by Diana Duncan
CHAPTER SEVEN
GUILT. THE unexpected marauder clouded Dante’s judgement. The last time he had felt shame was years ago, when prison bars had slammed shut behind him and he knew Zia Ines would learn his sins.
He glanced at Ariana’s expectant face, then at their clothing cozily draped before the fireplace. After their near-disastrous collision, maybe he should wear his pants, wet or not.
Instead, he jerked a pan toward him. If his self-control was that flimsy, he could shoot himself and save the Camorra the effort. “Zia Ines taught me to cook when I was a boy. She said if I wanted to eat well, I should learn to cook.”
“I like a progressive woman. Your aunt Ines raised you?”
“My mother’s aunt. She was too old for the burden of a child, yet she took me in.” He scooped dough into the pan. “I often wondered if Zia resented the load thrust upon her. But she never showed it. She cleaned houses to make a living, and was exhausted at night. Starting when I was six, I did most of the chores.”
“That’s young for such responsibility. Was it only the two of you?”
“Sì. She was a stern disciplinarian, but kind and generous. And she had a great wit. We were very close.” He had fabricated a standard background that withstood the sharpest scrutiny. Yet, for the first time with anyone, he spoke the truth. He didn’t want to lie to Ariana any more than he had to.
It didn’t make him feel less of a bastard.
“She sounds delightful. She’s…gone?”
“Five years this August.” Zia Ines had clung to life several days past his birthday, then succumbed to pneumonia.
“You’re alone now.”
Her gentle concern heightened his urge to enfold her in his arms, and he shoved the bread into the oven. “Sì.”
“I’m sorry.” She reached out, then seemed to think better. After refilling the copper pitcher with water, she carried it and the flowers to the table.
“Do not pity me, Ariana. I have the life I chose.” He turned to face her. Watched her carefully. Her response could be a key to her secrets. “Can you say the same?”
The pitcher clunked onto the table. Ariana stood with one hand frozen on the handle and the other clutching rainbow chrysanthemums. Candlelight kissed her skin with melted gold and haloed her chestnut locks. An exquisite painting he’d once brokered of Flora, goddess of flowers and fertility sprang to mind. Flora was reputed to have amassed a fortune as a courtesan, which she bequeathed to Rome.
Dante gripped the stone countertop. He would keep his vow not to lose control. But, San Gennaro, if Flora was half as fascinating as Ariana, he understood why men had fallen at her feet.
Ariana dropped the bouquet into the pitcher. “Forty-eight hours ago, I had never thought twice about how I’ve lived.”
“You were happy?”
“Content.” She studiously arranged flowers. “At least I thought…before I stood on the stern of Megaera’s yacht, terrified I was about to drown.”
He’d stared into Death’s eyes before, with no regrets. Weeks ago, he would have changed nothing about his life. Why the sudden dissatisfaction? Why the knife thrust of loss?
Dante looked out the window, where blue-black clouds scudded above the tumultuous sea. Being as skittish as a spring lamb unsettled him. Unsuspecting lambs got slaughtered. He returned his glance to Ariana. “And now?”
“I realize I’ve sublimated my wants, abandoned my goals for others’ expectations. My parents, my professors, my boss.” A hesitation as she crushed a wilted leaf in her palm. “Geoff.”
Dante had a thick dossier on Ariana with details about Geoffrey Turner that even she probably didn’t know. But he feigned ignorance to draw her out. One more falsehood. “Geoff?”
“A professor I was…fond of. We broke up after Dad was framed.” Grief shadowed her graceful profile. “Another regret.”
A spur of jealousy caught Dante off guard. Like guilt, envy was an anvil he’d jettisoned. Troubled by her pain and his concern, he cranked off the flame beneath the soup pot with a resentful twist of his wrist. “What do you want, Ariana?”
“To clear my father’s name.”
Dante’s heart thudded against his ribs. Because of him, she might not succeed. He carried the bubbling soup to the table. He didn’t want to be the next person in line to let her down. To hurt her. To be another of her regrets. “For him?” He set the pot down. “Or you?”
She swiveled to face him. “You know how to drill to the heart of a matter.” Her considering gaze assessed him. “There’s a whole lot more to you than you let on.”
Uh-oh. She was in no way short on brains. He’d best be careful not to tip his hand. Feigning casualness, he ladled steaming soup into her bowl. “There is also more of you I have not seen.”
She slanted him a rueful glance accompanied by a crooked smile. “You’ve pretty much seen it all.”
Yes, he’d seen her body. But he wanted to know what was in her heart.
Before he could serve her more soup, she gestured. “That’s plenty.”
“Your stomach is as empty as mine, bella. Do not deny it.”
“I filled up on grapes. I don’t want much.”
Bittersweet emotions constricted his chest. Ariana was attempting to take care of him. She was willing to go without so he could have more. He had tried not to let Zia Ines do that, and he wasn’t about to allow Ariana. His mother had made the ultimate sacrifice for him. Watching the women in his life make sacrifices on his behalf went against everything he stood for. Another reason he hadn’t cultivated any ties. “We will share equally.”
She planted her palms on the tabletop, and her towel dipped slightly, exposing tantalizing curves. “You’re bigger, and expended more physical energy. You need more food.”
“We both need to stay strong.” He resolutely moved his gaze to her face. In every way.
Her mouth firmed. “I won’t eat the rest.”
Dante smothered a smile. He was used to getting his way with women. When he’d first kidnapped Ariana, fear had kept her compliant, and the fact that she now felt comfortable enough to rebel thrilled him. Butting heads with her challenged him on every level. He dished the same scanty amount into his bowl as he’d put in hers. “Neither will I.”
She called his bluff. “It will go uneaten, then.”
She wanted to engage in a battle of wills, eh? At the same time he’d discovered the opposite sex, he’d discovered he’d been born with an inherent knack with the ladies. He had more effective weapons of persuasion in his arsenal. Casting her a sultry, heavy-lidded glance, he curled his lips into the slow grin that made women go glassy-eyed. “Surely you don’t want to deny yourself something so…satisfying.”
The color in her cheeks deepened. “I’m not that hungry.”
“My mistake.” He lowered his voice to a husky purr. “I was under the impression you couldn’t wait to sink your teeth into my buns.”
She rolled her eyes, but he watched her closely and noted the exact moment when she decided two could play this game. “Is that right?” Hips swaying, she sauntered around the table until she reached him. She stepped so close that he could count each long, sable eyelash as she raised her chin and captured his gaze. “I don’t, as a rule, crave leftovers.”
Her heady fragrance enveloped him, beckoned him to touch, to taste, and he swallowed with a mouth gone bone dry. “Like fine wine, certain things become better with age and experience.”
She walked her fingers up his bare chest, and blood roared in his ears, making it tough to hear. “Like Italian cured ham?”
He was so intently focused on the sensual brush of her fingertips, the wash of light illuminating her features, the sparkle in her eyes, that her question barely registered. “Perhaps.”
Her caress feathered over his collarbone, and time slowed as he drowned in her sapphire gaze. Her tongue peeked out and moistened her lips. “Dante,” she cooed.
Recent memories of how soft and warm and sweet her li
ps had tasted punched a kick of heat into his belly. He forced his reply through the thickness in his throat. “Sì?”
“About your buns…”
His question emerged in a gravelly voice. “Che cosa, bella mia?”
She smiled impishly. “They’re smoking.”
He followed her merry glance to where a gray cloud streamed from the oven door. He blinked free of his daze. Swearing, he strode to the stove and yanked out the smoking pan. Fortunately, he rescued the bread before it was scorched beyond repair.
Why did his mind, body and heart careen out of control whenever Ariana got close? Could he get any more addled?
She laughed. “Don’t think you can bat those big brown eyes and lob Italian charm bombs at me. I have your number, now.”
“And it is 1-1-2, Europe’s emergency disaster code.” A reluctant grin sneaked out. He’d been right. The little saucebox was playing him. As a pro, or an amateur? He piled the hot bread on a plate.
She swished past him into the pantry and emerged with a jar of homegrown honey. “No butter, but look what I found.” Her full lips tilted in a diabolical smile. “Nectar of the gods. Aphrodite used to anoint herself with it and invite her lovers to lick it off her body.”
His erection twitched beneath the towel and he cursed. Apparently, Ariana possessed preemptive feminine nukes. Damn her, now that she’d had a taste of the power she held over him, she knew exactly how to torture him.
Signorina Bennett had no idea how precariously he was balanced on the razor’s edge. Or what a dangerous game she was playing.
He followed her to the dining area, diligently not watching the sensual sway of her bottom.
Verbal sparring matches were Dante’s stock-in-trade. His shield and sword. It wasn’t often anyone bested him. He was missing something obvious. Something important. He should be able to see it…yet he was night-blind. Destiny was creeping up on him. Feral and unpredictable, it stirred behind him, stared at him, its hot breath prickling the back of his neck. Every time he tried to pin the feeling down, it shifted, eluded his grasp. Like trying to capture starlight in the palm of his hand.
Fear uncoiled in his belly. He never peered too closely at the future. Why was he suddenly questioning everything he stood for? Everything he was? Everything he thought he’d wanted?
Dante was careful not to slam down the plate before stalking past her. “You may use the sink. I’ll wash up in the other room.”
He shut the bathroom door and performed another quick search for her iPod and notebook. The bedroom was the last place to look. Since the arched entryway was doorless, he couldn’t search with Ariana around.
He washed his hands and then headed back to the table. When he slid out her chair, she glanced up and thanked him. The simple gesture warmed him from the inside out.
His instincts prickled. He might be in worse trouble than he’d thought. Suddenly, his entire way of life was on the firing line.
Disconcerted, he strode to the opposite chair, and bowed his head to offer a silent blessing. While he was at it, he threw in a plea for clarity, and the strength to resist temptation.
He raised his head to meet Ariana’s puzzled stare. Noting the tender expression in her eyes, the baffled crease of her brows, he gestured. “You are uncomfortable blessing the food?”
“Not at all.” Her gaze dropped and she fiddled with her spoon. “I just don’t understand how you can believe so strongly in a higher power and…” She exhaled. “Never mind.”
“You wonder if I am concerned about divine judgment.” His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “For my sins.”
“I don’t mean to sound holier-than-thou or anything. I’m far from perfect. Everybody is…but…”
But not everyone lied. Stole. Killed. Was it still a sin if it was done in the name of survival? Or justice? He flipped his napkin into his lap. “One way or another, no matter what he believes, someday every man has to answer for his actions.”
“You’re not worried karma will bite you?”
Did his motive atone for his methods? He hoped so. Though in his hour of greatest shame, Zia Ines had told him that his good intentions had set him on the path to ruin. He paused to spoon up soup. He refused to regret his choices. Second-guessing himself would get him dead. “I will accept responsibility, pay the consequences of my choices.”
With a start, he realized she’d deftly led him off the conversational path into a thicket of distraction. Purposefully? He drizzled honey on a chunk of warm bread and devoured it before speaking. “What about you?”
“I’m willing to do the same.”
Did she understand how dire the consequences would be if she continued in her quest? “You derailed my earlier question quite skillfully.”
“You’re implying I led you on to hijack the conversation?” She huffed. “I told you, I don’t play that game. If I don’t want to talk about something, I say so. You fired the starting gun in the seduction Olympics. I merely gave you a run for your money.”
And had run away with the gold. With the long-standing habit of someone who had often been without food, he ate quickly. “You’re doing it again. Are you unwilling to say whether you are crusading for your father, or yourself?”
Her eyes narrowed to cobalt lasers. “It’s for both Dad and me. Why does it matter?”
“Because, bella, you cannot compensate for your father’s actions. Realizing that will save you great pain.”
She paused with her water glass in midair. “You believe he’s guilty!” Her hand began to shake. “What do you know?”
“Now you’re the one leaping to conclusions. I haven’t passed judgment on your father.” Though he harbored suspicions. And his gut instincts were usually on target. “I am attempting to keep you from being hurt.”
“Ironic from the man who kidnapped me.” Watching him intently over the rim, she sipped water, lowered the glass. “Why are you holding me hostage, Dante?”
“We’ve traveled this ground.” He couldn’t disclose his reasons without putting her, himself and others in peril. “When you have served your purpose, you’ll be freed unharmed.”
“What purpose? It doesn’t seem to be personal. And it can’t be financial.” She bit her lip. “I’m of no value to you.”
His throat tightened. “You are wrong.” She held immense value for him. More than she realized. “But it’s better if you don’t know.”
“Better for whom?”
“For you, Ariana. I have taken care of you so far. Trust me.”
Her stare scalded him. “Why should I, when you’re hiding things from me? Lying to me. I abhor liars.”
He swallowed a mouthful of bread that ached all the way down. When she found out the truth, she would hate him. “Have you never lied, then?”
“Of course I have, to protect someone’s feelings, but it’s not the same.”
“Is it not?”
“Are you saying you kidnapped me to protect me? From who? From what?” She slammed her palm on the table. “Who are you? Tell me!”
He shook his head. “It would only endanger you.”
“I know you won’t hurt me. What’s stopping me from walking out the door?”
“Not a thing. Except that we’re marooned in the wilds of Greece and it’s cold, growing dark, and you’re barefoot and wearing only a towel.” He shrugged, contributing nonchalance to the lie. He would get physical to stop her, but counted on her common sense to do the job. “And assuming you wish to forgo the safety of the cottage and trade my company for spiders and snakes.”
He heard her teeth grinding from across the table. “I don’t understand you. I don’t understand any of this.”
He covered her hand with his. “Be patient a while longer.”
“How long? I miss my job.” Her chin quivered, and the little hitch in her voice made him feel like a beast. “I miss my mom.”
Compassion squeezed his heart. He despised having to hurt her in order to protect her. “I know, mia cara. I
am sorry.”
“Then let me go.”
“I cannot.”
Moisture welled in her eyes, and she tugged her hand from his grasp and shoved her half-eaten soup aside. “I’m done.” She pushed to her feet and strode into the kitchen.
Dante followed. She stood enveloped in shadows looking out the window at the rapidly darkening courtyard. “Ariana.” He rested his hands on her slender shoulders from behind. “When this is over, I will help you clear your father’s name.”
A tremor quaked through her, but she didn’t turn around. “Why? I can’t pay you.”
“You have paid enough. It is important to you…and therefore to me.” Chagrined at how violently her body was trembling, he stroked her nape with his thumbs. “Will you share with me what information you have?”
He held his breath as long, heart-shaking moments ticked past. The pulse in her neck galloped beneath his fingertips, betraying the internal battle raging within her. “I—” she gulped “—I don’t have any.”
Unlike him, she was lousy at deception. He sighed. “So much for trust.”
She shrugged off his hands. “Just leave me alone.”
He walked back to the table and gathered dishes. His ability to read people kept him alive. Ariana’s distress—and innocence—seemed genuine. After what had happened to her father, she’d already been hurt more than anyone deserved. He carried the dishes to the kitchen and stacked them in the sink. Nevertheless, she was still lying to him. Though he had his own selfish motives, he ached to win her trust and help her.
Weighted by sorrow, he poured detergent, ran hot water. How could he earn Ariana’s trust when his every word, every action was masked by a cloak of lies?
Focus on your goal. The end would justify the means. Even though Ariana would despise him when it was over. He swiped a soapy cloth over the table. If only he could so easily scrub his conscience.
He snuffed out the candles in the candelabra. When he returned to the kitchen, Ariana stood at the sink washing dishes. He glanced at her impassive face. “Are you all right?”
Fixated on her task, she nodded. “Emotional tantrums are pointless. I understand you’re set on your mystery mission.” She looked up, determination glinting in her eyes. “And you’d better understand that I won’t give up mine. Not for you, not for any reason.”
