Dante's Marriage Pact (3 page)

His hazel eyes narrowed, the gold flecks glittering a clear warning. “But for some reason, my being a Dante makes a difference.”

She faltered, not quite certain how to respond, other than to use one small tidbit her grandmother had mentioned in passing. “The Dante men have something of a…reputation, shall we say?” Based on what just happened, a well-deserved reputation, she grudgingly admitted to herself. So, maybe he wasn't being cocky so much as honest.

“And you think that because I'm a Dante all I'm after is a one-night stand?”

It was a tad like the pot calling the kettle black, considering she'd been after just that, herself. Even so, she met his gaze unflinchingly. “Yes.”

He shrugged. “Time will prove otherwise,” he alarmed her by saying.

Dear heaven. He couldn't mean that, could he? But searching his expression she realized he meant precisely that. She crouched in a silken nest of rumpled sheets, at a total loss. What did she do now? How did she gracefully extricate herself from the situation? She wasn't interested
in continuing a relationship with him after this one night, though caution dictated she not risk the loss of her fingers by feeding him that particular piece of information. She was also at a serious disadvantage since she was new to this type of situation. Maybe if she were more sexually experienced she could figure a way to soothe his male ego while she slipped out the door.

Before she had a chance to devise a plan, he caught her hand in his and tugged. Unmistakable want fired in his eyes. “Any other objections, sweetheart, or can we move on?”

More objections than she could possibly express. She needed to make a decision and fast, before he seduced her options right out of her. Either she left now, the smartest choice available to her, or she returned to his arms and allowed him to prove yet again what he did better—kiss or make love.

The first time with him she could rationalize. She hadn't known who he was. And then there had been that overpowering attraction. She stirred uneasily, aware that the warm throbbing in her palm hadn't diminished. Clearly, that attraction hadn't dissipated, despite discovering his full name. But she knew his identity now. His family had deliberately ruined hers, a fact that—according to Grandmother Charleston—had indirectly led to the death of her parents. Whatever the actual truth, the bankruptcy of her family's business had changed her life forever.

“Shayla?” Draco studied her expression. “Apparently you still have concerns. Maybe this will help.”

Before she had time to protest, he leaned in, his passionate kiss the first taking. Then his hands took possession of her. He'd learned a lot about her during the few hours they'd been together, how to arouse her with a few clever strokes. And finally he took her under with his words, a tender suggestion
that melted her resistance and made her hungry to experience his lovemaking again. Just one more time.

If she left now it wouldn't change anything. What was done was done. She couldn't regain what she'd given him even if she wanted to, any more than she could change how it would affect her meeting with his relatives. Tomorrow she'd turn twenty-five and wing her way out of the country. And truth be told, the memories of this night would linger in her thoughts for the rest of her life. Would it be so terrible to add to those memories, to stack up a few more to take with her when she left? To be mad and impetuous one last time? Who would know that she'd given herself to a Dante, other than herself? Well, and Draco.

Did she leave…or enjoy his lovemaking one more time? It was an easy decision to make.

Shayla surrendered with a sigh. The instant she reached for him and pulled him closer, heat ignited between them, dampening any lingering doubts. She'd spent a lifetime living according to her grandmother's dictates, focused first on her studies, then on making as much money as quickly as possible in order to repay her college expenses.

Come morning she'd complete her familial obligations by stepping into the role of family negotiator while she bartered with the Dantes. Once through, she'd bid Draco a fond farewell and claim her freedom. But tonight would be hers. An indulgence. The one-night stand she'd accused him of wanting and another step toward her independence.

Draco drew her under him and mated his body to hers in one swift move. She gasped as intense pleasure ripped her apart and scattered the pieces. She wrapped her legs around his waist and moved with him. Soared with him. Shot straight through the clouds and winged toward the searing heart of the sun, all within his arms. She heard the low rumble echo through his chest as his climax approached. Knowing she
drove him so hard and high so quickly sent her tumbling up, teetering on a peak that had her gasping for breath, before launching into thin air in a delicious freefall.

“Draco…!” His name burst from her lungs in a half sob.

“I know, I know, I know,” he chanted.

He drove home, losing himself in her heat. His head reared back and his throat convulsed. Then he said one single word.
Shayla
. He stamped it with such passion and possessiveness, it was as though he laid claim to her, changing the meaning so that it would forevermore be linked to him. Just as her body was linked to his. Just as her heart had become linked to his.

No. Oh, no, no,
no
.

She struggled to deny the possibility of it, scrambled for some other explanation. She was being foolish, caught up in the newness of their lovemaking, lost in a moment of intense desire. There was no connection, nothing to this Inferno that burned in her palm. Their joining was only temporary. Come morning she was leaving, and this night with Draco would fade to a fond and distant memory.

But even as she fought, sleep settled over her, just as she settled into the warmth of Draco's arms, accepting his possession. Accepting the rightness of his protective hold. She reached for him, cleaved to him. And with a tiny sigh of surrender, she linked her hand with his, palm to palm, cementing their bond.

 

When Shayla awoke she felt the morning through the darkness swathing the room and discovered Draco missing from the bed. She glanced toward the windows. They were tightly shuttered once again, delaying the advent of a new day—her birthday.

She stretched sore, abused muscles and sat up, shoving her hair from her face. Time to get up and leave. She had
a lot to accomplish in the next few hours. But part of her regretted. Regretted the need to leave both the bed and the man. Regretted that she couldn't squeeze in one more day and night of pleasure. Before she could escape the bed, Draco returned to the room. It took only one look to realize something was terribly wrong. It also stripped her emotions bare. Acutely self-conscious, she covered herself with the sheet.

“Draco?” She despised the hint of nervousness that tripped through her voice and slithered down her spine. “Is there a problem?”

“Why don't we start with this?” Her beaded bag dangled from one hand. In the other he held the leather pouch.

Shayla stiffened in alarm. How could she have been so careless? Even more damning, how could she have let her purse and its precious contents out of her sight for even one short minute? She must have lost her mind.
Had
lost her mind the instant Draco had put his hands on her. His mouth on her. Had taken possession of her, body and soul.

He took a step toward her, moving from the shadows that enshrouded the outer edges of the room to a position beneath the recessed spotlights in his bedroom ceiling. The light haloed him, giving him the appearance of a dark angel bent on vengeance. Or maybe he'd transformed himself into the dragon for which he'd been named.

“That's my purse, as you well know.” She held out her hand. “If you don't mind?”

“Oh, but I do mind.” He untied the leather pouch, extracted one of the six parcel papers from inside and unfolded it. A diamond tumbled into his palm, burning with brilliance. “This is a fire diamond,” he said.

Or was it an accusation? An odd roughness crisped the edges of his voice, something bitter-hot and laden with long-
ago pain, the words overflowing with a subtext she couldn't begin to understand. But it was definitely there.

“How dare you rifle through my purse?” Her response escaped in heavily accented Southern affront. “You have no right—”

“These are all fire diamonds,” he stated, more forcefully this time, the statement slicing like honed steel.

The overhead light gathered up the unmistakable sparkle captured within his palm and reflected the brilliance, seeming to fill the room with a fiery glitter—a glitter echoed in the equally fiery gold of Draco's eyes. What an idiot she'd been. This was no ordinary man. Those eyes. The hair. The stunning good looks and charm, a charm now eclipsed by a tough, ruthless edge. It all screamed Dante, even the ruthlessness, a quality her grandmother had long warned was endemic to his family. How terrifyingly ironic that she was now in a position to confirm that firsthand.

Shayla fought to speak past a throat gone bone-dry. “Yes,” she finally said. “I do believe they are fire diamonds.”

“What the
hell
are you doing with them?”

She escaped from the bed with as much dignity as she could muster, winding the sheet tightly around herself in order to preserve some shred of modesty. Ridiculous considering what they'd been busy doing all night and how many times and ways they'd done it. “They're mine. Give them back this minute.”

His eyes narrowed. “Bull. Dantes doesn't sell loose fire diamonds. The only way to purchase them is set in jewelry. So, unless you were foolish enough to pry the diamonds out of their setting…?” He lifted an eyebrow in silent demand.

“I don't owe you an explanation. The diamonds belong to me and unless you can prove otherwise, I suggest you return them to where you found them.”

She held out her hand and fixed him with an implacable
gaze. He didn't argue, which surprised her, but folded the diamond back into the blue-and-white parcel paper and returned it to the leather drawstring bag. Jerking the strings closed, he tucked it into her beaded purse and lobbed it toward her.

“You might want to get the clasp on that bag fixed. Everything fell out when I tossed your purse onto the couch last night.”

“I'll get right on that.” Relief flooded through her now that she had her handbag back in her possession, a very short-lived relief.

“And what about this?” He flipped up his index and middle fingers, a folded piece of paper tucked between them, a very damning piece of paper that listed the main Dante players and their job positions. “Care to explain this?”

How could she have forgotten the list? And of more urgent interest, why wasn't his name on it? Why hadn't he been mentioned in any of the Dante literature or internet research she and her grandmother had done? This morning just kept getting better and better. Gathering the shreds of her dignity, Shayla lifted her chin. “It's none of your business.”

His expression iced over, assuming a merciless aspect. “When it comes to the Dantes, it's very much my business.” He stepped closer. “You claimed you didn't know me. A lie, sweetheart?”

She refused to back down. “Did you see your name on that list?”

“Damn it, Shayla. What the
hell
is going on?”

“Nothing illicit,” she retorted, stung. “It just happens that I have a meeting with certain members of your family today and I was dismayed when I discovered your identity because I didn't want a—” she almost said
one-night stand
and snatched back the words at the last possible second “—an intimate relationship with one Dante to affect my meeting
with the others. That's why I crashed the reception last night. I wanted to get a look at who I'd be meeting today.” Not that she'd managed even that. Instead, she'd allowed desire to get in the way of her promise to her grandmother. Shame filled her. “Just out of curiosity, why
wasn't
your name on my list?”

“I handle gemstones on a regular basis. Sometimes I carry them. For security reasons I prefer to remain off the grid. Now, about this meeting. Who, what and why, Shayla?” He snapped out the questions. “Not to mention, when?”

At the reminder, she inhaled sharply. “What time is it?”

“Nine.”

“Oh, dear heaven.” She scooped up her crumpled clothes from the floor and made a beeline for the bathroom. “I have to go. Now.”

He caught her arm before she could escape the room. “Not until you explain what's going on.”

Desire sizzled through her at his touch, a desire she fought to ignore with only limited success. “I'm not at liberty to explain. Nor do I owe you an explanation.”

“Even after last night?”

She forced herself to meet his furious gaze, to cling to every ounce of self-control at her disposal. “Even after last night. One has nothing to do with the other.”

“I disagree.”

If only he weren't touching her. If only he'd let her go. “Please, Draco,” she whispered. “I have to leave. Perhaps we could talk after the meeting.”

He continued to hold her and she could tell he waged an inner debate, though she didn't have a clue what he was thinking. Last night he'd been so open and giving, so generous in the way he'd made love to her. In the space of a few minutes he'd gone from the man with whom she'd
shared unbearable emotional intimacy to someone hard and ferocious. She shivered. A dragon in fact, as well as name.

“Get dressed.” He released her arm, but for some reason the desire didn't ebb as she expected. “Then I'll see you out.”

She flinched. Without another word she crossed to the bathroom and shut the door with a decisive click. After a quick shower, she pulled on her gown from the previous night, struggling against a wave of humiliation at wearing an evening dress during daylight hours. She'd return to her dingy little motel room in the previous night's finery, looking like…