Dante's Honor-Bound Husband (14 page)

Constantine continued to keep his distance. “Are you sure, Gianna?”

“Oh, yes. Definitely, yes.”

Even though she knew they both wanted this more than anything else, she caught something in his expression, just a brief flash that hinted at regret. It didn't take any guesswork to figure out the cause. She closed the distance between them, leaned into him and sighed in relief the instant his
arms closed tight around her. It was time. Time to let go of her pride and follow her heart.

Long past time.

“As much as I'd like to make love to you, Constantine, we can't take this any further,” she informed him. She pulled back and smoothed the furrow lining his brow with a tender hand. “Not quite yet. I believe there's something you have to do first so that tonight is the way it should be. The way we'll always want to remember it. A night without regrets or blemish.”

A slow smile built across his face, the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen. Ever so gently, he swept the back of his hand across her cheek. “Thank you for this,” he whispered.

“Anytime,” she whispered back.

He took her hands in his and dropped to one knee. If anyone else had done such a thing, it would have been beyond corny. In this special moment, it was beyond romantic. “Gianna Marie Fiorella Dante, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She opened her heart, allowing it to show in every bit of her expression. “Yes, Constantine. I'll marry you.”

He stood, cupping her face. “No second thoughts?”

Her tearful smile felt shaky, but from happiness not nervousness. “Not a single one. I couldn't have chosen a more perfect man to share a more perfect moment.”

The contours of his face softened, hunger kicking in. “I don't know if I can make this perfect for you, but I swear I'll do my best.”

Constantine kissed her with unmistakable passion, stamping her with his possession in the most delicious way. It went beyond mere exploration, and became a thorough taking. Not rushed. But slow and deep and giving.

Gianna's breathing quickened, desire rising like a storm
driven tide, building inexorably, need an immense tidal wave flinging itself toward shore. It broke, spilling over her in a great rush and she clung to him, hanging on tight, then tighter. His tongue dueled with hers, lips and mouth teasing, mating, and he thrust his hands deep into her hair, using the tangle of thick heavy curls to anchor her to him.

“Finally,” he muttered. “Your hair has been driving me crazy all day. Flirting. Taunting. But not anymore.” He wrapped the weighty mass around his hand and drew her up. “Now you can't get away.”

Her mouth curved into a slow smile. “Why would I want to get away? There's only one place I want to be and that's in bed with you.”

He said something in Italian. Something thick and dark and demanding. For some reason, she couldn't make sense of it. “Take off your swimsuit,” he repeated in English.

She lifted her chin in open challenge. “Take it off me.”

His gaze flared darkly. “My pleasure.”

His fingers slid from her hair to the narrow straps banding her shoulders. He lowered them, sweeping them down her arms inch by excruciating inch. A light breeze drifted in through the open window and tripped along her spine. Her suit slipped downward, settling around her hips. A swift, gentle tug and it slid to her ankles.

She stepped free of her suit and stood nude before him in acres of skin turned blush-pink beneath the benevolent kiss of a ruby sun. She thought she'd feel nervous or apprehensive or self-conscious. Instead she just felt the rightness of being with him.

“Your turn,” she informed him.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. “I'm a little busy.” He cupped her breast and stroked the tip with the rough pad of his thumb. “I've never seen anything so beautiful.”

Her nipple tightened in response and she shuddered, the
intense pleasure arrowing straight to her core, making her painfully aware of her femininity. She burned with it, a melting heat that made her want to dissolve into his arms.

She shook her head to clear the sensual fog. “There's this interesting rumor going around that what you have in mind can't be accomplished unless you're naked, too.” She shot him a teasing smile. “Besides, it's only fair.”

“Normally I'd say you shouldn't listen to rumors.” His voice deepened. “Though in this case, there may be some truth to them.”

His fingers dragged across the peak of her breast again, the sensation a delicious agony, and she lost it. With a muffled cry of demand, she yanked him to her, kissing every inch of him she could reach. Touching every bit of him. The endless width of his chest. The ripple of hard, curving muscle and toned sinew. The rumble strips down his abdomen. An endless, beautiful display of burning hot skin. And it was all hers.

God, he was in incredible shape, especially for a man who spent his life in an office. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe he helped out with the actual restoration process. Something had put all those delicious ridges of muscle on his chest and shoulders.

Unable to help herself, she pressed a kiss just above his heart. He groaned softly and caught her close. “You undo me,
piccola,
” he whispered. She reached for his swim trunks and he stopped her. “Considering my current state, I think I'd better take care of this part myself.”

In one swift move, he stripped off the trunks. He was painfully heavy with desire and she shivered before the intense maleness of him. As though sensing her skittishness, he corralled her in the direction of the bed, tossing aside the covers. She tumbled backward onto the thick, soft mattress, the cotton sheet like velvet against her back. He braced
him self above her, hovering for an endless moment. Inch by inch, he lowered himself onto her, pressing her into softness while covering her with delicious heat.

“Constantine!” His name escaped in a pleading sigh, asking for something she couldn't quite bring herself to express in any other way. She couldn't get enough. Not close enough, not fast enough…just not enough. “More. I want more.”

“I'll give it to you, I swear.” He touched her, a soothing stroke, while determination filled his expression. “But for your first time, slowly. With care. And I need to make sure you're protected.”

She wanted to argue, but couldn't. She was too swept up in the moment. He disappeared briefly. When he returned, she realized he must have brought a condom with him…just in case. He returned to the bed and his mouth came down on hers, the gentle joining of lips and tongue at odds with the fierce hunger that underscored it. There was a familiarity to their kiss, as though they instinctively understood each other's needs and wants and were intent on supplying it. It took them to a new, unexpected level of intimacy. Passionate, yet generous. Arousing, yet open and vulnerable.

He cupped her breasts, teasing them into hard peaks with tongue and teeth. All the while he whispered the most exquisite words of love, the soft Italian making them all the more beautiful. He pressed kisses slowly downward, over her quivering belly and lower still. She gripped his shoulders to stop him.

“Don't.” He interlaced her fingers with his. “Let me know you. All of you.”

He reared back, so dying sunlight spilled across her, exposing her. She gazed into his black eyes and her heart rate kicked up, a fierce pounding in her ears as she waited for his reaction, waited to see what he'd do next. A slow
smile curved his mouth, one of love and intense pleasure. Without taking his eyes off her, he lowered his head to her abdomen again and kissed her, sliding steadily lower.

She shuddered beneath the intimate touch feathering across her belly. With each lingering kiss, liquid heat splashed across her skin, the warmth of his breath fanned flames outward in ever-growing waves.

“I can't get enough of you,” he murmured. “I don't think I ever will.”

His comment arrowed straight to her soul, so beautiful and so painful. If it hadn't been for The Inferno, she'd have taken such delight and joy in the words. But she'd never know whether his reaction came from the brand of their Inferno connection or whether it came from the heart of the man.

While desire built, tears filled her eyes, overflowed, leaving hot, wet tracks behind as they slid across her temples and lost their way in her hair. She wanted this man. Wanted to love him and be loved by him. She tugged at him needing the reassurance of his kiss. He gave in to her silent demand and slid upward, the friction of skin on skin whipping up a more powerful storm of raw need. Did it really matter which part of this night was Inferno and which part real? She'd take what he gave her. Rejoice in it. Give herself over to it. And give everything she had in return.

She cupped his face and took his mouth, welcoming him inward. Wrapped him up in arms and legs and endless heat. Fueled a blaze that exploded into a need beyond anything she'd ever imagined. It ran rampant through her veins, filling her very heart and soul. She slid her hands downward to the masculine source of his desire. Cupped him. Slid her fingers over and around him.

“I love you,” she told him, squeezing gently. “Please, Constantine. Don't make me wait any longer.”

His breath roared from his lungs. “
Cavolo!
Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?” The question escaped through clenched teeth, his Italian so low and desperate she almost didn't understand.

Her mouth tilted upward in a teasing smile. “How could I know since I've never done this before?”

“You learn fast,
piccola.
” His gaze warned of retribution. “Allow me to return the favor.”

Before she could draw breath enough to respond, he cupped the warm center of her, slipping inward as he had at the lake and teasing her with slow, deliberate strokes. She bowed upward with a soft cry, desperate for his possession but not quite sure how to force the taking. She felt again the telltale flutter, the helpless clenching that would shoot her over the edge. He opened her then, slipping between her legs.

“This was always meant to be,” he told her. “Call it fate. Call it The Inferno. You and I were always destined to come together. This couldn't end any other way.”

He took her then with a single stroke. Gentle. Powerful. Unyielding. He sheathed himself in the warmth of her body. He moved with her in a primal rhythm as old as mankind. But it wasn't a simple sexual act. It was so much more than that. She could feel the connection in her heart, in her blood and bones, in her very soul. Where once they'd been separate and apart, empty and alone, now they were joined by an unbreakable bond.

Gianna gave herself over to the moment, reveling in it, wishing it would never end. But the rising tide couldn't be turned back. It rose faster and faster, sweeping her along, tumbling her over and over. She felt the odd flutter from before, the flutter becoming a ripple, then a hard, fisting pressure. Unable to help herself, she shattered, safe within Constantine's arms.

He surged home, his hands buried in her hair, his eyes blazing with the strength of his passion and desire. His climax hit, hard on the heels of her own. And as the final rays of the day slipped from the room, he greeted the onslaught of night with a bellow of pure, raw pleasure.

In that timeless transition between night and day, they became one. Forever changed. Forever bonded. Forever mated.

 

Constantine had no idea how many hours passed before he woke. The darkness was dense and rich, suggesting the blackest, most silent hour of the night. He left the warm nest the two of them had created in the bed and retreated to his room. It only took a moment to feel his way to his overnight bag and find what he needed. Then he returned to Gianna. Returned to where he belonged.

She still slept. He could just make out her sleeping form, the paleness of her skin reflecting the softest of glows from the sickle moon peeking in through the window. Her mass of hair tumbled over the pillow and down her back. And her arm was stretched out across the mattress as though reaching for him, even in deepest sleep.

Gently he took her hand in his and slipped his ring on her finger. Despite the dark, it glittered, tossing off shards of brilliant fire. Then it seemed to quiet, as though content that their final bond was near completion. Satisfied, he returned to the bed and to her arms. And to sleep.

 

He woke again just before dawn, something alerting him to the emptiness beside him. He was out of the bed in a flash. He didn't need to check the cabin to know she'd gone. A glance outside revealed his Porsche sitting right where he'd left it. That left the woods or the lake. The instant he thought of the lake, understanding hit.

So did fear.

He took off at a dead run, shooting through the cabin, out onto the porch. He didn't waste time with the steps, but vaulted over the railing and raced flat-out for the beach. The splinter of moon was setting, flinging the last of its fitful light at the lake, silvering the mirror-flat surface. A shape broke the liquid smoothness, moving steadily out toward the raft anchored offshore.

He dove into the water and stroked toward her, torpedoing through the water on an intercept course. He caught her just as she reached the raft. She heaved herself upward, every bit as naked as he was, and flopped onto the painted wooden boards, breathing hard. He followed her up, keeping a careful distance so he didn't give in to impulse and strangle her.

When he'd recovered his temper and had himself under complete control, he demanded, “Have you lost your damned mind?”

“Did you know you always speak in Italian whenever you're angry?”

“I'm not angry,” he roared. Okay, maybe he didn't have his temper under complete control, but given the circumstances… “What the hell were you thinking, Gianna?”

She sat up. Her breathing hadn't quite returned to normal and her breasts rose and fell, a temptation beyond measure. “I was thinking that I needed to see if I really had gotten over my fear.”