Page 55 of Vow Of Fire

Just like he’d said I would.

To make matters worse, my T-shirt was hiked up around my breasts, my panties were askew, and at some point, I had flung my arms around Dante’s neck and was clinging to him like he was a lifeline—when we both knew he was anything but.

My cheeks burned with humiliation as I peeled myself off him. Why had he let me lie there recovering? He was probably gloating, the smug bastard.

To my surprise, he gripped me by the waist and lifted me up, putting me down on the couch next to him. I stared at him, unsure what to say. Thank you didn’t seem appropriate, under the circumstances.

“Fuck you,” I muttered instead.

“Maybe next time,” he retorted and got to his feet.

Very funny.

There wasn’t going to be a next time. No way was I letting him anywhere near me or my vagina again.

He made for the door.

“Where are you going?” I blurted out. It was the middle of the night. There was nowhere to go. We were in the middle of a state forest.

“None of your business,” he snapped, and felt in his pocket for his keys. In one swift move, he unlocked the door and stepped out into the night, leaving me a quivering hot mess on the couch.

I didn’t know how long he was gone for, or even when he got back, because I went to bed. I hadn’t thought I’d be able to sleep, not after what had happened, but the second I closed my eyes, I was out like a light. When I woke the next morning, I didn’t even remember dreaming.

The cabin was quiet when I got up. The couch was empty, and glad for the privacy, I slipped into the bathroom and took a long, hot, self-recriminating shower.

The heat reignited the memories from last night and I swear I could still smell his aftershave on my skin.

Had I really let him do that?

Worse, I’d enjoyed it. To my everlasting shame, I’d even pleaded with him not to stop.

I heaved a sigh. It was official, I’d lost my mind.

I must have, to be attracted to a man like Dante Marcelli. I mean, he had absolutely no redeeming qualities—apart from being insanely good with his hands.

That small trait aside, he was grumpy, rude, and distant. Not to mention controlling and dangerous. Violent too, judging by what he’d told me and the scars on his irritatingly gorgeous body.

Okay, I had to admit he was handsome in a cold, ruthless kind of way, if you liked that sort of thing. So not my type, though. The men I usually dated were arty, creative types, filled with passion and angst. Not ruthless thugs with tattoos and scars.

Yet I’d never been so hot for anyone before.

I hated to think what would have happened if it had been anything other than his fingers inside me.

Reaching for the faucet, I turned on the cold water. It sliced through me, making me yelp, but it had the desired effect of cooling down my heated cheeks, and my equally heated thoughts. By the time I stepped out, I was shivering but composed. A small price to pay for sanity.

Dante Marcelli was the devil, and I was going to make sure I kept him at arm’s length from now on.

“You know any self-defense?” Dante asked, when I walked into the living room almost an hour later.

I’d been hiding in the bedroom since my shower because I’d heard him return from wherever he’d been and hadn’t wanted to see him. The only reason I’d emerged was because I was hungry.

“Why?” His question had caught me off guard. Of all the things I’d expected him to say this morning, that was not one of them.

He wore jeans and a gray sweatshirt that hugged his well-built torso in all the right places and brought out the silver threads in his eyes. More casual than I’d seen him before, but I guess, stuck out here, there was no need for a suit.

He didn’t answer my question.

Instead, he asked, “Can you use a gun?”