Inferno's Kiss (25 page)

Cleo bobbed her head at his explanation, suddenly feeling like an idiot for taking his thorough assessment of the situation personally. The man was doing the same thing Lysander, Ares, or Ignacio would do if she went to them with a plan. Still, it stung a little.

“It’s a good plan, Cleopatra. I just want to be sure we don’t have any surprises.”
Deus
, she loved the way he said her name. It was a low, husky stroke of syllables rolling off his lips.

“I understand,” she said quietly as she tried to focus on something other than his mouth. “So who’s in the convent that you want to rescue?”

“Cornelia’s daughter. I gave my word to her that I’d find a way to rescue Beatrice.” There was a warmth to his voice when he said Cornelia’s name that told her his relationship with the woman was special.

“I see,” she muttered. “I’m sure you’ll keep your word to her.”

Wonderful, no wonder she’d embarrassed the hell out of the guy earlier. He was already involved with someone.
Christus
, what did it matter that he was seeing someone else? Whether he was or wasn’t, he was the last man she needed to have an affair with. She almost groaned at the idea. She was a fucking idiot.

“
No
, Cornelia and I . . .” His rushed response trailed off as a sheepish expression swept across his face only to be replaced with a stoic look. “What I meant is that she’s my friend. My mother left me in the care of the
Absconditus
when I was four, and Cornelia took me under her wing. She became my
Praefect
when I was named Tribune.”

Cleo tried to ignore the relief surging through her at the way he’d quickly corrected her initial impression. To hide her reaction, she moved swiftly from the table to plop down in a nearby wing back chair. He turned his head as she walked away, but she avoided looking at him. With a quick twist of her hips, she turned her body so her legs dangled over one arm of the chair with her back pressed into the corner of the smooth leather seat cushion.

“
Praefect
?” She deliberately kept her voice devoid of anything other than curiosity as Dante turned toward her.

“It’s a rank equivalent to a
Primus Pilus
in one of the Order’s guilds. Although the
Absconditus
is a guild like others in the Order, it operates somewhat differently than what you’re used to.”

“Differently how?”

“For one thing, we’re not all Sicari Lords. Marcus and Placido are the only Sicari Lords left at the moment.” The strength in his voice emphasized he was once again in control, and it made her want to squirm in her seat.

“I don’t understand.” She shook her head and could feel her brow furrow as she stared at him. “There are only
two
Sicari Lords?”

“Marcus is the current reigning Sicari Lord. His decisions are the ultimate law of the Sicari,” Dante explained quietly. “Even the Order is subject to the Sicari Lord’s decrees, although it’s rare that any Sicari Lord uses that authority in such a manner.”

Dante leaned back against the table behind him. Long legs stretched out in front of him, he looked relaxed, but there was an air of power about him that said he was always on guard. Raw, lethal, and in a strange way, almost untouchable. He represented a challenge to her, despite the fact that she didn’t need his kind of stimulation. An expression of amusement crossed his features.

“What?” She scowled at him.

“I can see the wheels in your head churning like mad. The idea of taking an order from the Sicari Lord doesn’t sit well with you. But then you don’t like taking orders all that much, do you?” His intuitive observation made her edgy.

“I’ve been known to disobey an order or two,” she admitted in a begrudging tone of voice.

“And when you’re
not
under orders?” Again, amusement. The man could be downright annoying when he wanted to. Fine. She’d end this dance right now.

“Under the covers? I guess that depends,” she said in a soft, silky tone of voice.

It was hard not to smile with satisfaction as a dark red color flushed his face while his body went rigid. He didn’t move, and for a brief instant she could have sworn he had the look of a man ready to bolt from the room like a panicked stallion. She saw his throat bob as he swallowed hard, which made her certain the suggestive comment had thrown him into a tailspin.

Even though she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, she knew what she
wanted
him to be thinking. Damnit, this fixation of hers was beginning to rub her the wrong way. Even worse was how she was suddenly wishing she hadn’t made him uncomfortable. And he was very uncomfortable. She could feel it. The realization surprised her, which made the awkward moment even more strained because she was to blame for it.

“I said under
orders
,” he said stiffly.

“Right. Sorry,” she said in a contrite tone and looked away from him. “So this other Sicari Lord you mentioned, what does he do?”

“Placido used to hold Marcus’s position in the
Absconditus
. But he still retains the title as an honorary one.” His voice was still stiff, and her conscience tapped her again, pulling a soft sigh from her as she continued to avoid his gaze.

“So what does that make you and all the others in the—what did you call it, the
Absconditus
? Are you saying no one else here is a Sicari Lord?”

She frowned. If Marcus and an old man were the only Sicari Lords left, then they were the last ones unless they had heirs. And while Marcus was her birth father, she wasn’t a candidate to carry on the bloodline. The painful thought wrenched at her midsection as she caught a glimpse of motion out of the corner of her eye. Once again the fluid beauty of Dante’s movements fascinated her as he unfolded his arms and wrapped his fingers around the edge of the desk he was leaning against.

“Just as with the Order’s guilds, the
Absconditus
has a hierarchy to avoid complete chaos.”

“And you don’t like chaos.” It was an observation, not a question, and she turned her head to shoot him a tentative look. Relief dashed through her when she saw his embarrassment had vanished. He shrugged.

“Balance requires opposing forces. Without chaos, there would not be order.”

She nodded. “Chaos” she understood a little too well at the moment. Her entire world had been turned upside down in the last couple of weeks, and if chaos wasn’t a word for it, then she didn’t know what else to call it. She looked away from him.

“How long have you known my . . . Marcus?”

“I was four when my mother left me on his doorstep and walked away without looking back. Marcus took responsibility for me.” The flat statement made her jerk her head back in his direction.

Despite the stoic look on his face, she sensed the raw pain he was feeling. It surprised her how powerful the sensation was, because she rarely experienced a knowing with such strength or accuracy. And she was dead certain her senses weren’t playing tricks on her. The thought of him growing up without a mother to love him made her sad. It was probably why he seemed so distant and untouchable.

“What about your father?” she probed gently. He hesitated before he looked away from her.

“I never knew my father. Marcus told me he died fighting Praetorians.” Dante straightened and, with his hands behind his back, strode across the floor to stare out the window.

“I’m sorry.” She meant it.

“It was a long time ago,” he said quietly without turning to look at her.

“Maybe, but it couldn’t have been easy. I know what it’s like to grow up without a father. You didn’t have anyone.”

“I had Marcus, Placido, and Cornelia.”

It was an abrupt, emphatic declaration that he didn’t care that he’d grown up an orphan. She would have believed him if it weren’t for the soft note of sorrow threading through his words. That and the odd twinge that grabbed at her heart as he stood in front of the window. Although she wanted to probe deeper, instinct told her not to ask him any more questions. There was something about his stiff posture that said he’d already shared more than he’d intended to. The silence expanded between them before Dante cleared his throat and turned to face her.

“You’ll like Marcus if you give him a chance.”

“Not if he insists on playing the overprotective father, I won’t,” she said as she uncurled herself from the wing back chair and moved away from him to the far wall lined with bookcases.

“I think you both probably need time to adjust to each other.” Despite his almost silent tread, her senses were on fire as he crossed the room. “I know I’d need time if I were in your shoes.”

“But you’re not,” she muttered.

“You’re right. I’m not.”

The soft tone of understanding in his voice made her turn to face him. There were still several feet between them, and the empathy in his expression made her heart skip a beat. The man was too damn good-looking. Irritated he could distract her so easily, she turned back to the books on the shelf. Her fingers ran across the spines of the texts lining the bookshelf as she quickly changed the subject.

“So are you close with . . . Marcus?” She wasn’t sure why she asked the question when she wanted to stop talking about the man.

“He and Placido are like fathers to me. They both conducted my lessons in the
Novem Conformavi
.”

“The what?”

“It’s a nine-level training program all members of the
Absconditus
must complete.” His words made her thoughts automatically jump to the medieval epic poem
The Divine Comedy
.

“Are we talking Dante’s Inferno?” she quipped as she glanced at him over her shoulder.

“Far from it,” he replied with a wolfish grin.

It was a smile that made her heart jump before it skidded out of control. Heat filled her cheeks, and she quickly returned her attention to the shelves of books in front of her. When was the last time she’d been disconcerted by a man’s smile? She couldn’t remember, which was almost as unsettling as the way Dante made her feel. She tipped her head to one side as she read a familiar title, and she pulled a copy of Shakespeare’s
Henry V
off the shelf. She automatically flipped through the pages until she reached Harry the king’s Saint Crispin’s Day speech. It was one of her favorite parts of the play.

“You like Shakespeare?” The curiosity in his voice made her smile, and she briefly glanced at him as she displayed the title of the book to him.

“Not all of his plays, but
Henry V
has everything I like.”

“Such as?” His question made her face him.

“Intrigue, fighting, heroes overcoming impossible odds, romance, a rousing cry to arms, a great battle—”

“Romance?” At the amusement in his voice, she glared at him.

“Yes,
romance
. Got a problem with that?”

“Show me.”

He folded his arms across his chest and smiled at her again. It wasn’t just a command, it was a dare. She immediately turned the pages to the end of the play and Harry’s efforts to woo Katherine, the daughter of the French king. Her finger quickly traced its way down first one page and then another until she tapped the section she’d been searching for.

“The second scene of the last act is very romantic,” she said fiercely as she studied the text to find one of her favorite phrases. “Here—this is one of my favorite lines.”

Cleo knew the words by heart, and with her eyes closed, she visualized the actors from the DVD she owned. “You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate. There is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the French council, and they should sooner persuade Harry of England than a general petition of monarchs.”

She released a soft sigh after the last words and opened her eyes, intent on challenging Dante to disagree with her. But the moment she looked into the stormy intensity of his dark blue gaze, she forgot what she was going to say. Instead she found herself measuring the distance between them with her senses.

The man was so close it was impossible not to breathe in the deliciously rough, spicy scent of him. Had he moved closer while she was reciting the Bard’s poetry? Not that it mattered, because she sure as hell wasn’t going to protest. Nervously, her tongue darted out to lick her dry lips.

A primal sound echoed out of his chest, and the tension in the room skyrocketed until it was a palpable caress of heat on her skin. His firm lips were inches away, and she waited with bated breath for him to lower his head and kiss her.

In the next instant, the library door burst open, and Dante had put more than three feet between them in the blink of an eye. Startled, she turned to see a little boy panting from exertion dart into the room.

“Tribune,” he gasped. “It’s Giuseppe and Santino. They’re fighting again.”

Dante muttered something under his breath, and for some reason she didn’t think it was due to the interruption. In fact, he seemed almost relieved.

“Where are they, Pietro?”

“In the big training room.”

“I need to take care of this,” Dante said as he looked at her with an odd glint in his eyes. “I’ll have someone do reconnaissance to back up your data, and we’ll go from there.”

With that, he strode out of the library followed by the small boy. Cleo stared after them with frustration.

“
Fuck
.”

The word echoed fiercely in the large room. The man had been about to kiss her. She knew it. She blew out a harsh puff of air. In less than twenty-four hours, Dante had managed to turn her life upside down almost as easily as her mother had more than a week ago. She wasn’t sure she was ready for another upheaval. No, not an upheaval. It would be an inferno, and Dante Condellaire would consume her. But then a little bit of fire could be a good thing. The erotic image the thought brought to mind made her smile, and she ran after him. The man wasn’t going to walk away from her that easily.

Chapter 13

DANTE hurried down the hall with Pietro running to keep up. As they reached the stairs to the second floor, he heard footsteps pounding behind him. Cleopatra. He muttered a fierce imprecation.
Christus
, he’d almost kissed her a moment ago. Was he insane? The fact that his body was on full alert the minute he came within five feet of her made him tighten his mouth with irritation.