by Day Leclaire
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I guess we take it one day at a time.”
“You think this feeling is going to dissipate over time, don’t you?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope so.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“We’ll deal with it then.”
She fell silent for a moment, then warned, “Whatever this is, Inferno or simple lust, it can’t go anywhere. You aren’t the only one who isn’t interested in a permanent relationship.”
“Then we don’t have anything to worry about, do we?”
She wished that were true. But once he found out who she was, it all would change.
Rafe woke in the early hours of the morning to the haunting sound of a howl. He glanced down at the woman sprawled across him and smiled. It usually took several nights to get comfortable sleeping with a woman. But with Larkin, all the various arms and legs had sorted themselves out with surprising ease. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so soundly. If it hadn’t been for Kiko, he doubted he’d have woken until full daylight. Speaking of which . . .
Ever so gently, he eased Larkin to one side. She murmured in protest before settling into the warm hollow left by his body, her breath sighing in pleasure. Desire coursed through him at that tiny, ultrafeminine sound. Is that what she’d do when they made love? Would she use that irresistible siren’s song on him? He couldn’t wait to find out.
Deliberately he turned his back on the bed and crossed to the French doors. A full moon shone down on the fenced yard, frosting the landscape in silver and charcoal. Kiko sat in the middle of the lawn, her head tipped back in a classic pose, her muzzle raised toward the moon.
She exhibited an untamed beauty that drew him on some primitive level. Part of him wanted to run, free and natural, driven by instinct rather than the intellectual side of his nature, a side he clung to with unwavering ferocity. To be part of that other world, the world that called to the untamed part of the animal before him.
Knowing he couldn’t, that she couldn’t, filled him with sadness. She was wildness trapped in domestication, a trap he’d do whatever it took to avoid. Before she could voice her mournful song again, he gave a soft whistle. She hesitated another moment, gave a sorrowful whine, then padded in his direction.
“It makes me so sad.” Behind him, Larkin echoed his thoughts.
He turned to glance at her and froze. The moonlight bathed her nudity in silver. She stood before him, a study in ivory and charcoal. Her hair, shoulders, and breasts gleamed with a pearl-like luminescence, while shadows threw a modest veil across her abdomen and the fertile delta between her thighs. Rational thought deserted him.
She inclined her head toward Kiko. “She feels the pull of the wild, but can’t respond the way she wants because she’s been trapped in a nebulous existence between wolf and dog, unable to call either world her own.” She fixed her pale eyes on him. “Is that how you feel? Trapped between two worlds?”
He still couldn’t think straight. He understood the question, but his focus remained fixed on her. On the demands of the physical, rather than the intellect. “Larkin . . .”
She made the mistake of approaching, the moonlight merciless in stripping away even the subtle barrier of the shadows that had protected her. “Your family is such an emotional one, but you’re not, are you?”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Don’t be so sure.”
A slow smile lit her face and she tilted her head to one side. With her cap of curls and delicate features, she looked like a creature of myth and magic. “So you are one of the emotional Dantes?”
It took him three tries before he could speak. “If I touch you again, you’ll find out for yourself.” The words escaped, raw and guttural. “And I’ll have broken my promise to Primo.”
For a long moment, time froze. Then with a tiny sigh, she stepped back, allowing the shadows to swallow her and returning to whatever fantasy world she’d escaped from. Everything that made him male urged pursuit. He knew it was the moonlight and Kiko’s howling that had ripped the mask of civilization from his more primitive instincts. He fought with every ounce of control he possessed.
As though sensing how close to the edge he hovered, the dog trotted past him to the open doorway. There she sat, an impressive bulwark to invasion.
“You win this time,” he told her. “But don’t count on it working in the future.”
With that, he turned and walked away from a craving beyond reason. And all the while he rubbed at the relentless itch centered in the palm of his hand.
She’d lost her mind. Larkin swept the sheet off the bed and wrapped herself up in its concealing cocoon. There was no other explanation. Why else would she have stripped off her few remaining clothes and walked outside like that, as naked as the day she’d been born? Never in her life had she been so blatant, so aggressive. That had been Leigh’s specialty, not hers.
Leigh.
Larkin sank onto the edge of the bed and covered her face with her hands. What a fool she was, believing for even a single second she could embroil herself in the Dantes’ affairs and escape unscathed. Maybe if she’d been up front with Rafe from the beginning it would have all worked out. That had been the intention when she’d asked to be assigned to the Dantes reception.
Her brow wrinkled. How had it all gone so hideously wrong? He’d touched her, that’s how. He’d dropped that insane proposition on her and then before she could even draw breath or engage a single working brain cell, he’d kissed her. And she’d lost all connection with reason and common sense because of The Inferno.
The Inferno.
Larkin stared at her palm in confusion. She wanted to believe it was wishful thinking or the power of suggestion, but there was no denying the odd throb and itch of her palm. She couldn’t have imagined that into existence, could she?
A soft knock sounded on her door. It could be only one person. She debated ignoring it, pretending she was asleep. But she couldn’t. She crossed to the door and opened it, still wrapped in the sheet. He’d pulled on a pair of sweatpants and seemed relieved to see that she’d covered up, as well.
“It’s late,” she started, only to be cut off.
“I’m sorry, Larkin. Tonight was my fault.” He leaned against the doorjamb and offered a wry smile. “I thought I could control what happened.”
“Not so successful?”
His smile grew. “Not even a little. I can’t allow it to happen again.” He waited a beat. “At least, not until I have a ring on your finger.”
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“Let’s just say once you’re wearing my engagement ring, I’ll consider my promise to Primo fulfilled.”
The air escaped her lungs in a rush, and she fought to breathe. “And then?” she asked faintly.
“And then we’ll finish what we started tonight.” He reached out and wound a ringlet around his finger. “One way or another we’ll work this out.” His mouth twisted. “Of course, getting whatever this is out of our systems will take a lot of work.”
“What if I don’t want to make love to you?”
He chuckled. The rich, husky sound had her swaying toward him. “Somehow I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”
He leaned in and snatched a kiss, leaving her longing for more. And then he released her and left her standing there, clutching the sheet to her chest.
He was wrong. So wrong. Making love would be far more than a problem. It would be a disaster. Taking their relationship that next step would forge a deeper connection. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, it would create a bond between them that could offer nothing but pain.
Because the minute she told him Leigh was her sister—half-sister—and he discovered the real reason she’d approached him, he wouldn’t want anything further to do with
her.
Chapter Six
“Nervous?” Rafe asked as he downshifted the car.
They c
limbed farther into the hills overlooking Sausalito along a winding road that led to Primo and Nonna’s. Each bend showcased breathtaking views one minute and then equally breathtaking villas the next. It was pointless to pretend she wasn’t nervous, so Larkin nodded.
“A little. Your grandparents can be rather intimidating. And now there’s the rest of the Dantes to contend with.” She trailed off with a shrug that spoke volumes.
A far greater concern was whether any of them would somehow make some sort of quantum leap and connect her to Leigh. With such a large contingent of Dantes present for Sunday dinner, she’d be lynched for sure.
Rafe spared her a flashing smile. “Try not to worry. The intimidation factor is aimed at me, not you. I’ve already received a half dozen lectures from various family members who are worried about my intentions toward you. Afraid I’ll corrupt you or something.” Pulling into a short drive, he crammed his car behind the ones already parked outside his grandparents’ home. “Other than that, I have a terrific family.”
“Big. You have a big family.”
He glanced at her, curious. “Is it the size that worries you?”
“Everything about your family worries me,” she announced ominously.
He chuckled. “Just do what I do and ignore all the drama. You don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to.”
“I’ll tell them you said that, but somehow I doubt it’ll work.”
She opened the car door and climbed out, smoothing the skirt of her dress—something she rarely, if ever, wore. It was new, a purchase that both Nonna and Elia had insisted on making, despite her hesitation. In all reality, it was more of an oversize shirt than an actual dress, right down to the rolled-up sleeves and button-down collar. Unfortunately, she felt as if she’d forgotten half her outfit. Still, she couldn’t deny it suited her.
A dainty gold belt cinched her waist, making it appear incredibly small, while the shirttail hem flirted in that coy no-man’s-land between knee and thigh, drawing attention to her slender legs. She just hoped it didn’t also draw attention to the thin network of silvery-white scars that remained a permanent reminder of her broken leg.
“Stop fussing. You look amazing.” Rafe circled the car and took her hand in his. “They’re all going to love you as much as Mamma and Nonna.”
Despite her nervousness, she couldn’t help finding the Italian inflection that rippled through his voice endearing, especially when he referred to his mother or grandmother. It was as beautiful as it was lyrical.
“I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?” She blew out a breath. “I mean, even if they don’t like me it really doesn’t matter. It’s not like this is re—”
He stopped the words with a kiss, the unexpected power of it almost knocking her off her legs. Every last thought misted over, vanishing beneath his amazing lips. She shifted closer and wound her arms around his neck, giving herself up to the delicious heat that seemed to explode between them whenever they touched. She couldn’t say how long they remained wrapped around each other, doing their level best to inhale one another. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Time held no meaning. When he finally lifted his head, she could only stare at him, dazed. He grinned at her reaction.
“Interesting,” he said. “I’ll have to remember to do that anytime I want to change the subject.”
“Who . . . ? Where . . . ? What . . . ? She took a tottering step backward. “Why . . . ?
His grin broadened at her helpless confusion. “You were about to say something indiscreet,” he explained in a low voice. “I kissed you to shut you up. You never know who might be listening.”
Larkin’s brain clicked back on, along with her capacity for speech. “Got it.”
It was so unfair. For her their embraces felt painfully real. But for Rafe . . . Didn’t the heat they generated melt any of his icy composure? She could have sworn it did. She sighed. Maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part, which meant she was putting herself in an increasingly vulnerable position if she didn’t find a way to keep her emotions in check.
“I’ll be more careful from now on,” she added, as much for her own benefit as for his.
She drew in a shaky breath and aimed herself toward a large wooden gate leading to the back of the house. To her profound relief, she discovered she could walk in a more or less straight line without falling down. Rafe opened the gate, and they stepped into a beautifully tended garden area filled with a rainbow of colors and a dizzying bouquet of fragrances. An array of voices greeted them, coming from the people who spilled across the lawn or sat at a wrought iron patio set beneath a huge sprawling mush oak.
The next hour proved beyond confusing as Rafe introduced her to an endless number of Dantes. Some were involved in the retail end of the Dantes jewelry empire. Others, like Rafe and his brother Luc, ran the courier service. Still others handled the day-to-day business aspects. She met Rafe’s father, Alessandro, who was as easygoing as his son was intense. And she met the various wives, their radiance and undisguised happiness filling her with a wistful yearning to enjoy the sort of marital bliss they’d discovered with their spouses. Not that it would happen. At least, not with Rafe.
“Have all of the married couples experienced The Inferno?” she couldn’t help but ask at one point.
Rafe gave a short laugh. “Or so they claim.” She considered that with a frown, one that he intercepted. “What?”
“Well, you’re the logical one, right?”
“No question.”
She indicated his relatives with a wave of her hand. “And every couple here, including your parents and grandparents, claim that they’ve experienced The Inferno.”
He shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve come to the conclusion that the Dante family suffers from a genetic mutation that causes mass delusion. Thank God I was spared that particular anomaly.” His gaze drifted toward his younger brother and sister. “Time will tell whether Draco and Gia escaped, as well.”
That earned him a swift grin. “Mutations and anomalies aside, Primo mentioned that he and Nonna have been married for more than fifty years. And I gather your parents must have been married for thirtysomething years, right?”
“Your point?”
She suppressed a wince at the crispness of his question. “Despite your unfortunate genetic anomaly, doesn’t logic suggest that, based on all the marriages you’ve seen to date, The Inferno is real? I’d also think that the fact that you didn’t experience it with Leigh and your marriage failed only adds to the body of evidence.”
He didn’t have a chance to answer. Draco dropped into the conversation and into the vacant chair beside them. “You’re not going to convince him. Rafaelo doesn’t want to believe. Plus, he’s a dyed-in-the-wool cynic who isn’t about to allow something as messy and unmanageable as The Inferno steal away his precious self-control.”
“If you mean I refuse to be trapped in another marriage, you’re right,” Rafe responded in a cool voice.
Draco leaned toward her. “Oh, and did I happen to mention that he doesn’t want to believe?”
Despite the pain that Rafe’s comments caused, Larkin’s lips quivered in amusement. “You may have said something to that effect once or twice.”
“Tell me you’re any different,” Rafe shot back at his brother. “Are you ready to surrender your current lifestyle to the whims of The Inferno?”
Something dark and powerful rippled across the even tenor of Draco’s expression. Something that hinted at the depths he concealed beneath his easygoing facade. Larkin watched in fascination. The dragon stirs, came the whimsical thought.
Draco took his time responding, taking the question seriously. “Answer me this. If your Inferno bride dropped into your arms out of the blue, would you push her away?”
Rafe spared Larkin a brief glance. “Is that what you think happened to us?”
“To you?” Draco seemed startled by the question. His dark gaze flashed from his brother to Larkin. “Sure, okay. Let’s say it hap
pened to the two of you. Are you going to turn away from it?”
“It didn’t happen to us,” Rafe stated with quiet emphasis. “It didn’t because there is no such thing as The Inferno, so there’s nothing to turn away from.”
Draco flipped a quick, sympathetic look in Larkin’s direction before responding to his brother. “In that case, either you deserve an Academy Award for your performance tonight, or you’re a lying SOB. I can’t help but wonder which one it is.”
Rafe regarded his brother through narrowed green eyes. “You should know which one, since you’re responsible for staging this little play.”
“I may have orchestrated the opening scene,” Draco shot right back, “but that’s where my participation in this comedy of errors ended. Your role, on the other hand, appears to have taken on an unexpected twist.”
Draco struck with the speed of a snake, snagging his brother’s wrist. Larkin’s gaze dropped to Rafe’s hand and she inhaled sharply. He’d been caught red-handed—literally—rubbing the palm of his right hand with the thumb of his left, just as she’d been doing ever since they’d first touched.
“Part of the act,” Rafe claimed.
But Larkin could see the lie in his eyes and hear it in his voice and feel it in the heat centered in her palm.
“Keep telling yourself that, bro, but in case you’re wondering, I’m choosing Option B. That’s lying SOB, in case you’ve forgotten.” Draco deliberately changed the subject. “Hey, sister-to-be, I see I’m not the only one with an eventful childhood.”
The change in subject knocked her off-kilter. “Sorry?”
He gestured to the nearly invisible network of scars along her leg. “We match. Mine was due to falling out of a tree. How about you?”
He asked the question so naturally that she didn’t feel the least embarrassed or self-conscious. “Did a pirouette off a stage.”
He winced. “Ouch.” He nudged Rafe. “Of course, my ordeal wasn’t anywhere near as bad as Rafe’s.”
“Rafe’s?” She turned to him. “Did you break your leg, too? Why didn’t you tell me?”
