Bestselling Authors Collection 2012

by Trish Morey; Day Leclaire; Natalie Anderson; Brenda Jackson; Ann Voss Peterson

  Let him look. Let him want. And let him regret.

  She hadn’t traversed more than a half dozen steps before Constantine stilled with abrupt predatory awareness. His head turned in her direction and his ink-dark eyes glittered with unmistakable intent. He came for her, moving with a focused grace that almost sent her fleeing in the opposite direction. To her shock, he didn’t stop when he reached her, but kept coming. He invaded her space and swept her into his arms. Then, with her name on his lips and a smothered protest on hers, he kissed her.

  He devoured her, the kiss one of blatant possession, branding her with a mark of ownership that in any other situation she’d have fought with every ounce of her strength. Instead all thought of resistance melted beneath the blazing heat and she sank inward, opening herself to him. He tasted like ambrosia combined with a hint of spice and topped with a hard, masculine kick. It utterly devastated her senses, along with every scrap of practicality.

  It had been so incredibly long since they last touched—nineteen months, five days, eight hours and a handful of minutes. Desire in the form of The Inferno had exploded between them at that first touch. Then after a single weekend of bliss, he’d left her.

  Despair vied with an incandescent joy. His coming now, after all this time was too little, too late. Why now? Why, when she’d finally come to terms with the impossibility of knowing the sort of Inferno love affair that everyone else in her family possessed, had Constantine chosen this moment to return?

  It wasn’t fair.

  “Stop,” she managed to protest. “This is wrong.”

  How could she tell him? How could she say the words that threatened to break her heart? She’d moved on. She’d found someone else.

  He finally picked up on her signals and pulled back a few precious inches. “Stop?” He captivated her with a single smile. “What are you talking about, piccola? After all this time, we’re together again. How could something so incredibly right possibly be wrong?”

  She slipped free of his embrace and tugged at the bottom of her jacket to straighten it. Somehow the first two buttons had come undone revealing a tantalizing flash of black lace. She did her best to neaten all the various bits and pieces he’d rumpled. She moistened her lips, aware he’d kissed every bit of lipstick from them.

  “It’s good to see you, Constantine,” she said with polite formality.

  He froze. “Good to see me?” he repeated softly.

  She flinched at the dangerous tone, one infused with the warmth of his Tuscan home, yet chilled with the ice of his displeasure. This was going to be far more difficult than she’d anticipated. “Are you here on business? I hope you’ll take a few minutes to drop by my grandparents before you return to Italy.” She offered a friendly smile to cover up her nervous chatter. “They were asking after you the other day.”

  “Don’t you understand? I’ve relocated to San Francisco.”

  No. No, no, no! It wasn’t fair. Not now, after all this time. Praying that none of her thoughts were echoed in her expression, she kept her smile pinned in place, a careless, nonchalant one that made it clear that his news didn’t make the least difference to her. “Congratulations.”

  He caught her chin in the palm of his hand and tipped her face up to his. “Is that all you have to say to me? Congratulations?”

  Her smile faded along with all attempts at concealing her emotions. Pain and anger ripped through her and she jerked back from his touch, her impetuous nature decimating her common sense. “What do you want from me, Constantine?” she demanded, the question escaping in a low, fierce undertone. “It’s been nearly two years. I’ve moved on. I suggest you do the same.”

  His head jerked back as though she’d slapped him. “Moved on?” His accent thickened, deepened. “What does this mean…moved on?”

  She dismissed the question with a sweep of her hand. “Don’t give me that. You understand idiomatic English just fine. It means precisely what you think it means.”

  “There is someone else?”

  “Yes, Constantine. There is someone else.” For the first time, Gianna realized they were the center of all eyes and warmth swept across her cheekbones. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do if I’m going to get this place ready for tomorrow’s gala.”

  She’d never seen him look so hard or distant. He inclined his head in a regal manner. “Please. Do not let me get in your way.”

  Gathering up her emotions and stuffing them behind an equally regal manner, she spun on her heel and crossed to the nearest display case. She stared blindly at the contents. She wasn’t the one who cut ties or ended their relationship prematurely, she reminded herself. He’d given her a handful of amazing days when they first met and then walked away from what might have been. The fact that he’d been able to do that solidified her suspicions about The Inferno. Her family didn’t know the entire truth about the family “blessing.” But she did. She’d been thirteen years old when she’d overheard how it really worked.

  As for Constantine… If he’d experienced the depth of desire she had, he managed to control it well all this time. To dismiss it while he took care of more important business. Until they’d met she’d thought it impossible to fall in love so completely. She thought Constantine had fallen in love with her, as well. Foolish of her, Gianna now realized. She’d spent all these endless months overwhelmed by a cascade of passionate emotions. Emotions that—had he shared them—should have made him incapable of leaving her. Clearly he didn’t share a damn thing.

  She’d suffered while he’d walked away.

  That left her with a single, logical and thoroughly devastating conclusion. He didn’t love her. Not really. And that forced her to face an agonizing realization. If she surrendered to him now, he’d own her body and soul. But what would she possess? A man capable of picking her up and setting her aside whenever he wished. She couldn’t live like that. She refused to live like that.

  For her, for whatever reason, the burn of The Inferno only went one way. Otherwise, Constantine wouldn’t have left her. Otherwise, he couldn’t have stayed away for so long or curtailed all communication. Well, if he could turn off The Inferno, so could she, though she’d never learned that portion of the secret. Somehow. Someway. Even if it killed her, she’d put an end to it. She closed her eyes against the tears pressing for release.

  God, she loved him.

  Figlio di puttana! Constantine watched Gianna walk away. Bitter frustration ate at him. Nineteen damn months. For nineteen months, five days, eight hours and a handful of minutes he’d fought and clawed to get his fledgling business, Romano Restoration, off the ground and soaring so that he could emigrate to the United States and establish a stronghold in San Francisco. All to provide Gianna with more than a name when he asked her to marry him. And now that his company had taken off and he was in a position to support a wife, the only woman he wanted was walking away with a hip-swinging stride that knocked every last brain cell off-line.

  Another man! His hands collapsed into fists. How could she? He’d promised he’d return the instant he could provide for her, and she’d agreed to wait. For nearly two years he’d worked endless days and nights to make that happen. How could she turn her back on what they had? What they could have? Didn’t she feel it, that ferocious wildfire that exploded into flames whenever they were in the same room together?

  He stared down at his balled hands and it took every ounce of resolve to ignore the relentless itch centered in the palm of his right hand. It was an itch that had flared to life the first moment Gianna Dante had slipped her fine-boned hand into his, and it had continued over the course of the ensuing months, no matter how much distance separated them.

  Constantine knew what it was. Though Gianna had neglected to explain what she’d done to him—a lengthy and pointed discussion for another time—his sister, Ariana, had described it in graphic detail after her husband, Lazz, had Infernoed her when they’d first joined hands at the altar on their wedding day. Those damne
d Dantes and their damnable Inferno. It wasn’t enough that they’d used it to overpower his sister. That wasn’t good enough for them. Hell, no. For some reason, the sole Dante female had chosen him for her mate, had used The Inferno to steal every last crumb of his own self-control. Ever since that day he’d been trapped with no hope of escape other than to surrender to its demands.

  And now, he couldn’t even do that because Gianna had “moved on.” He wanted to roar in outrage. Not a chance in hell would he let her get away with it. She’d soon discover that she couldn’t move on, up, down, or sideways without his being right there waiting for her. Whoever she’d chosen to infect with The Inferno this time around was out of luck.

  No matter what it took, no matter whether she faced her fate willingly or otherwise, he intended to claim Gianna Dante for his own. The Inferno might have caused him to lose his legendary control, but marriage to her would allow him to regain it. Once he had his ring on her finger and her delightful curves in his bed, this hideous need would ease and he’d be able to wield it as he saw fit. Until then… He stared at her broodingly.

  God, he wanted her.

  “Did you hear the news?” Elia Dante asked. She lounged in a chair outside the dressing rooms of a snazzy little boutique called Sinfully Delicious. “No, Gianna. Not the salmon. Go with the bronze halter gown. It complements your eyes better than the other one.”

  Gianna held up one gown, then the other, before nodding in agreement. Though why she bothered to compare the two, she didn’t know. When it came to fashion, her mother was infallible. “What news?”

  Elia took a delicate sip from a tiny cup of espresso before announcing, “Constantine Romano has moved to San Francisco. He opens the doors to Romano Restoration any day now. Apparently he organized the transition all the way from Italy.”

  Gianna stiffened, grateful she had her back turned to her mother. She should have anticipated this. Foolish of her not to, all things considered. “That’s rather unexpected, isn’t it?”

  “Do you think so?” Elia asked softly. “Somehow he’s gotten his entire operation up and running without any of us being the wiser.” She lifted a delicate eyebrow. “I’m guessing as a surprise for a certain someone?”

  Gianna sighed. Her mother was the only person who knew what she’d experienced when she and Constantine first met. She’d been very careful to keep it from everyone else, knowing her family would interfere if they knew. “Yes, Mamma, it is. What we had, or rather, what I thought we had ended a long time ago.”

  “The Inferno doesn’t end, chiacchierona.”

  “Maybe it does.”

  Gianna swung around to face her mother. What would Elia say if she knew the whole truth about The Inferno? If she’d heard what Gianna had when Uncle Dominic explained the facts to Aunt Laura? Or watched what he’d done to rid them both of The Inferno? She’d never dared tell anyone, terrified that she’d see other relationships ruined as a result of her revelation. If the rest of her family believed in The Inferno with all their hearts, maybe they’d never discover what her aunt and uncle had…

  That The Inferno wasn’t forever.

  Gianna hesitated, still unwilling to tell her mother the entire truth. She chose her words with care. “Maybe it’s different because I’m a woman instead of a man,” she suggested. “Maybe it only went one way and he doesn’t feel what I do.”

  “If that were so, Constantine wouldn’t be here.”

  “Maybe I can take The Inferno back,” she dared to suggest.

  Elia simply laughed. “That’s not possible. The Inferno is forever.”

  Oh, but it wasn’t. Gianna set her chin. “It doesn’t matter if Constantine is here now. It’s too late.”

  A mother’s wisdom gleamed in Elia’s dark eyes. “That’s your pride speaking, not your heart.”

  “I’ve moved on,” Gianna insisted, wincing at the defensive edge underscoring her words. “I’m dating David d’Angelo now.”

  “Well, he is Italian…like Constantine,” her mother conceded. “And comes from a good Fiorentini family, though not one anywhere near as noble as the Romanos.”

  “Maybe not, but they’re respected bankers.”

  The family was even receiving some sort of banking award in another few months. As for David, he possessed stunning good looks. Granted, they were more classical than swashbuckling. More attractive even than her brother, Rafe, whom the family called the “pretty Dante.” Not that David could help his looks.

  As for his personality, he couldn’t be nicer. Even if Primo had muttered untuoso under his breath, which had bothered Gianna no end since she didn’t consider David the least unctuous. Nonna adored him, which counted for a lot. David was intelligent, respectful and amusing, despite possessing the faintest air of entitlement.

  And if he hadn’t told her he was Italian by birth, she’d never have guessed it by his accent, perhaps as a result of his studying abroad for so many years. Now that she thought about it, other than his intelligence he was as different from Constantine as a bird of paradise from a panther.

  “David’s not like Constantine,” Elia murmured, the comment an uncomfortable echo of Gianna’s own thoughts.

  “He is in some ways,” she argued. “But the important point here is that I like him very much. That’s all that matters, right?”

  Elia made a face and set her cup and saucer aside. “Like. What an insipid word. Would you really trade an earth-shattering passion for a tepid ‘like’?”

  “It’s safer,” Gianna whispered.

  Safer not to surrender to the dangerous emotions flaring back to life. Safer not to allow the more impetuous side of her nature free rein. Safer to like a nice guy than to love someone as dangerous to her emotional stability as Constantine Romano.

  “I spoke to Ariana about the situation.”

  Uh-oh. “She and Lazz are still in Italy?” Gianna asked, hoping to turn the conversation in a new direction. No doubt a wasted effort.

  “Yes. For another two months.” Sure enough, her mother lasered back to her point. “According to her, Constantine’s come back for you.”

  “His sister is a romantic. The Inferno has a way of doing that to you. I guarantee that before she met Lazz she was the most pragmatic of people.” Gianna made a face in the mirror. “That’s what The Inferno does to people. It messes with them.”

  “Mmm.” The sound was one of delighted agreement. “With luck you will soon discover yourself in the middle of your own Inferno mess.”

  The comment contained a reminiscent tone and Gianna suspected her mother was recalling when she’d first fallen in love with Gianna’s father, Alessandro. Though her parents’ relationship could be tumultuous on occasion, there’d never been a doubt in her mind that they shared a white-hot passion, as well as being utterly devoted to each other.

  “No, thanks, Mamma. I think I’ll stick with David.”

  “I’m sure Constantine will try to change your mind about that.” Elia paused for a beat, before adding, “And I suspect, you hope he’ll succeed.”

  Since Gianna couldn’t think of a response to that painful bit of homespun truth, she set the salmon gown aside and carried the bronze confection to the front desk. If only…came the wistful thought. If only The Inferno had worked as well between her and Constantine instead of backfiring so badly. Maybe she’d be sitting in a chair with that delicious smile on her face, lost in memories of endless days and nights filled with an eternal love.

  If only.

  As always, David arrived right on time. He looked spectacular in his tux, the light brown hair and turquoise eyes he’d inherited from the northern branch of the d’Angelo family giving him a movie-star sheen. It wasn’t a coincidence that his coloring was the complete opposite of Constantine’s. If he’d possessed hair as dark as night and eyes like jet, she’d never have agreed to go out with him the first time he’d asked. In fact, she hadn’t. It had taken a full three months of patient persistence before she’d caved to his barrage of
invitations.

  He greeted her with a slow, easy kiss that didn’t come close to impacting the way Constantine’s had. If she were perfectly honest with herself, his kisses left her cold. No doubt she could thank The Inferno for that unfortunate wrinkle. She’d hoped—heaven help her but she’d hoped—that she’d been mistaken about what she’d felt when she and Constantine first touched. That at some point she’d begin to feel a modicum of that sort of desire for David. It was possible, regardless of what her relatives thought.

  If their embraces lacked a certain spark, David never seemed to notice. And sure enough, he didn’t this time, either. Perhaps he wasn’t in the position to make the sort of comparison she could. He pulled back and studied her, his gaze warming in appreciation. He gestured toward her hair and gown. “You look stunning, Gia.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Aware of the tepidness of her response, she gave him an impulsive hug. What was wrong with her? David was drop-dead gorgeous. He’d made it clear that he wanted her, that his intentions were both honorable and serious—his words, which she found quite endearing. Regardless of how endearing, she just couldn’t bring herself to take their relationship to the next level. And now that Constantine had returned…

  No! She wouldn’t go there. Couldn’t. Constantine had made his feelings all too clear months ago when he’d left her. When he’d proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that The Inferno hadn’t taken root with him the way it had with her. She’d moved on, and the man she’d chosen stood in front of her. David was everything she could ask for. A dedicated banker in international finance with a bright future ahead of him. A physique that left women drooling. And a calm, practical nature that balanced her more passionate, impulsive one. Maybe The Inferno would strike later in their relationship.