Dante's Honour-bound Husband

He sighed. “I should have taken you to your parents.”

“Probably,” she conceded. “Since you didn’t, you’re stuck with me.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. Lie down.”

She did as he requested. To her surprise, he jerked the covers up to her chin so she was completely cocooned, then slid an arm around her while he remained on top of the sheet and blanket.

“Seriously?” she asked.

“Seriously.” The metaphorical—or maybe not so metaphorical—immovable object. “Now go to sleep. It’ll be daylight in another few hours.”

“Would you do one more thing for me?”

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“No.” She leaned into him, doing her best to be an irresistible force. In her case, definitely not a metaphorical one. “Would you kiss me good-night?”

“You are determined to test the limits of my self-control.” He spoke in Italian, a dead giveaway.

“Would you rather David was the last man to have kissed me?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Absolutely. Totally. The. Wrong. Thing.

The soft light from the bedside table cut across the rigid lines of his face, striking off the hard planes and sinking into the harsh angles. He gazed down at her, his eyes black crystals of barely suppressed emotion, anger in the foreground, hot desire glittering behind. He said something else in Italian, the words fighting each other. Biting words that came too fast for her to catch. Not that she needed to understand each and every word. The underlying message came through loud and clear.

Constantine wasn’t a man to taunt.

He moved so fast she never saw it coming, stripping away the covers and baring her to his gaze. He took his time, looking his fill. The cotton shift she wore provided next to no protection, the fabric so sheer it revealed more than it concealed, hugging her feminine curves and misting his view just enough to make it all the more enticing.

He took his time, studying the generous curve of her breasts, the nipples tight coral peaks thrusting against the cotton and betraying the extent of her hunger. He noticed. Of course he noticed. How could he not? His gaze wandered lower, across her belly which quivered in reaction. Lower still. To the soft brown shadow at the apex of her thighs.

He lifted his hand and for a split second she thought he’d touch her. That he’d rip off her nightshift the way he’d ripped off her gown in the gas station parking lot. Her breath caught and held, waiting for that touch. It never came. Instead his hand hovered a scant inch above her, before following the same path as his gaze. He splayed his fingers, heat pouring from his palm and burning through her shift. Not once did he touch her, though her body reacted as though he had.

She waited for the acrid wash of fear to sweep over her. But it never did. Hunger and want—those existed without question. So did a keen edge of pleasure. Her breasts felt painfully full, lush and acutely sensitive. A heaviness invaded the very core of her, loosening and softening and ripening. A woman preparing for the possession of her mate.

One emotion was lacking.

“No fear,” she murmured in relief. “None at all.”

He froze. “This is a mistake.”

She smiled. Hell, she beamed. She was just so thankful that Constantine could look at her with such intense desire without it sparking flashes of David. “A lovely mistake.” She caught his hand in hers, guiding it to her body. “Touch me,” she whispered. “Touch me the way a man is meant to touch a woman.”

And then he did. As though unable to help himself, he trailed a finger from the juncture between neck and shoulder downward over the slope of her breast. Her nipples pressed against the cotton, so tight she almost couldn’t bear it. He hooked a finger in the neckline of her shift and nudged it down just enough to expose them. Gently, sweetly, he took the first into his mouth and caressed it with tongue and teeth. A cry caught in the back of her throat, a keening sound of intense pleasure. Then he turned his attention to the other.

Her head tipped back and the breath shuddered from her lungs, his name escaping on a moan of delight. She slid her fingers deep into the heavy waves of his hair and held him close. “How can this be a mistake?”