Dante's Dilemma (a Dante Legacy Novella) (16 page)

“Easy,
amore,”
he murmured.

He continued to stroke her thighs, feeling the delicious shivers his touch aroused. He threaded his hand through the thick pelt of curls between her legs. They were unbelievably silky, and he tugged tenderly before sliding a finger inward, deep into liquid heat. Her muscles contracted around him, and she moaned. It was such a delicate, feminine sound, as delicate and feminine as the woman he held in his arms. He slowly withdrew his finger and teased the small nub at the top of her cleft. She cried out, shuddering against him.

More than anything he wanted to mate his body to hers. But he clung to his control. There was still pleasure to share and an entire night in which to share it. He kissed a path downward, pausing to nibble at the soft hollow of her abdomen. Her belly quivered, and the tiniest giggle burst through her moan. He could only hope their lovemaking always contained both laughter and lust. And right then and there, he made himself a promise to make that a priority in their lives. After all, what could be better?

He slid farther downward, inhaling the fragrant essence of her, kissing the silken curve of her thighs. She stiffened ever so slightly, and he calmed her nervousness with a steadying hand. “There’s nothing to fear.”

“I’m not afraid. I’m…” Her head moved restlessly on the pillow.

“Look at me, Julietta.” She struggled to focus on him. “You’re what?” he prompted.

“Madly in love with you.”

It was all he needed to hear. He kissed the very heart of her, stoking the liquid fire to an incandescent inferno. She cried out again, and the muscles in her thighs and belly rippled convulsively, warning of her impending climax. She lifted her hips, and he shifted upward, fitting his body to hers. Slowly, he eased inward, sheathing himself in her heat, stoking it to a white-hot flame. She clenched around him, a low keening moan escaping her throat.

“I’m hurting you,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry. I wanted to make this moment perfect.”

“You’re not hurting me. And making love to my husband
is
perfect.”

Her legs slid around his waist, and she clung to him, matching his movements with an awkward hesitation which gradually gave way to the perfect dance of love. He’d never seen anything more exquisite than the joy blooming across her face as she found her rhythm, discovering the burgeoning seeds of her feminine power.

Watching that transition humbled him, excited him, drove him to give her every pleasure. He could actually see the approach of her climax. Her eyes turned a luminous green, and a rosy flush mounted her cheeks and spread across her chest. Her breath grew short, and she made the sweetest sound, a song all her own, a mating call meant for him and him alone.

And then she convulsed around him, her orgasm shredding the last of his self-control. He drove home, losing himself in her heat, slamming into his own release and tumbling with her over the edge. They clung to each other for endless moments afterward, struggling to find air enough to breathe and wit enough to speak.

“I love you,” he whispered against her mouth.

“Always and again,” she answered.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Again?”

She smiled, no longer a budding girl, but a woman in full bloom. “Oh, yes. Again and still again until the end of time.”

“May we live forever.” He grinned. “Assuming, of course, I survive the night.”

With the first rays of morning pinking the sky, Rom and Julietta woke, ravenous, both for food and for each other. After satisfying both appetites, they collapsed on the bed, damp and sated, reveling in their first day as husband and wife.

He kissed a path from mouth to breast and back again. “You are beautiful,
amore mia
. The most beautiful woman I have ever known.”

She fixed him with a serious gaze. “I can’t say you’re beautiful in return. Not if I’m honest.”

He shrugged. “I know I’m not. You aren’t hurting my feelings by saying what my mirror tells me each morning.”

She cupped his face. “Oh, hush. What use is a beautiful man? There’s something about you far more compelling than beauty. A strength of character. A nobility of spirit. It makes other men seem colorless and boring. You are my Primo. My first love. My only love. It’s a name that suits you, somehow. In fact…” She tilted her head to one side, her gaze taking on a distant look he was coming to recognize. “I think that’s what I’ll call you from now on.”

“Primo Dante.” He tested the shape and texture of the name and nodded. “I like it. It will be a new name to start a new life.”

He took her hand in his, The Inferno flaring between them. “I wish to show you something.” He eased the thick gold wedding bands from both their fingers and handed her the set. “I made these for us.”

She smiled tenderly. “I’ll always appreciate the ring you designed for Tito on my behalf, even though it wasn’t meant for me.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He gestured toward the bands. “But these are.”

“Which is why I adore them.” She held them tight within her hand, The Inferno infusing them with the strength of her love for her husband. “Why they will always mean the world to me.”

“Look inside,” he prompted. “They’re inscribed.”

She turned his band into the light and read the poetic script.
“Chosen by flame
.
”

“And now yours.”

“Through love decided
.
”

“The Inferno chose us,
bellezza
. But it was your love that has brought us to this place. Your decision to trust in that love.” He turned the ring over to show her the tiny design he’d etched into the surface, the same design on each ring. “Every year of our marriage I will add to the pattern, though it will never be completed.”

Her brows pulled together. “Why not?”

He gave a fatalistic shrug. “When we depart this world, parts of our life remain incomplete. There are always threads that linger after we’re gone.” He returned the band to her finger. “So it will be with our rings.”

Her frown vanished, replaced by understanding. “Just as life alters us year by year, you’ll alter our rings. They’ll constantly change and grow, just as we’ll constantly change and grow.” Her smile held an infinite amount of love. “But it will always be together, a matched set.”

He kissed her, delighting in the ease with which she opened herself to him, her desire flaring at his slightest caress. “Yes,
amore
. Together forever.”

They made love again, welcoming the day with passionate abandon. Afterward, they raced for the shower, scrubbing each other clean, only to tumble into bed once again. It wasn’t until much later that Julietta shot upright.

“I just remembered.” She scrambled off the mattress.
“Nonno’s
present. Let’s see what he gave us.”

Rom smiled indulgently at her feminine enthusiasm. She carried the box to the bed and carefully placed it in the middle. He removed the paper wrapping to reveal an enameled wooden chest. Unable to restrain herself, Julietta opened the lid. Inside were endless packets, carefully inscribed in his grandfather’s handwriting.

“What are they?” she asked, clearly confused.

It took him a moment to speak. “Seeds.” He lifted a packet to show her. “Seeds from his garden.”

“To transplant in our new home.” She caught her breath in delight. “Oh, Primo. It will be like having a piece of his heart along with us.”

She understood so clearly, attuned to him like no one else he’d ever known. He nodded, gently returning the precious packet to its proper place.
“Nonno
wouldn’t come with us, but this…” He pulled his wife into his arms. “This will be the next best thing since his spirit will be infused in every plant that comes from these seeds.”

As much as he wished they could linger, he suspected it wouldn’t be long before Aldo appeared in his ancient, rattletrap truck. Fitting, considering the farmer was both the first person Rom had met when he’d returned to Santa Lucia, and the last he’d see when he departed.

By the time they’d cleaned the cottage, Aldo had arrived, leaning on his horn to alert the newlyweds to his presence. The flatbed of his truck was once again piled high with vegetables, though he’d saved space for them between the tumble of baskets, sacks, and wooden crates. “Or we can all squeeze into the cab,” he offered.

“We’ll be fine in the back, Aldo. Thank you for helping us.”

After safely stowing the precious chest of seeds, he and Julietta climbed over the metal railings and made themselves comfortable on a pair of burlap sacks in the back. Before they departed, the photographer from the day before came running up, breathless.

“For you.” He waved a packet in the air. “Your wedding photograph.”

They took a moment to admire the candid shot before carefully tucking it away in the chest of seeds. Once they were settled, Aldo put the truck in gear, bucking and swaying along the narrow lane. A short time later, they reached the turnoff leading to Florence. Julietta’s veil still hung in a waterfall of tulle from the signpost and they laughed at the sight. Slowly, the truck made the turn, grinding through its gears and gradually picking up speed.

Behind them, the past flowed off into the distance, half-hidden beneath a trail of dust. Rom—Primo now—gathered his wife close and deliberately put their backs to Santa Lucia. Ahead of them stretched endless possibilities. An entire lifetime of marvels to come.

Soon they would travel to a new land. Once there, they’d take
Nonno’s
seeds and transplant all that was best from their former existence so it would become part of the new life they’d create for themselves. Like the plants, he and Julietta would have room to stretch and grow. Roots would spring from the seeds collected from their past and become the bounty for their future. As would their children and their children’s children’s children.

“I’d like a home on a hillside, Primo,” Julietta said.

He nodded in agreement. “Overlooking the sea.”

And there they would start a new generation of Dantes.

La famiglia.

One family.

Endless possibilities.

Yet, all borne from the life-giving flames of The Inferno.

She’s here.

Ty Masterson stepped into the San Francisco ballroom of Nob Hill’s exclusive, five-star hotel, Le Premier, caught off guard by the strange words echoing through his head. What the hell?

She’s here. Find her.

He froze, not quite sure what was happening, but automatically scanning the room for trouble. He found it ten seconds later in the shape of a woman. Naturally. The instant his gaze settled on her, the words grew louder, more insistent.

She’s here. Take her. Make her yours.

She stood off to one side, quiet and aloof from the laughter and excitement generated by fine champagne, glittering affluence, and the brilliant flash of fire diamonds. A man had planted himself by her side, not in a possessive way, but more in a protective manner. Ty did a swift analysis. Not a bodyguard. Definitely not a boyfriend or lover. A relative, then. A brother, maybe?

He dismissed the man as unimportant and focused on the woman, aware that she inspired the insidious words pulsating through him, taunting his legendary self-control and threatening to rip it to shreds. Until this moment, he’d have claimed it could never happen. And yet, one look and she called to him like a siren of old, her seductive song drowning out all thought and reason. He took a single step in her direction, then forced himself to freeze. Forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to examine and evaluate. To depend on logic rather than emotion.