Page 99 of Vow Of Fire

“What about now?” I whispered.

He gave a tense shrug. “Now it doesn’t matter as much.”

“You don’t mind if I see who you really are? The man behind the mask?”

His silver eyes bore into mine, sucking the air from my lungs.

Then he blinked and turned away. “It’s a painting, Ophelia. That’s all.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” I whispered. “I never was.”

“Ophelia,” he growled softly, heat flickering behind his eyes. “Trust me, you need to leave.”

“Why?” I whispered. I didn’t know what I was doing, or why I was doing it, I just knew I wanted this man. “What will happen if I stay?”

It was a bad idea. The worst. Yet I still didn’t leave and go back to my room.

The silence stretched out.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as he set the whiskey down on the table. Reaching across, he hauled me sideways into his lap.

I gasped as his arms wrapped around me, strong and firm. He smelled of aftershave, whiskey, and clean, male heat.

He laid his head on my shoulder, and I froze, unsure what to do.

Dante had never shown any vulnerability before and I wondered how much he’d had to drink.

Slowly, I reached up and encircled him, holding him to my breast.

He let out a low growl, as if resisting me physically pained him. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he lifted his head, just as I threaded my fingers into his hair, and his mouth met mine.

His kiss was deep, urgent, and I could taste the whiskey on his tongue. I felt the battle going on inside him. He wanted this, wanted me, but he knew we shouldn’t.

I didn’t disagree. It was all kinds of wrong, but maybe that’s what made it so good. I couldn’t help the plaintive moan that escaped me as he snaked a hand up to grip the back of my neck. It was such a blatantly possessive gesture, and I loved the little rush it gave me. I liked that he couldn’t resist me, that he couldn’t stay away.

Because I couldn’t either.

We were drawn to each other like moths to a flame, even though we both knew we’d eventually get burned. It was inevitable.

“I thought you said last night was the last time,” I murmured against his lips.

“I lied,” he rasped, pausing just long enough to pull me forward so I was sitting directly in his lap.

“Oh boy,” I whispered, as his lips reclaimed mine and I felt his enormous erection pressing into my thigh through the silky material of my nightgown. There was no mistaking how much he wanted me.

With a low growl, he hiked it up around my waist. The flimsy silk panties I wore underneath were already soaked.

“Jesus, Ophelia. I love how wet you are for me.”

I didn’t bother to deny it. That’s what this man did to me.

“I need to taste you.”

He pulled the straps down and the top of my nightgown fell, exposing my breasts.

He drew in a ragged breath as he cupped them, as if testing their weight.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he muttered, before bending his head and taking one puckered peak into his mouth. It was hot and decadent, and when he sucked, I felt the sensation radiate downward, straight to my core. The man was sinfully good at that.