely and brought her gaze down. “Nor will I,” she muttered under her breath.

  ****

  The Medici was pacing when Alessa and Dante came down the stairs into the great hall. He had yet to calm, and she knew she’d have to sooth his ire before it boiled over again, and he and Dante engaged in a battle neither would agree had foundation. Both would protect her, but for very different reasons.

  He stopped abruptly and encompassed the both of them in the accusatory look she knew so well. “I am waiting.”

  Not patiently, she would have said, but baiting his dark temper would bode ill for all three. She came to the point. “Cousin Fabroni thought marriage would cure my errant ways.”

  His black brows were quick to arch, as if to question what other way would she behave. “When your father received Valente’s letter, he feared you had fallen into trouble.” His damning gaze slid to Dante. “Is that so?”

  She huffed loudly, regaining Cristiano’s attention. “No. Simply put, Fabroni does not appreciate my writings.”

  “Or your climbing out your bedroom window at all hours of the day and night,” Dante added, perturbed.

  “What say you?” Cristiano asked of her.

  “Mayhap I…did wander a bit.”

  “Hah!” Both Dante and Cristiano spoke at once, then glared at each other.

  Alessa took offense, but thought first to defuse the hostility between the two men before they tumbled to the ground in fisticuffs. “Dante was my French tutor.”

  “And?”

  “And Fabroni believed Dante was the best man to curtail my curiosity.”

  Both men grunted. Alessa had the feeling she was outnumbered by their first-hand knowledge of her wanderlust. Perhaps if she turned the conversation away from her shortcomings as a proper, well-bred woman, she’d gain the upper hand on their judgment of her unusual habits.

  “Did my father send you in his stead?”

  Sorrow changed Cristiano’s angry demeanor. “Your father was abed with the gout for many weeks. He is on the mend, but as yet unable to travel.”

  Relieved it was naught serious, Alessa thanked the Lord for not taking her father. “I should like to visit him.”

  “In time,” Dante said.

  Suspicion crept into Cristiano’s voice. “Is there a reason she cannot return with me?”

  Alessa took note of Dante’s austere stance and answered for him. “While the French are here, Dante is needed to translate.”

  “I can speak for myself.” His jaw clenched.

  “My pardon.” She bowed her head, realizing she hadn’t given him his due as lord and master of his castle. Thankfully, Agata approached and announced the meal was ready.

  ****

  By the end of the meager feast, neither Dante nor Cristiano remembered Alessa’s presence. She glanced from one to the other, each hoisting a goblet of wine, Dante intent on a story the Medici regaled about falconry. Truth be told, she was happy they got on well. And amazed at how a sated palate changed a man from a miserable beast to a lamb.

  Tired of being ignored, she scraped her chair back to stand, gaining attention from the two. “Alas, you recall I am here.”

  Cristiano, though not stunned by her sarcasm, was a trifle annoyed by her lack of respect for her husband in front of a guest. Dante, on the other hand, bit back a grin.

  “I fear my wife craves my attention.”

  She swiveled her disbelief on him. “If that is what you truly believe.”

  “That is what I truly know,” Dante said, smirking.

  Cristiano slapped a hand on the table top good-naturedly. “Bedamned! It must be in their blood, for my wife suffers from insolence quite similar to Alessandra’s.”

  Dante’s gaze lounged on her tightly drawn mouth and agreed. “Sì, insolence.”

  “If you two are finished having your amusement with me, I shall retire upstairs.”

  Dante remarked to Cristiano, “There is no tree beside either window for her to escape.”

  “Unfair!” she cried, upset with him for continually pointing out the one flaw that usually got her into serious trouble.

  Dante stood. “I beg your indulgence, Signor de’ Medici. I shall see my wife up to our chamber. Mayhap a bath will suit you after your long journey.”

  Unfolding his six-foot-four frame, Cristiano stretched his back and winced. “Sì, a bath might help my aching bones. I fear I rode hard to get to Naples before the wedding. Alas, it was all for naught.”

  “Agata!” Dante shouted, bringing the woman stumbling out of the kitchen. “Prepare a bath for Signor de’ Medici.”

  “Sì, my lor—signore.”

  With a hand at her back, Dante guided Alessa toward the stairs. She arched away from his touch and walked several paces ahead, still irritated with his comment.

  “I must speak with Fabroni on Signor Podesta’s behalf,” Cristiano said.

  “I will accompany you into the city,” Dante offered.

  Alessa piped up. “And I.”

  Dante snapped his gaze to her. “I did not invite you to ride with us.”

  Alessa bunched her mouth, lifted her gown, and marched up the stairs. Once in their bedchamber, she slipped into a pout. “Fabroni has never met Cristiano. Think you I should be there?”

  Dante tilted her head up for his kiss. A simple kiss that held the promise of hedonistic i
ndulgence. She melted into him, her body betraying the resistance her mind empowered. Convincing him to take her along to the inner city fell somewhere unreachable. She wriggled free from Dante long enough to dash her garments and jump into bed. Fast on her heels, he did not trifle. She guided him to her throbbing cleft, gasping when he plowed deep inside.

  Alessa wrapped herself around Dante’s body, lifting to meet his quick thrusts. Not long after, he burst within her, his head rearing, and his features caught between pain and pleasure. For her, it was the most beautiful and satisfying release she’d ever known.

  ****

  In the main room of Fabroni’s home, Dante sat woodenly beside Alessandra while the Medici stood at the unlit hearth. He struck an imposing figure. Fabroni glanced at him repeatedly, obviously nervous to be in his presence. He understood the physical and political strength the Florentine held. Fabroni’s composed disposition faltered, and he appeared uncomfortable, perhaps intimidated, to have a man from the powerful de’ Medici family in his home.

  Amalia entered the room, eyes averted. She set goblets and a ewer filled with wine on a short table and hurried off. Her timorous behavior didn’t appear to bother Cristiano. Dante realized the man was used to others bowing to his position, no matter that he was not borne of royal blood. But the Medici was as close to royalty as any commoner could get.

  “I am sorry to hear of Franco’s illness,” Fabroni said of Alessandra’s father. “It was kind of you to do his bidding.”

  “I had hoped to arrive before the wedding. You can imagine my surprise to find Alessandra already wed. I question the reason you disregarded the betrothal period and swiftly married her to Signor Santangelo.”

  “I regret not following protocol. Truth be told, Signor Santangelo requested foregoing the banns.”

  When Cristiano pinned him with a severe look, Dante felt a twinge of regret in his chest. He had known Alessandra came from a family of good standing, yet he chose to heed his suspicions that she might be working for the Spanish. Marrying her didn’t gain him any more insight than he’d already had, which proved very little.