He continues to hold my eyes with an intense stare. “Are you doing as I asked?”
I tremble. “Y … yes.” My voice cracks. His masculine scent overwhelms me, setting my blood on fire and making desire pool in my core.
He exhales, low and approving. “Good girl.” His arms tighten, folding me into his embrace, and he kisses the crown of my head. His heartbeat is steady and strong, and I inhale the warmth of him, the promise of protection,just enjoying being held. Something I’ve yearned for since my parents passed.
We linger in the quiet of the alley, lost in the moment. Eventually, I pull back, my mind spinning with so many unanswered questions I need answers to.
But as if he senses what I’m about to ask, Dante’s eyes darken, and he bends his head to mine.
Is he going to kiss me?Is this how my first kiss will happen? In a dark back alley?
I inhale to protest, “Dante…” but his hand clamps the nape of my neck, firm and demanding, pulling my face to his.
His mouth crashes onto mine, nothing soft, but a brutal claim. His lips aren’t tender; instead, his kiss is a savage invasion. He crushes me against the coarse brick, its texture pressing through my shirt as if branding me.
I whimper and make a feeble attempt to push him away, but I find I can only summon the energy to wrench him closer. His arms band around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His desire feels like a living thing, relentless and hungry.
My knees weaken, fire coiling low in my belly. I shouldn’t, but when he nips my lip and growls my name, every boundary shatters and I moan with need.
“Let me in, Evangeline. Open for me. Kiss me.”
I gasp, giving in to his demand, returning the kiss with an abandon that terrifies me.
He finally pulls back, and our breaths are ragged. Foreheads pressed together, his thumb trails over my swollen lip with possessive gentleness. “You have bewitched me, piccola strega,” he rasps. “And I don’t want to break the spell.”
I stare up, heart still hammering furiously. “I’m not afraid of you,” I whisper, both in awe and surprise. “I know I should be. Everyone is afraid of you, but I feel … drawn to you, somehow. As if I’ve known you forever.”
He curves a faint, knowing, but dangerous smile. “Perhaps we have in another life.”
That notion, tinged with fate, sends a thrill through me. “I need more, Dante. I need to know what’s happening.”
He brushes a stray lock from my face, eyes smoldering with promise and mystery. “Soon, bella. I promise. But now, you must trust me.”
His gaze sears into mine, unwavering. My blood thrums. Every instinct screams at me to run, but I can’t.
Because part of me already belongs to him.
Worst of all, I fear it’s my heart.
Chapter Ten
Evangeline
Todaywassupposedtobe uneventful. Tuesdays are usually dead for the pharmacy. But I’m jumpy, flinching every time the phone rings or a shadow passes the glass of the front door. I keep expecting Dante to reappear, to stride in and upend my routine all over again. Instead, it’s just a mother with a sick toddler, a delivery guy, and the usual parade of pharmacy customers.
Just when I’m about to let my guard down, a man in a suit walks in. Expensive, tailored, one that screams money. Almost as nice as Dante’s. He’s short, with darkhair slicked back from his face, and pale skin. Gold rings decorate his fingers. There’s nothing about this man that stands out, other than the gaudy jewelry. I probably couldn’t describe him accurately if I had to; his features are so generic.
This man doesn’t look at the aisles or the shelves; he looks straight at me.
“Prescription for Mr. Scarletta,” he says, voice cold, clipped, and unemotional, but oddly high-pitched. I can’t help but compare it to the rough sound that comes from Dante’s lips. So damaged, but sexy at the same time.
Scarletta? Is this who Dante has been worried about? I’m not sure what to do, so I attempt to act normal.
I look, but don’t see the man’s name in the system when I type it into the computer. I even check the bin for prescriptions, find a small package, and hand it over. The man doesn’t thank me, just glances at it, then slides a business card across the counter.
“For future reference,” he murmurs. His hand grazes mine, just for a second, and I feel a flash of icy panic,his touch making my skin crawl. The simple black card with raised gold lettering reads: S. Scarletta.
I know he’s not a regular customer; I’d remember him. He’s also not in the system. I look up, but the man is already gone.
