Venice Vampyr - The Beginning (19 page)

Viola huffed and took a few steps toward Dante. He’d hit the nail on the head. She was a runaway and had no intention of being found. Just as well because he wanted her here with him. Until, well ... until he was done with her.

“You, you ...” Her skin glistened, and her lovely bosom heaved with every breath she took. With her index finger, she jabbed him in the chest. “You, you …”

“Running out of words, my dear?” Dante snatched her finger and led it to his lips, giving it a soft peck. “Now, how about some food?  All that lying must have made you hungry.”

Viola huffed once more and turned away. Dante couldn’t help but laugh. She was too much fun to spar with. Damn, he liked that in a woman.

Isabella put a hand on Viola’s arm. “Come, Miss Costa. Cook prepared a nice spread for us. Let’s leave the men to their talk.”

***

Viola had no choice. She could not allow Dante or his brother to contact her parents. If they did, her parents would shepherd her home despite her earlier threat that she would cause a scandal. By the time they’d all be back in Florence too much time would have passed, and her health would have deteriorated enough for her to have no strength left to execute her threat. And her parents knew that. No, she could not risk a message to be sent to them. Let them believe she was in Switzerland.

If only she’d thought before she’d spoken, but Dante had immediately caught onto her slip of the tongue when she’d admitted that she was staying at a hotel. He’d beaten her at her own game.

She would have to devise a strategy to gain back some ground, but first, she needed to eat. She felt famished. Her stomach growled on command.

“You must be starving,” Isabella said and pointed to a chair opposite hers at a large dining table.

Viola took the seat and folded the napkin over her lap. “I’m not sure why though. I already had supper.”

“Not tonight. You slept for almost twenty hours after Dante brought—”

Startled, Viola stared at her. “I’ve been here since yesterday?”

“You were unconscious when Dante put you to bed. I dare say, he was quite worried about you. It’s not like him.” There was a puzzled look on Isabella’s face. She was a stunningly beautiful woman with silken skin, mesmerizing green eyes, and long dark hair which was piled loosely onto her head.

“He has no reason to worry about me. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“Since you raise that subject, why did you attempt to kill yourself?”

Viola clenched her jaw. She hadn’t expected the outwardly pleasant woman to be so blunt. “Nobody in this household seems to have any tact.”

Isabella made a dismissive hand movement. “Oh, that. Blame my husband and his brother. Their behavior tends to rub off on others. We are a very unconventional household to say the least.”

“Does that mean Dante kidnaps unsuspecting women quite often?” She crinkled her nose and lifted her chin in a blasé kind of way. If the lady of the house couldn’t keep up proper decorum, why should she? She was merely a prisoner, not even a guest.

“Whatever you want to know about Dante, I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you. But it’s not my place to do so.” Then she changed the subject. “Do you enjoy the pheasant?”

Viola chewed the divine meat thoroughly and swallowed. “Passable.”

“I’ll have cook prepare something different tomorrow if you’re not into fowl.”

“I’ll be gone by tomorrow, so don’t trouble yourself.” They couldn’t watch her every second of the day and night. She’d sneak out soon when their defenses were down. But in the meantime, she took another fork full of meat. There was no reason to go hungry.

“Making plans without me, Viola?” Dante drawled from the door.

How had he managed to sneak up on them like that? She didn’t give him the satisfaction of showing him how startled she was by his appearance and took another bite instead.

“Well, eat up then, my sweet, we’re going out. I’ll see you in the foyer in five minutes.”

She snapped her head in his direction, but he’d already left. What in hell was he planning?

Chapter Nine

Dante waited for Viola, his long black cloak slung around his shoulders, the girl’s cloak in his hands. He needed to get out of the house. If he stayed under the watchful eye of his brother and his sister-in-law any longer, he’d never get to kissing the girl and starting her education in the carnal arts.

It was time to remind her of what they’d done the night before—not when he’d penetrated her without much preparation, but when they’d kissed. If he wasn’t mistaken, she’d liked the kissing part well enough.

He picked up her scent even before she exited the dining room. Just as her blood had tasted different when he’d licked it off her temple, her scent had something foreign to it. Something that made him want to protect her. He didn’t understand his strange sentiment. After all, he was a self-proclaimed rake whose only interests lay in fornication and imbibing in rich blood until he felt the same kind of high drugs would produce in humans.

When he laid eyes on Viola as she resolutely swept into the foyer, his protective instinct toward her increased even more. The aura he sensed around her seemed fragile and in stark contrast to the sharp tongue she wielded against him so easily. Not that he minded. He’d spar with that tongue any day—or night.

Dante cleared his throat and pushed his thoughts back into the dark recesses of his debauched mind. “There you are.”

“Where are we going?” Her voice was assessing.

He took a step toward her and secured the cloak around her shoulders, tying the ribbon under her throat. Then he dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “Exploring.”

Before she could protest, he swept her outside into the night. Minutes later, he secured a gondola and a gondolier who promised him a smooth ride through the canals and a discrete look in the other direction when necessary.

Dante helped Viola into the gondola and squeezed onto the comfortable high-back bench next to her. She was a dainty thing, yet his massive proportions assured there wasn’t an inch of space between them.

As the gondolier pushed off and navigated them down the canal, Dante made himself comfortable and slid his arm around Viola’s shoulders to press her closer to him.

“Signore!” she protested.

He dipped his head to hers. “Please call me Dante. I’d hate for you to scream ‘Signore’ when you come apart in my arms. Now, enjoy the ride.”

She didn’t respond, and he didn’t expect her to. For now, all he wanted was for her to enjoy the tour. Since she’d admitted that she was staying in a hotel, she was not native to Venice. It had given him the idea of taking her on a little sightseeing tour along the picturesque canals. Even at night, she would be able to see many of the magnificent mansions and palaces the city was famous for.

As he started pointing out different buildings and retold little anecdotes about the inhabitants, he felt her relax next to him. From the corner of his eye, he noticed how she looked at many of the impressive homes with awe, her mouth open in obvious admiration. Illuminated on the inside by massive chandeliers, Dante and Viola caught glimpses of the grandeur inside.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

Dante was pleased with himself. Viola seemed to enjoy the gondola ride. It was part of his plan to show her that life was worth living, that there was beauty and excitement all around her.

When she suddenly shivered next to him, he pulled her closer. “Cold?”

She nodded, and he reached for her folded hands. They were like ice. He cursed himself. Just because he didn’t feel the cold as severely as a human would didn’t mean he could forget about her well-being. “I’m sorry, Viola.”

He opened his own cloak.

“No, you’ll be cold then,” she protested.

“No, I won’t. Come.” Before she could protest, he lifted her into his arms and settled her on his lap. He scooted back onto the bench before he closed his cloak over both of them.

“But—”

He killed her protest by pressing her closer to his chest, keeping his own arms inside his cloak, away from prying eyes. “This way we’ll both be warm.”

“Is that why?” She tilted her chin up in challenge.

“There’s a second reason.”

“Which would be?”

“Did you like it when I kissed you last night?”

She dropped her lids at his question but said nothing.

“Do you want me to kiss you again?”

An almost unperceivable nod was the answer. Excitement coursed through him. He hadn’t misread her the night before. He had another chance. “Then lift your head and offer me your lips.”

She did just that. But instead of stealing a passionate and demanding kiss, he pushed back his hunger for her and only lightly brushed his lips against hers. They were almost as frozen as her hands. He nibbled on them, stroking over them with his hot tongue in an attempt to warm her.

***

Viola closed her eyes and savored the gentle touch. Dante was different than the night before, less urgent, less demanding. Gentler, softer. Yet in no way less intoxicating. She breathed in his rich scent, a mixture of musky cologne—the same she’d smelled in his bed—and a deep earthy and leathery scent.

His lips were tentative against her, merely touching lightly, barely pressing against her. A frustrated moan escaped her. She wanted him to kiss her the way he’d kissed her the night before.

“Something wrong?” he whispered against her lips.

“No.” She couldn’t very well tell him what she wanted. Instead, her hands went to his shirt and pulled, forcing him to put more heat behind the kiss. Hadn’t she just told him she was cold? Did he think his little timid kiss would get her warm?

When she pressed her lips against his mouth, a startled moan came from his throat. Suddenly, he angled his head and nudged at her lips, requesting entry with his tongue. On a relieved sigh, she parted her lips and welcomed him.

Her hand dug into his shirt to hold him close to her so he wouldn’t stop too soon. In seconds, his kiss had turned from innocent to demanding. Instantly, she felt heat build in her belly and ripple through her body, reaching all her cells. She relaxed into him, melted against his mouth and tongue, opened up for him so he could explore her more thoroughly. All the while, her hands stroked him through his shirt. She marveled at the hardness of his muscled chest and the warmth his body radiated. She wanted to soak up all of it and cocoon herself in his warmth and closeness.

When his hand moved up the side of her torso and reached the underside of her breast, she gasped into his mouth. But he didn’t stop. On the contrary, he increased the demand in his kiss, making her forget where she was.

His hand cupped her breast and gave it a soft squeeze. She yelped and pulled away from his mouth. “No, not here. People can see.”

“Nobody can see what I’m doing under the cloak,” he assured her and took her mouth again, stifling her next protest. As if to underscore his statement, he tugged on the bodice and managed to free her breasts, letting the material bunch just under them. It now provided a shelf on which her breasts rested for him to do with as he pleased.

“Dante!” She tried to tell him that it wasn’t decent but he kissed her again. With every kiss, she was less able to resist him. Her body seemed to melt more and more with every second he exerted this sweet torture on her.

When his hand brushed over her breast and grazed her nipple, a bolt of lightning shot through her core. It liquidized everything in its path and left an unknown ache behind. Viola writhed under his touch, trying to soothe the want his touch left behind.

“Easy, my sweet,” he cooed and nibbled kisses along her neck while his fingers teased her naked flesh, turning her nipple into a hard peak. “I’ll give you what you want.”

How could he know what she wanted when she didn’t know it herself? All she knew was that she didn’t want him to stop touching her. So when his hand left her breasts and lowered to her waist, she protested. “No. Please. I want—”

His hand squeezed her thigh, the warmth flooding through her making her forget her thoughts. “I know what you want.”

Did he? She hoped so, because she was burning up. Her insides were aching, the place between her legs throbbing with desperate need. Her heart beat frantically, and her lungs burned as she panted.

A moment later, she held her breath. Dante’s hand traveled down her leg and scooted under her skirts. Panic gripped her. “What are you doing?”

“Making you feel good.” He nibbled on her ear, biting on it lightly. The sting distracted her from the movement of his hand, but only for a moment.

When his fingers suddenly reached the apex of her thighs and tunneled underneath her drawers, she gasped at his boldness. “Dante,” she whispered, less in protest and more in encouragement, for his fingers had reached the dewy moisture that was oozing from her. She tensed when she felt him probe at her cleft, afraid of the penetration that had hurt the night before. She froze, steeling herself against the pain, but nothing happened. He’d stilled his fingers.

“Shh,” Dante breathed into her ear. “I won’t enter you. I just want to feel your wetness and caress you.”