by Day Leclaire
Uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken, Ty deliberately steered the discussion back to the task at hand. “Anyway, when Juice asked for help . . .” He shrugged. “Let’s just say I owe him.”
Luc grinned. “You’re not the only one. I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s bailed me out of trouble. I’m hoping tomorrow night will be another of those occasions. Thank you for agreeing to help us.”
Ty inclined his head. He recognized a former military man when he saw one, and didn’t doubt he gave off the same vibe. He’d developed a knack for spotting kindred spirits who’d long ago lost their innocence of the world. Active combat had a way of doing that. The men and women he knew all had a certain attitude. A certain way of regarding the world around them. A certain keenness when it came to the fragility of life and how quickly it can change.
Or end.
“Let me introduce you to everyone, and then we’ll make ourselves comfortable in the conference room while we go over logistics.” He started at the top. “My grandfather, Primo Dante, the founder of our business.”
The older man shot Ty an assessing look from beneath bushy gray brows, his dark eyes alert and discerning, despite his years. Totally disregarding the no smoking regulations, his strong, white teeth clamped around a smoldering cigar. He must have been satisfied with what he saw because he thrust out his hand and gave Ty’s a firm shake.
“It is my pleasure to meet you.” His voice suited him, rolling out in deep, lyrical waves that contained all the romance and warmth of his Italian homeland. It spoke to Ty on some level he didn’t quite understand, weaving a spell around and through him.
“Did you serve with Luc?” Primo asked.
It took a moment for Ty to shake off his response to Primo’s voice. What the hell was wrong with him? “No, sir. I brushed up against Juice a time or two, but I didn’t have the honor of working with your grandson.” He spared Luc a swift glance. “Though, I suspect if we were to compare deployments, we’d discover we’ve worked in tangent on occasion.”
Primo waved his cigar through the air, a fragrant wreath of smoke following in its wake. “Così è la vita. Our lives are circles, intersecting and overlapping many other circles, all at God’s mysterious direction.” Primo’s eyes narrowed, sharpened. “You are a man of faith?”
“There are no atheists in foxholes,” he quoted. Or possibly misquoted. Not that he’d ever been in an actual foxhole. Foxholes were static combat positions that rarely worked in today’s warfare.
Primo snorted and a deep, rolling chuckle erupted from him. It seemed to fill the room with its warmth, intensifying the feeling of coming home. It made no sense at all to Ty. He wasn’t even Italian, despite having learned the language during his service.
“Vero,” the old man conceded. “But what counts is whether a man remains faithful when he is out of the foxhole and fear is absent.”
A man who bore a striking resemblance to Primo interrupted, gently putting an end to the subject. “Sev Dante.” He offered his hand, but not his title. Had to be the boss man. “Pleased to have you onboard.” He quickly introduced several other Dantes, along with their titles.
That just left the woman. Once again that odd, insistent demand rang through his head, more strident this time. She’s yours. Take her! Ignoring the voice, his gaze targeted in her direction like a heat-seeking missile. He’d caught her staring. A hint of color touched her cheeks and those stunning teal eyes shifted, clinging to Primo as though he were a safe harbor in stormy seas. Strange.
The old man grinned. “Ah, you have noticed my executive assistant. She is as brilliant as she is beautiful. Allow me to introduce you to Lucia Benedict.”
Ty stepped in her direction, an awareness grabbing him in an unbreakable hold. She’s mine! Capturing her gaze with his, he started to offer his hand, only to be swept away by Juice and Luc.
Juice clapped a huge hand on his shoulder, nearly dislocating it. “Time to get to work, Masterson. You can flirt with the lady another time.”
The Inferno didn’t work. Lucia stared glumly at her palm. How many times had she told herself that? And yet, here she sat, the fairy tale teasing her. Tempting her. Whispering wicked possibilities in her ear. And all because of Ty Masterson.
Part of her wished she’d had the opportunity to touch him. To see if she felt The Inferno when they shook hands. Another part of her scoffed at the idea. She didn’t deserve The Inferno. It had rejected her because she’d rushed into marriage with Andrew Benedict, believing he was her Inferno mate, when in fact, nothing could have been further from the truth.
Besides, she didn’t want the complications The Inferno would bring. She definitely didn’t want a man in her life again. Ever. She’d tried that, and it had been the most painful and terrifying experience of her life.
The door to Primo’s private office opened, and he and Nonna entered the reception area where she sat. The pair held hands as they usually did. With unconscious grace, her grandfather lifted his wife’s hand to his mouth and planted a lingering kiss in the palm. Unbidden, tears pricked Lucia’s eyes at the loving gesture. How she longed to claim them as her own. But she didn’t dare. Didn’t dare risk losing what little contact she currently enjoyed.
“Lucia, mio cuore, I am off to eat lunch with my sweet Nonna,” Primo announced.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the gala?”
He heaved a sigh. “Yes. Events have conspired so that we will not meet again until tomorrow night.”
Lucia smiled. As much as she’d love to offer a more effusive farewell, she limited herself to saying, “Have a nice time.” She stifled a sigh. So banal. So generic, when instead, she longed to leap to her feet and give them both a tight, lingering hug.
Nonna, as she’d insisted she be called, paused by Lucia’s desk. “Would you care to join us, Lucia? I would love to get to know you better.”
Tempted beyond measure, Lucia hesitated, then reluctantly shook her head. Primo had asked her to fill in for one of the gala’s models who’d been forced to cancel at the last minute due to illness. Unable to think of a reasonable excuse, she’d allowed him to pressure her into agreeing.
“I have a final fitting for my gown in forty-five minutes. I want to make sure everything’s perfect so your beautiful diamonds are showcased to their best advantage.”
“Pfft.” Primo swept a hand through the air in clear dismissal. “Everyone will be staring at you, not our fire diamonds. They come a distant second to such a lovely woman.”
Nonna laughed. “I would call him a flattering fool, but he is right, my dear. Your beauty quite outshines any gemstone.”
Even though she knew they were being ridiculously effusive, she treasured every word her grandparents spoke. Cradled them close. Temptation beckoned, urging her to confess her identity. But she didn’t dare. It would change everything and she wasn’t quite ready for whatever that change might bring. She’d learned that the hard way. Anticipation never matched reality.
The minute they left, Lucia buried her face in her hands, struggling for control. She couldn’t explain her reluctance. Couldn’t explain why she hesitated when she’d seen how they’d welcomed Gabe into their fold once they discovered his identity. But she’d trusted once, loved totally and completely, and nearly been destroyed. She didn’t think she’d survive it happening again. Not with the Dantes. They meant too much to her.
“You gonna sign for this or are you gonna keep me waiting all day?”
Lucia jumped at the question and looked up. A man in a delivery uniform loomed above her, standing right up against her desk. She instantly recognized him. Henry. He’d dropped off envelopes and packages at least a half dozen times in the last month or so.
In a swift, unconscious move, she shoved her chair backward and jumped to her feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
He held a clipboard with a letter-sized manilla envelope on top of it. Instead of handing it over, he stared at her, his gaze
inching down her body in a way that made her queasy. “Lucia Benedict, right?”
More than anything she wanted to deny it. She gave a brief, reluctant nod. “You have something for me, Henry?”
Wrong question. So the wrong question. He grinned, though she couldn’t detect an ounce of humor. “Yeah, I got something for you.”
For an instant, she thought he planned to lunge at her. Maybe he would have if a deep, powerful voice didn’t come from directly behind him. “Are you all right, Lucia?”
Ty Masterson stood just inside the doorway and relief poured through her at the sight of him. Henry’s reaction was far different. His mud-brown eyes widened with a combination of anger and more than a hint of nervousness.
“Thanks for coming, Ty,” she said, praying he’d read between the lines. “You’re just the man I wanted to see.”
Instantly, Ty crossed to her desk. Without asking, he relieved Henry of his clipboard and envelope and handed them to Lucia. “I assume you want this signed?”
Somehow, his maneuver managed to edge Henry toward the door. She didn’t know if it was Ty’s size or the sheer power of his personality, but within the space of a minute, he provided a powerful bulwark between Lucia and the deliveryman. She scrawled her signature on the clipboard and handed it to Ty who shoved it into Henry’s hands and jerked his head in the direction of the door.
“We wouldn’t want to hold you up.”
“Yeah, right. Whatever,” the man muttered before beating a hasty retreat.
Ty crossed to her side, his brows pulled together in concern. He started to reach for her, hesitating at the last moment. She stared at his hand, noting the size and power contained within the calloused palm, keenly aware of how well it matched the man.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine.” The words escaped, low and soft and surprisingly calm. “He just unnerved me a bit. There was something about him. I don’t know. Maybe I imagined it.”
“It wasn’t your imagination. I picked up on it, too. Always listen to your instincts.”
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her gaze to his, taking in someone who couldn’t be called handsome in the classic sense. Even so, the arrangement of his rugged, bronzed features was compelling, from his slashing cheekbones to the uncompromising set of his chin and jaw, to the wide, passionate mouth compressed in a firm, controlled line.
Most arresting of all were his bittersweet chocolate eyes, the expression buried within intense and brimming with secrets. They held her, examined her as though she were a strange puzzle he needed to solve. Desire slammed through her, the emotion both unexpected and unwanted. She fought it with every ounce of willpower, loath to believe after all of this time that The Inferno chose this moment and this man.
But deep down, she knew it had.
“It’s safe to shake hands with me,” he said gravely.
Suddenly aware he continued to stand in front of her with his hand out, Lucia took a deep breath and cautiously reached for it. “Of course. Sorry.”
“Ty Masterson,” he said, though she already knew.
“Lucia Benedict.”
His fingers closed around hers and their palms melded. And that’s all it took. She lost it, utterly and completely. With that single touch The Inferno whipped through her, a wildfire of desire combined with an itching burn centered where their palms joined, a trademark of the Dante “blessing.”
She shuddered in reaction. If The Inferno truly were a blessing, why did it feel so much like she’d just been cursed? She struggled to conceal her reaction, desperately searching his expression for any sign he’d felt the enticing connection, as well, the spark leaping from her hand to his. Dantes and their mates always felt the burn the first time they touched. Did he? If so, he hid it behind an impressive mask of composure.
Had he felt it or not? She needed to find out, no matter how foolish it made her look. “What was that?” she asked.
“Excuse me?”
She squeezed his hand. “That. Can’t you feel it? It’s like static electricity.”
Ty’s eyes narrowed. “Sorry, did I shock you?”
“You’re not feeling it?”
He released her hand and took a step back, folding his arms across his chest. “No.”
“Are you sure?” she pressed. “A tingle. A . . . a sort of spark or burn or itch.”
He didn’t answer, just stared at her with those fathomless eyes, examining her with clear suspicion.
A desperate longing tore through her. “It figures. I should have known. I really should have.”
“Known what?”
“That I’m broken.” She flipped her hand over and glared at her palm, giving it a little shake in the hopes of . . . Of what? Kick-starting The Inferno? Reigniting the flame sufficiently for Ty to experience it? Jarring some internal connection so it would work? “Maybe my palm is broken. Maybe it’s on the fritz. Or maybe mine only goes one way.”
He tilted his head to one side. “You do realize I have no idea what you’re talking about, don’t you?”
“I’m talking about me being the first one in family history to have a one-way—” She broke off abruptly. Inferno, she’d almost said. She’d known this man for all of a minute and she’d almost confessed her relationship to the Dantes. What the hell was wrong with her?
“You were saying?” Ty prompted. “To have a one-way . . . ?”
“Never mind.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m not making much sense, am I? How can I help you, Mr. Masterson?”
“Make it Ty.” He hesitated, as though reconsidering his words. Then he shrugged. “I wondered if you’d be interested in having dinner with me.”
“I’m not sure.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Is there something I can do or say to help you decide?”
She spoke without thought, an insane response leaping to her lips. “I’ll agree to dinner if you kiss me first.”
Chapter Two
Ty stared at the woman with open suspicion. Not that she noticed. She was too fixated on whatever insanity obsessed her. Figured. Bloody well figured. From the instant he’d first seen her, he’d been attracted. Hell, more than attracted. He’d been consumed with one overriding thought.
Take. The. Woman. Take her now. Make her his in every sense of the word.
Lucia stood, keeping the desk between them. A spicy-sweet fragrance drifted to him, one that somehow personified her. He drew it into his lungs, shocked by the unexpected primitive connection between her scent and his need for her. What the hell was wrong with him? Sure, he’d lusted after women before, but not like this. Never like this. Never in a way that struck at the very core of him, that turned him from a logical, controlled male into some sort of bestial throwback who lived, breathed, and acted on instinct alone.
He fought to control the visceral demand short-circuiting his intellect and reason. Fought harder to conceal his primal reaction to her. “Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?”
She didn’t back away from his abrupt question, and her composure impressed the hell out of him. He could sense her nervousness, but she contained it beautifully, running at direct odds to his own inability to regulate his response to her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
He didn’t cut her any slack. “Yes, you do. Something’s wrong. What is it?”
She spoke so quietly, he had to lean forward to catch her words. “Have you ever had your illusions shattered?”
His mind flashed to his military service and the IED explosion that had taken out his entire team. Everyone, except him, though he still bore the scars from that hideous time, both internal and external. When he’d first joined up, he believed he could protect his team and country from all threats, only to discover in short order how far apart reality stood from dreams.
“When I served in the military, yes,” he replied with impressive calm. “I imagine everyone has their illusions shattered at one point or another.�
�
She left the safety of her desk and midday light from the nearby windows cut across her upturned face. God, she was beautiful, small and dainty in comparison to his massive size. High, sweeping cheekbones emphasized her delicate features, at odds with a mouth as full and ripe as a peach, one he wanted to lick and suck and eat. But it was her eyes that captured and held him.
They were such an unusual shade of teal, yet filled with an ancient pain that ran as deep as the sea and echoed its unpredictable, turbulent nature. She’d been scarred every bit as badly as he’d been and it brought out a fierce protectiveness. He’d never experienced the emotion on quite so personal a level. Nor had he ever allowed it to override the rational, logical part of him. Until now.
“What happened to you?” he whispered.
“I stopped believing.”
He nodded in total understanding. Been there, done that. “I’m sorry.”
She moistened her lips, hesitating, as though struggling to reach a decision. “Then something happened, something that made me wonder if I’d made a mistake. If maybe I just hadn’t waited long enough. So, now I want to know whether I was right to give up, or if maybe there is something worth believing in.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“Maybe I can explain it a different way.”
With those cryptic words, she stepped into his arms and rested her palms on his chest. She hesitated for a brief moment, watching to see if he’d reject her before sliding them upward and around his neck. He stiffened, tempted beyond measure to respond, but unsure of Lucia’s motives. Then she tugged his head down and strung a series of kisses along his jawline.
He should resist. He should push her away and put an end to this insanity. Instead, he waited. His remoteness didn’t deter her. He wasn’t even sure she noticed. Or maybe the quickening of his body gave him away, the imperative insisting he mate their bodies in the most natural and basic way possible. Her movements became more assured, her fingers funneled into his hair and tightened just enough to hold him before she lifted on tiptoes and her mouth closed over his.
