Inferno's Kiss

by Monica Burns

“I want to talk to him,” she said with a quiet hiss of air breaking past her lips. “Now.”

  His features expressionless, Dante turned his head toward her. Those dark, stormy eyes of his studied her for a brief moment before he nodded sharply.

  “Come.”

  Without waiting for her response, he turned and headed toward the corner of the garden. Cleo followed him with a rigid stride that matched his. She was going on this mission whether Dante Condellaire or Marcus Vorenus liked it or not. In the far reaches of her brain a trigger went off, but she didn’t pay any attention. All she cared about at the moment was making sure she was included in the rescue mission.

  She’d put too much effort into researching, analyzing, and planning the assault on the convent not to be included on the mission team. There was no way of knowing what her information might bring to the table in terms of a rescue plan, but it was clear Dante didn’t have enough information to move forward with his own plan.

  If he did, he wouldn’t have tried to pressure her into telling him what Angotti had revealed. It would explain why he was so angry last night. He’d been furious that he’d not arrived before Angotti’s execution.

  As she followed Dante into the house, she fought to gain control of her anger. If she were going to convince Marcus to let her participate in Marta’s rescue, she needed to sound logical and rational when she spoke to him. They passed through several rooms via the corridor that surrounded the courtyard until they turned into a smaller hallway that led to a monitoring room.

  It took her a moment to adjust to the low lighting, and when she did, she saw almost twenty different video screens that surveilled the perimeter of the mansion. The young man and woman watching the video feeds immediately jumped to attention as Dante entered the room. He waved them to stand down and turned to the woman.

  “Mary, contact White Cloud and get His Eminence on screen.”

  “Si, il mio signore,” the woman said as she spun her chair around to face the console.

  Cleo winced. Eminence. The word made Marcus sound even more important. While the woman at the console worked quickly to connect them, Dante stood beside her with his arms folded across his chest like a silent guardian waiting to be summoned back to duty. She was certain he expected Marcus to override her protests. Ironically, so did she. The silence in the room was almost suffocating as they waited, but she refused to let her anxiety show.

  She was about to go head-to-head with a powerful Sicari Lord, and even if he was her birth father, it was still an intimidating thought. One of the monitors flickered with movement, and her throat closed tight with fear. Hell, facing those two Praetorians last night hadn’t scared her like this. The realization made her angry.

  She didn’t have anything to fear. This was her life, and she was entitled to live it as she pleased. As Marcus’s face appeared on the screen, Dante gestured toward the headset the young woman at the console offered her. Cleo hesitated for only a second before she stepped forward to take the mike and sit down in front of the video screen. She wasn’t quite sure how to begin, and Marcus cleared his throat.

  “I’m glad to see you’re safe and well, Cleopatra,” the Sicari Lord said quietly. “I understand you ran into a slight bit of trouble.”

  Cleo glanced over her shoulder at Dante, whose expression hadn’t changed. She looked back at the monitor and nodded. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, but the Tribune’s assistance made it easier for me to get to a healer.”

  “Healer?”

  She saw Marcus frown darkly, and Dante growled with displeasure directly behind her. So the Tribune hadn’t told Marcus everything about last night. Was it possible Dante hadn’t mentioned his plan to rescue the women in the Convent of the Sacred Mother either? She was suddenly certain he hadn’t. She liked that. It gave her leverage. She shook her head.

  “Just a cut on the leg. I was fine.”

  “Good.” Although a hint of suspicion still remained on his features, Marcus seemed reasonably satisfied with her answer.

  “We do have a slight problem, though,” she said in a firm voice. “I have some personal business here in Rome that I’d like to wrap up before I return stateside.”

  “Personal business?” The questioning note in his voice matched the wariness of his expression.

  “A friend of mine I want to spend time with,” she said smoothly. It was true. She did want to see Marta again. “While I was here, I thought I could offer up my skills to the Rome guild, but the Tribune here seems to think my bloodline should limit me to duties that involve less . . . risk.”

  “I see,” Marcus murmured.

  Cleo locked her jaw as she watched the monitor screen closely. For the first time, she could see a resemblance between herself and the man who was her father. He was clearly calculating a response designed to keep her in check without appearing to be manipulative. She wasn’t about to give him time to back her into a corner.

  “I’m glad you understand, because I’m certain my mother will have informed you by now that I do not like to be treated any differently than anyone else.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you should be, Cleopatra.”

  The Sicari Lord’s use of her formal name grated on her nerves. She really didn’t like it when people called her by her full name. It always made her feel like she was a kid again, about to be scolded by her mother. Although, come to think of it, she didn’t really mind when Dante used her full name. It sounded soft and lovely when he said it. She focused her attention back on the conversation at hand.

  “Good. The Tribune here had me worried that I was suddenly on lockdown just because we happen to . . . know each other.” She stared hard at the screen in front of her and saw a flash of frustration darken her father’s face.

  “No. You’re free to carry out your duties,” Marcus replied with a growl. “All I ask is that you keep in mind that the Prima Consul will blame me if anything happens to you.”

  At the mention of her mother, Cleo grimaced. The man wasn’t playing fair. Just because Cleo was still angry about being lied to didn’t mean she didn’t love her mother. And she knew her mother loved her. But she still wasn’t ready to deal with the issue yet. It remained a raw wound that needed a little more time to heal. She tilted her chin slightly in defiance before nodding sharply.

  “Understood,” she bit out. “Although, we both know the Prima Consul has no one to blame but herself.”

  “You judge her too harshly, Cleopatra,” Marcus said quietly.

  The observation was the exact same one Ignacio had made when she’d first learned the truth about her father. Merda, was Marcus still in love with her mother? She drew in a deep breath. She sure as hell didn’t want to face that question at the moment. It was hard enough coming to grips with the fact that she had a Sicari Lord for a father, let alone the possibility that he might become a permanent presence in her life.

  “I judge her no less than I would myself. I just need time.” Her quiet response pulled a reluctant nod from Marcus.

  “As you wish. When you’re ready, come home to White Cloud. I know your mother misses you.”

  Cleo nodded then tugged the headset off and tossed it at the woman manning the console before she hurried out of the control room toward the courtyard. Deus, why in Jupiter’s Stone was she suddenly feeling lousy about this whole situation with her mother? It wasn’t as if she’d done anything wrong.

  The moment she stepped out into the sunlight, she closed her eyes and lifted her face up to the sun. Something damp hit her cheek, and she blinked trying to see the blue sky that was nothing but a blur. Fuck, she was crying. Viciously wiping tears off her face, she dragged in a deep sobbing breath and paced the stones leading into the center of the peristylium.

  She hated it when she cried. It was bad enough that she did it watching sad movies, but over her own troubles? Hands on her hips, she closed her eyes and willed the tears to vanish. She didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her, least of all Dante. She didn’t need o
r want anyone’s pity no matter the reason.

  The back of her neck suddenly started to tingle before the sensation spread. Dante. What was it about this guy that made her whole body go off like a metal detector? She quickly brushed aside the remnants of her tears and turned to face him. He stopped in front of her and studied her for a long moment.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she said as she bobbed her head in the affirmative.

  “Good.”

  She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this awkward. Not only had she dropped him to the ground, but she’d kissed him. Deus, she’d reacted like a third grader on the playground, while Sir Galahad here had done the gentlemanly thing and just brushed it off. She owed him an apology. Hesitating, she nibbled at her lower lip. Did she really want to open up that can of worms again? She tightened her jaw. Yes, she really did.

  “I’m sorry about what happened earlier.”

  “I don’t need an apology.”

  “Maybe not, but you’ve got one anyway,” she said in a voice tight with embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have dropped you to the floor like that . . . and I . . . well, the kiss just seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

  “Are you finished?” His question made her jerk her head up to see an odd look on his face. So help her, if he were laughing at her, she’d drop him to the ground again. Sicari Lord or not.

  “Yes, I’m finished.”

  “Then let’s move on,” he said quietly. “I might not want to take you with me to the convent, but something tells me I don’t have much choice.”

  “You mean the fact that you haven’t mentioned your little project to Marcus?”

  “Correct.” His mouth tightened as he scowled at her. “The minute you skirted that issue with Marcus, I knew you’d hold my feet to the fire.”

  “And you were right.” She offered him a small smile of triumph. “So how do we proceed?”

  Chapter 8

  CLEOPATRA’S question made him grimace. She had the same instincts her father did. She’d not missed the fact that he’d avoided telling Marcus of his plans. Just as she’d known last night a partner would have hindered her ability to get information from Angotti, she knew Marcus would not condone Beatrice’s rescue from the convent. Cleopatra wouldn’t hesitate to use that knowledge to her benefit. Resigned to her participation, he eyed her satisfied expression with more than a hint of irritation.

  “After we compare notes on what we both know, we’ll formulate a plan of attack,” he said as he glanced down at his clothing. “Right now, I need to change clothes and give Cornelia a message from Marcus.”

  Dante sucked in a sharp breath of air as her gaze slid over him, and his chest tightened at the way his body immediately responded to her. He’d been fighting to keep himself out of her thoughts since she first entered the garden this morning. But his control had slipped drastically the minute the images from her head found their way into his.

  Now, from that suggestive look on her face, he had a good idea what she was imagining. He immediately strengthened his mental shield, but it was impossible to remain unmoved by her. She had an innate sensuality that gave those beautiful violet eyes of hers a sultry, sleepy look. A part of him wondered if this was what she looked like when she woke up in the morning—ready and willing to be kissed.

  His mind reeled at the image taking root in his head, and his mouth went dry as he fought to keep his senses from overriding his self-control. The expression on her face became one of confident amusement as she smiled at him. He suddenly realized she’d said something to him, although he was at a loss for what it was.

  “What?”

  “I asked if you needed help,” she said with an impish grin.

  “Help?” The erotic image of her undressing him hit him with the force of a Praetorian kick to his solar plexus.

  “Yes, I asked if you wanted me to find Cornelia while you changed. But if you need help with something else . . .”

  Her voice trailed off into nothing and left little to the imagination. Christus, the woman was trying to seduce him. And doing it well, given the strength of his erection. A knot developed in his throat at his sudden urge to read her thoughts. He viciously suppressed the desire.

  It was bad enough he’d accidentally entered her thoughts earlier. That had been enough of an education for one day. A fiery heat filled his face, and he knew he was blushing like a teenager. Irritated by his inability to practice the control he’d learned in the Novem Conformavi’s second Tabulati, he scowled at her.

  “No, I’ll find Cornelia when I’ve finished changing.” He could hear the growl of annoyance in his voice, and apparently so could Cleopatra, because a small laugh escaped her full lips. He suppressed an oath of frustration, and he wasn’t sure if his irritation was the result of her laugh or the fact that he’d been focused on her mouth. “I’ll meet you in the library after lunch so we can discuss our next steps.”

  “Okay,” she said with a slight shrug as she slid her gaze over him once more. “But if you need me to—”

  “No,” he snapped. “Excuse me.”

  He stalked away from her, all too aware that it wasn’t the type of exit he would like to have made. By the gods, he was in trouble. Cleopatra was different from any woman he’d ever met. There was something about her that sent every one of his senses spiraling out of control whenever he got close to her.

  It took him only a couple of minutes to reach his rooms, and the way the door slammed shut behind him only emphasized the impact the woman had on him. The serenity and self-control he’d regained from last night’s interaction with Cleopatra had disappeared the instant she’d entered the courtyard.

  His ability had always been strong when it came to sensing the presence of others, even when he couldn’t see them. But his sensory perception had gone off the scale the second Cleopatra had gotten close to the peristylium. With a noise of frustration, he strode into the bathroom. A shower always had a way of helping him think through his problems. And Cleopatra was one of the biggest problems he’d come up against in a very long time.

  By the time he was naked, the water was hot, and he quickly stepped under the showerhead. Hands braced against the tile, he welcomed the pulsating spray beating down on his neck. The steady rhythm was usually a soothing one for him, but not today. Christus, when had he lost his ability to control his emotions? Every level of the Novem Conformavi built on the previous foundation, and by the age of eleven he’d excelled at controlling his reactions to whatever he encountered. Now, after all his years of training, he’d suddenly discovered his control had limits.

  When he’d first sensed Cleopatra’s presence in the garden, he’d been determined to complete his exercise and remain indifferent to the feelings she aroused in him. His resolve to control his emotions and finish his workout had interfered with his ability to keep himself from penetrating the peripheral edge of her thoughts. And sweet Juno, what thoughts.

  As the woman had watched him exercise, she’d been imagining the two of them entwined in acts of pleasure he’d not even dreamed about. Hot, incredible images that had jerked him out of his exercise routine. And he’d not been able to purge those pictures from his head since. His cock grew hard as the visions he’d seen in her mind kept playing over and over again in his own thoughts.

  How could he work with her when his body had ideas of its own where she was concerned? The shower water pounding against his back, he looked down at his growing erection. It was a test. The gods were testing him and his loyalty to the Absconditus. They’d sent her to tempt him. And Juno knew she was a temptation unlike any other he’d faced.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to shut out the memory of her openly displayed attraction to him. He might be inexperienced, but that smile of hers had been a clear invitation to sin. He was certain of it because of what he’d seen in her head. Desperately, he tried to ignore the images in his thoughts but failed.

  Even more damning was the way his body
throbbed for something he understood but had never experienced. He swallowed hard. Despite his desire to maintain his control, he knew there was only one way to ease the need pulsing through him.

  With a ruthless grip, he grabbed his erection in one hand and stroked himself. The immediate effect was one of intense pleasure despite his intent to make it otherwise. An image of Cleopatra in an erotic position drifted through his head, and his cock jumped hard in his hand. Another picture of her filled his mind, and he released a low, harsh groan as his body demanded satisfaction.

  The water splashing down over him, he gulped in deep breaths as he pumped hard and fast on his erection. More erotic images of Cleopatra flew through his head, each one more potent than the next. With every arousing vision, the friction against his cock grew more intense as he worked his hand faster and faster.

  White-hot heat surged through his veins, spreading its way into every muscle in his body until it drew his sacs up tight. With a shout, he threw his head back and milked his cock until it had spent the last of its white fluid. Deep, harsh breaths rolled out of him as he leaned back against the cool tile, the shower splashing over the lower half of his body. Deus, he’d masturbated before, but never like this.

  In the past, the images in his head had been of faceless, unknown women to help him satisfy his body’s physical ache, nothing more. But just now—this had been something altogether different. As he’d pumped his hand over his cock, he’d envisioned more than just Cleopatra’s face and body.

  He’d imagined what it would be like to experience her for the first time. His first time with a woman. He ducked his head and allowed the water to wash over the back of his neck. Somehow he was certain his hand on his cock was nowhere near as satisfying as being inside Cleopatra would have been.

  Masturbating had merely been his desperate attempt to satisfy his stark longing for a woman that his vow of abstinence said he couldn’t have. He’d failed. A shudder lanced through him. He was on the edge of a precipice, and if he didn’t tread lightly, he’d tumble into an abyss. The thought scared the hell out of him. With a snarl of frustration, he slapped his palms against the tile wall behind him and pushed himself back under the spray of water.