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‘I’m thinking about it now,’ Dante said, and each word tautened her within.
Alicia half turned her head, but not enough so that she could see him. He was taking her straight back to the woman he’d met a long time ago. One whocoulddeal with the sulky darkness of Dante.
She knew, too, that her back would be a reminder of long ago, and that her voice, her words, were pure seduction. Yet this was unrehearsed, for her talent was untrained and exclusive to Dante...
‘I, too, am thinking of that day...’ Her voice was tuned to his, low and husky, yet breathless and carnal.
‘Turn around, Alicia.’
They would lead each other to danger. The path she stepped on would be as familiar as unlatching the little gate behind the church and disappearing into the rushes that led down to the river and the place only they knew.
Oh, she’d missed him, Alicia acknowledged as she turned and saw him, lying on his side, those navy eyes on her.
Yes, one final kiss, she decided as she walked towards him. Time for a new memory to whisper into her dreams at night. God knew she needed one after ten years.
And, because it was Dante, not for a second did he question her approach to the bed.
He knew she was not walking over to claim the tip that lay discarded.
He would kiss the truth out of her, Dante decided. He would hold her wrists and have her look him in the eyes as she revealed her reasons. He would get her to admit what she was up to, albeit with gentle tactics.
And so he held out an arm, and as she neared he reached for her hip and pulled her closer. ‘I knew it was you,’ Dante told her, ‘before I had even opened my eyes.’
‘Liar...’ she said on a breath as she closed her eyes.
And because it was Dante, his kiss to welcome her back was not on the lips. Instead, his unpredictable mouth met the fabric that covered her stomach, pressing his face against it as his hand stroked first her bottom and then moved up to the ribbons of the apron she wore. He located the ties easily, as if he had been planning on doing just that.
Alicia guessed that he had, for she had felt the heat of his stare.
‘Didyou know it was me?’ he asked, flicking the lower poppers. And now his tongue met the soft skin of her stomach in a long velvet kiss.
‘No,’ she said, and felt a little giddy as he stopped kissing her stomach and then took not her hand, but her fingers.
‘You’re sure about that?’ he checked.
‘Not till I saw your name...’
She breathed out a shaky breath as he kissed her palm, slowly at first, and then wet and deep. Until now Alicia had not known that there was a line that ran directly from her palm to between her thighs, but with each lick of his tongue, each decadent kiss, she felt the ache of arousal.
‘Alicia,’ he demanded, and his large hand was around her wrist now, holding her as he looked up.
But whatever he’d been about to say no longer mattered, it would seem, because his head went back down and he kissed her forearm, then the inside of her upper arm, pushing up her short sleeves and breathing in her scent. Then his mouth moved to her breast. But perhaps he considered the wet trail his mouth might leave, for he removed it.
‘Please...’ she implored, looking at his mouth as she hurtled back a decade to a place where she was wanting and willing.
Dante accepted her plea and moved so that he was sitting up, and then pulled her onto the bed, into his lap.
Alicia went easily. She was so pliant—as if all thought had left her, just as it had that day long ago. Her legs clamped his thighs, but Dante hitched up her dress in a practical manoeuvre so she could more widely straddle him. And she was so terribly willing. For it was she who lowered her head towards him. And the feel of his lips against hers was so sublime that she closed her eyes and drank from him.
Yet his kiss was different now. Even as he gave her his mouth she felt it was a more refined kiss. He was no doubt more skilled now, but that was not the kiss she wanted.
‘Dante...’ She was demanding as they kissed, arguing with his tongue, wanting to feel again the intemperate thrill of his deepest kiss. Rising onto her knees and asking forthatkiss with her tongue.
For a moment she found it, and his new practised kiss was lost as he briefly returned to the kind of kiss to which Alicia owned exclusive rights. His hand came to the back of her head and he pressed her face into his, their mouths melding, panting, knowing the other again.
Alicia took over the pressure then, holding his head, kissing him hard, freeing his hands to do as they chose. And they chose to bring her back down to his lap, only closer this time.
Their tongues were wet, his jaw was rough, and now his hands were stroking her bare thighs—and not gently. They were rubbing her skin as if making fire, and then they came up to her buttocks, andthiskiss, the return ofhiskiss, was an unexpected relief.
