Flame Unleashed (Hell to Pay)

by David, Jillian

  “Well, then, any other books I can point out for you? Maybe understanding your body during menopause? Or perhaps getting in touch with your inner Earth goddess?”

  When she didn’t quite hide another grin behind her hand, his jaw clenched.

  That comment hit below the belt, but it was well played. Beneath that shy exterior, she had spunk.

  He studied the shapeless sweater that hung from thin shoulders. He considered her twinkling eyes hidden behind rectangular lenses. Flecks of gold swirled within the irises, and he swore that a glimmer of interest, replaced by fear, crossed her features. Then she bit her lip and glanced away.

  He had to know more. There was something oh-so-tempting about her but also something broken. A mystery. As he replaced the book that had cruelly betrayed him back onto the shelf, he powered up his never-fail megawatt smile and extended a hand.

  “My name’s Dante.”

  “Hi, Dante.”

  Her hands remained at her side. He groaned. But all was not lost. Time to go to the next level of seduction. He puffed out his massive pectoral muscles and gave her his best rakish grin. This maneuver always succeeded.

  “And your name is?” He leaned forward, undoubtedly impressing her with his overwhelming masculinity.

  “Not interested.”

  A bucket of cold water couldn’t have shocked him more. Did she truly rebuff his advances? Impossible. Had never happened before. She definitely wore deficient glasses.

  She turned away, spine stiff. “I’m sure it’s mutual.”

  Off balance, he stammered. “I’m not ... no I just—”

  “It’s okay, Dante,” she said. Her pronouncement of his name left him with a taste of whipped cream in his own mouth, her voice was so soft and sweet. “Please let me know if I can help you with anything else. In the bookstore.”

  She glanced back and away, but not before he caught the downturn of her mouth. For the space of a split second, he wanted to touch her lips with his, to take away whatever caused that sadness. Vad i helvete? Since when did he desire anything besides his base carnal needs?

  With a rustle of cloth and a whiff of flowers, she disappeared into the maze of shelves. Fascinating. Unsettling. If this were Jessica, then he understood her fear. If this were Jessica, he’d have to figure out a gentler, subtler approach.

  Gentle? Subtle? Those two words had never inhabited his vocabulary, ever.

  What if this weren’t Jessica? Who cared? His curiosity was still piqued. This woman still intrigued him. Something about that sweet mouth, the shy glances behind those practical glasses, the flit of her hands to brush back orange-gold hair captured his interest with laser-sharp focus. At minimum, she would provide some welcome diversion while Dante completed his work here in Portland.

  Game on.

  His jaded heart actually skipped a beat in anticipation of their next encounter. At that next meeting, he would use a different tactic to weave his web of seduction. He wouldn’t fail.

  He’d confirm if this was Jessica Miller and deliver his message. And then what? Once he delivered the message, he’d be persona non grata. Hi, I killed your stepfather, want to hang out? A hell of a pickup line, even for him.

  But if that oåkting was the bastard Dante suspected, maybe Jessica’s gratitude would drive her into Dante’s arms. Ah, yes, of course she’d want to repay him for ridding the world of the disgusting Raymond Jackson. And Dante could think of numerous ways for a woman to demonstrate gratitude.

  First, though, he really needed to take care of that damned knife lust and go kill a criminal before Dante's mind exploded. The blade pulsed in its hidden sheath on his leg, demanding attention, demanding that he kill again. He hadn’t fed it in a week because he’d been too focused on finding and delivering his message to Jessica. Damn technology. His boss, Jerahmeel, had finally crawled into the cellular age and used text messages to divvy out special assignments these days. For standard kills, all Dante had to do was find a criminal and drive the blade into him, which typically slaked his need.

  Speaking of exploding, it had been far too long since he’d had sex. Time to rectify that situation. And finally, if appropriate, he’d try again with his advances on this woman and, of course, succeed. Of course. He was Dante.

  Very well. His foreseeable future included espresso, death, sex, and browsing books. Spektakulår.

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