Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay) (11 page)

When she dug her nails into his hand, he didn’t move. Somehow she had unleashed her healing ability. Backward.

She was the beneficiary.

She snatched her hand away from his arm.

He cleared his throat. “Um, can I hold your glasses for you?”

“No,” she mumbled against her knees. “I can’t see anything without them.”

“Okay. Ah, okay.” He hovered nearby, not exactly retreating but not moving.

Hannah found that a funny concept: Dante unsure. All because she had a meltdown. Great. She glanced up at him, expecting to see revulsion from ... everything. From her panic, from the healing reversal, from the ludicrous scene here in this bookstore.

But nothing in his grim expression indicated that he sensed the reversal of her healing. He simply knelt nearby, as she attempted to salvage something positive from her emotional meltdown.

Salvage? What a joke.

She was a mess, and Dante had no idea to do with a hyperventilating woman. What a pair they made. She took a few deep gulps of air and blew them out. Fine. She’d be fine. Of course she’d be fine, but she wasn’t convincing herself.

It’s Dante. He’s here right now. Not Ray.
His warm hands on her arms brought her back to reality, as did his now perfectly normal, electric-blue eyes.

“I must apologize. It was inappropriate of me to take advantage,” he said.

Worry and disappointment etched lines on his chiseled features. Hot shame warmed her cheeks.

“No, it’s my fault. It’s complicated.” She waved her hand. “This has nothing to do with you.”

She braced her legs to get up; he steadied her. Once she stood on her own, he let go and stepped back. Without the contact, her skin cooled and her knees went weak. Despite the fact that she craved his warm touch, she grasped the stark reality of her circumstances. What future did she have with any man?

Dante cleared his throat. “So, maybe I can help you organize books for a little while?”

The uncertainty his wrinkled forehead conveyed struck her as odd. He usually oozed self-assurance.

“Unless you’d rather me leave, which I will immediately do, upon your request.”

Her cheeks and neck heated up.
He’s throwing you a line. Carry on like nothing happened. Pretend. It’ll be fine
.

“All right, then. Since you’re offering. Let’s make a junior bookstore worker out of you.”

“I’m yours to command. Tell me what to shelve.”

He straightened up, but his grin didn’t quite make it to his wary eyes as he continued to study her. Dante had decided to stick around, although God knew why. She didn’t know whether to be thankful or feel sorry for herself or for him.

• • •

Hannah moved efficiently, her fingers trailing over spines until, finding the book she sought, she briskly pulled it out and handed it to Dante. He fixated on those delicate hands, wanted them trailing over his spine. He couldn’t focus.

What the hell had happened just minutes ago? He’d never seen a woman so terrified of anything or anyone, much less himself. Her stiff shoulders and mouth pressed into a thin line painted quite a picture of a person fighting to maintain control—and succeeding only by the barest of margins.

Whatever demons haunted her, he’d like nothing better than to destroy them and take the grim weight of fear from her thin frame. Curiosity pricked at his tongue, but he resisted asking questions. The last thing he wanted was to scare her further.

For now, he’d concentrate on the job of shelving. The questions would wait until later, but he was determined to find answers.

Except for the top shelves, they no longer needed the ladder thanks to his height. At least he could be useful. He certainly didn’t want to leave her alone for one moment, what with the minion running around. Truth be told, he didn’t want to leave her alone for one moment for no reason resembling altruism.

Other than the occasional brush of fingers, which zinged dangerous sensations straight to his groin and stole his breath, they worked smoothly through the afternoon. Dante tried to keep conversation light, but he continued to watch Hannah. Behind those rectangular glasses were two orbs of deep chocolate, flecked with sparks of gold. While the long skirt and loose top hid her curves, he knew better. He recalled the indentation of her tiny waist, the flare of her hips, her firm breasts pressed against him. Her fragile frame made him want to wrap his arms tightly around her and keep her safe. Not usually what he went for. He liked the taller, buxom women. The curvy, willing women. But Hannah had something indefinable that he couldn’t resist.

He wanted more.

Tread carefully
.

At times, she acted like a deer about to bolt. He wanted to avoid scaring her away more than anything he’d wanted in a long time. He frowned.
Vad i helvete?
What happened to keeping his options open? To more conquests? To women throwing themselves at his feet?

He’d succeeded, right? He had delivered the news of Ray’s death. Although, it rankled that she didn’t appreciate his efforts more. Had to be the shock of hearing the news. Or did her reaction have anything to do with the stark fear minutes ago?

No matter. Despite all her earlier rejections and protestations, here she stood, finally accepting his presence. Her eyes had fluttered at him and her soft cheeks turned pink at his attention.

So why did this victory feel empty?

“You missed the spot. Over a few more books, please.”

Her smooth, low voice brought him out of his thoughts as he searched for the right location for the book in question. Although he wanted to cast his mind toward more pleasurable concepts, he had to concentrate to follow her directions to the fourth shelf space and correctly place the volume of poetry.

How the mighty have fallen
.

And the scariest part? He couldn’t care less that he’d been relegated to shelving duty, as long as it meant remaining close to her.

“No problem, boss, your wish is my command.” He winked, hoping she enjoyed looking at his physique as much as he enjoyed flexing it in front of her.

Her cheeks turned red beneath the freckles, and she ducked her head and smiled, releasing the tension in her lips and jaw. Desire to make her blush forever shocked him with its intensity.

What’s wrong with you, dude? Since when did you get all squishy over a woman like this?

Since Marguerite in 1830, come to think of it.

He’d heard about a revolution in France, and never one to miss a citizen uprising in his immortal form, he traveled there to lend a hand with whichever side seemed most oppressed. Besides, he’d been bored and needed something to do. When he met the Paris cloth merchant’s daughter, Marguerite, he fell in love. One bloody revolution and thirty years later, it had nearly destroyed him when she died a natural death at age fifty-two, leaving him alone again. Since his French wife’s death, he’d only gone for brief, no-strings-attached interludes. Anything else hurt too much. Human life was so transient. So fragile.

And now?

He was an idiot. Hannah would eventually leave him just like Marguerite did, even if she survived the minion’s desire to harm her.

She was mortal. Dante was accursed. Not much to discuss. Then why not enjoy her while he could? He had needs; he was still a hot-blooded male. He wouldn’t have trouble getting her in bed—all women succumbed to his charm eventually, right? But the mere thought left him cold. He wouldn’t toy with her and then leave her as was his usual routine. She was a forever kind of woman. Which made for a big problem. His forever lasted a hell of a lot longer than hers, and he couldn’t go through another loss like with Marguerite.

Maybe he should ask Peter again how he got out of his contract. Last time Dante tried to get the information, his previously undead friend wouldn’t tell him. Maybe Peter could be coerced into giving up the information for a curious buddy.

But what would Dante do if he escaped his Indebted existence? At this moment, he had everything: unlimited women, riches, and virtual immortality.

Besides, Peter’s and Barnaby’s Meaningful Kills were flukes, right? Two men returned to mortal form out of how many Indebted over how many centuries? Dante would likely be here doing Jerahmeel’s bidding for hundreds more years. Which reminded him, he’d fallen behind on his quota for the month. He had to go hunting soon.

The throb of the warm blade strapped to his lower leg had been increasing its insistence over the last few days. Desire to plunge the blade into a criminal consumed Dante’s mind. He needed the sweet release of some sick bastard’s soul bleeding into the knife, then the knife’s siren call would quiet down for a time.

“... Dante?”

He blinked and focused on the lovely bespectacled face before him.

“Daydreaming?”

“Guilty.”

He couldn’t stop smiling around her. Not good.

She glanced at her watch. “Well, um, I’m done for the day. We’re done.”

“Excellent. I think we should reward our hard work with a nice meal.”

“Oh, no, I can’t. I need to get home.”

The fear that flickered over her created a surge of protective instinct in Dante’s chest. How disturbing.

“How about a quick snack and I walk you home?”

“No, thank you.”

“Look, are you still upset about the news about Ray?”

“It’s more complicated than that. And, um, I have to thank you for the effort you made to deliver that information.”

“So why can’t you go out to eat with me?”

“We can’t.”

“We?”

“Scott doesn’t—”

“Doesn’t what? Like me?”

She dropped her gaze to the empty cart. “Kind of. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Unless, of course, you also don’t like me?”

Her cheeks blazed red; she looked everywhere but directly at him. “No, I don’t ... No. I wouldn’t say that.”

He touched her shoulder and cursed himself again when she flinched. “Why don’t I walk you partway home and call it good? You don’t have to tell Scott.”

When her eyes lit up with hope, his big, burly heart melted.

She tugged at a strand of her hair. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. There’s a nice café nearby where we can get a bite to eat and then go on home. ‘Hope in the heart of men lives on lean pasture.’”

“More
Tristan and Iseult
?”

“Of course. It’s surprisingly appropriate.”

“I’m not sure.”

“About the quote?”

“About the snack.”

“Please.”

She thought for several long moments. “Okay.”

When she smiled up at him, his world narrowed down to her lovely face. Hell, he’d only offered her a sandwich; she acted as though he’d presented her the world. And damn him if he didn’t want to give her the world, if only to watch her beam like that over and over.

Herre Gud
. He’d found the one woman he shouldn’t have. The one woman mixed up with Jerahmeel’s minion. The one woman who made him consider ending his endless contract. He envisioned no happy ending here. Only pain and eternal torment.

And he was taking her out on a dinner date.

Du år an idiot
.

Night falling, and her belly full of panini, Hannah strolled next to Dante, north toward the rental. Over the light dinner, he’d even coerced a cell phone number out of her.

Bless him, he didn’t mention their hot and heavy interlude in the bookstore or her weenie meltdown. Just like yesterday’s walk home, he kept the conversation breezy, asking her questions that weren’t too personal. Questions she could answer. Although he avoided serious topics, she glimpsed moments of intensity where he focused on her and nothing else. Like he was hungry. For her.

Yeah, right. He’s only completing his civic duty, and then it’ll be over.

Truth be told, she wanted to get rid of him long before they arrived at the rental. He shouldn’t have to deal with someone as rude as her brother and his creepy friend. Dante had been kind and patient. She could at least return the favor by shielding him from a nasty confrontation.

“I’ll, ah, go on home from here.” She fidgeted with the purse strap slung across her chest and glanced up the street. Not many people around. Good.

“I can walk with you a bit farther.”

His deep voice made her insides tingle. Hannah wanted to drown in that warm baritone.

Stop enjoying it. He needs to stay away. For his sake and for mine
.

“No, Scott will be mad. I’m so sorry. It’s really not you. I have no idea what’s gotten into my brother.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position,” he said.

How he remained civil despite her brother’s rudeness and her own weirdness amazed her.

Dante cleared his throat. “Um, I would like to give you a kiss goodnight. With your permission, of course.”

Her heart fluttered wildly against her ribcage. Seriously? Well, sure. What would be the harm?

Darting a glance around the residential street in the growing twilight, she nodded. And shivered.

Thankfully, she had a moment to hold the transfer block in place before he touched her skin.

He lifted her chin with one large, warm finger and exhaled slowly as he bent down. The scent of their dinner and his cologne surrounded her. His firm lips, soft but insistent, felt like paradise. Bolts of happiness shot from her lips straight down her legs.

Dante didn’t move. He only kissed her, one hand caressing her neck and jaw. He kept the other hand at his side. Hannah’s head swam, and she grabbed the front of his shirt, using it as leverage to rise higher and press against his mouth.

This time, she experienced no fear, but only delicate, growing pleasure at his light touch. His warm breath mingled with hers, and warmth, like holding her hands to a welcoming fireplace, flowed through her entire body. Cold panic had been fully replaced by toasty happiness.

The heat radiating from him rose a notch, and she relaxed into him, hoping he would put his arms around her. But he didn’t move except to slant his mouth in lovely new angles. She wanted more. More contact, more of the warmth.

Freedom felt like kissing a handsome man without freaking out.