Inferno_Part 1_The Vault Page 4

  I opened my mouth, trying to formulate one of my typical responses. That the idea of some mystical power pulling the strings, orchestrating each person’s destiny, was completely absurd. People believed in the existence of fate because they needed to think there was a hidden meaning in every encounter when they should simply view it for what it was…a random occurrence. Nothing more. But the way he gazed at me, a heady look in his eyes, coupled with the warmth of his body, made me want to consider that he may be onto something.

  “I don’t,” I murmured finally, my voice heavy with indecision.

  Dante’s expression fell. “Pity.” He stepped back. “I, for one, do believe in fate, in destiny. And I tend to believe it was fate that brought us together not once, but twice in the past twenty-four hours.”

  “And what would this so-called fate’s reason be for doing so?”

  “If we knew, I think Fate would be out of a job. Now…” He relaxed his posture, holding his hand toward me once more. “I believe the Trevi Fountain is waiting for us. And it is breathtaking at night.”

  Unable to refuse him, I placed my hand in his and watched with a furtive stare as he feathered a soft kiss on my knuckles, his thumb subtly caressing the ghost of my engagement ring. I shuddered at the thought that had I not walked in on Brock and his secretary in a compromising position, there would most likely be a wedding band there, too. Maybe Dante was right. Maybe there was such a thing as fate. Maybe the universe had finally decided to do something in my favor for once. Maybe there was a reason our paths had crossed.

  Chapter Four

  There was a spiciness in the air as I stepped onto the cobblestone sidewalk, Dante at my side. I inhaled a deep breath, trying to calm my overwrought nerves. The temperature had dropped, making me wish I’d brought a light jacket with me. I rubbed my arms slightly.

  Dante chuckled. “Let me guess. You’ve never lived in a cold climate.” He glanced at me.

  “Southern California, born and raised.”

  “It’s probably twenty degrees, yet you’re cold.”

  I furrowed a brow. “Twenty degrees?” My eyes widened as understanding fell over me. “Oh, you’re talking Celsius.”

  “Si, Eleanor. Welcome to Europe…or the rest of the world, for that matter.”

  He shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it around my shoulders. It was such a simple gesture, but one that spoke volumes. Brock never offered me his jacket when I was chilly. He’d simply admonish me for not dressing appropriately. The more time I spent away from him, the more I questioned how I could have stayed with him as long as I did, my parents’ wishes be damned.

  “This way. It’s only a few blocks.” His hands fell off my shoulders as he led me from his restaurant and down a narrow street made up entirely of brick and cobblestone. Even the sidewalks in this city were beautiful.

  “So, what made you decide to come to Rome to escape your wedding?” he asked, his fingers subtly brushing against my hand.

  “It’s all kind of a blur. In all honesty, coming here had never even been on my radar,” I answered, staring into the distance, not really seeing anything. “I couldn’t be anywhere near home when the shit hit the fan, so to speak. I looked at a list of all the international flights going out of LAX, which were quite a lot. My friend, Mila, insisted I go to Rome, saying it came to her in a vision.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Hmm… Maybe it is fate, after all.” He cocked a brow at me.

  “I don’t think so. Mila’s always been a bit flighty. She asks complete strangers if she can read their palms. Rome was someplace the old Ellie never would have chosen. This trip is all about figuring out who I really am, so…”

  “Ah… So we’re on a soul-seeking mission, are we?”

  “I suppose.” I tugged his jacket tighter around me. I wasn’t cold. There was just something about the warmth of his clothes on my skin that comforted me.

  “Well, Eleanor from Southern California, I do hope you find exactly what you’re looking for here in the Eternal City.”

  I gave him a sideways glance, my eyes lingering on his for a protracted moment before I faced forward once again. A brief silence passed between us as we continued walking.

  “And you?” I asked finally. “Why is Rome home for you?” I looked at the curvature of his face. He had a classic silhouette. Chiseled jawline. Refined nose. Strong cheekbones. Full lips.

  “I’m not so sure Rome is home for me,” he answered after much thought. “I tend to travel quite a bit in my line of work. I sometimes feel more at home in a hotel room than anywhere else.” He narrowed his gaze on me. “Part of me thinks you can understand.”

  His observation caught me by surprise and I came to a stop. The alcohol coursing through my veins made me want to tell him everything that had led me to this point. How I’d spent my life pretending to be someone I wasn’t. How my parents most likely only had me because my dad thought having kids would increase his approval ratings. How they set up my first date with Brock and wouldn’t take no for an answer. How I’d never been able to make a decision of my own in my personal life.

  That was probably why I’d excelled so well at the law firm. I’d been given a modicum of control to handle my clients as I saw fit. No one told me what strategy to use, how to write my motions and briefs, which cases to settle, which cases to take to trial. While the partners did have some say, after seeing my performance record, they gave me wide discretion…something I’d never had before.

  “Come.” Dante urged me forward when I remained stunned and mute. “We’re almost there.”

  I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts, and caught up to his long strides. We rounded a corner, the magnificent fountain coming into view. I exhaled a long, satisfied breath, overwhelmed by the beauty and majesty before me. It was truly a sight to behold, the white stone of the sculptures almost glowing against the pool of water in front of them. The backdrop was even more impressive, a central arch framing the sculptures, a coat of arms looming at the top of the three-story building. I’d seen this fountain in photos and in the movies. Nothing could properly do it justice.

  Dante placed his hand on the small of my back, steering us through the crowd. We weren’t the only ones who’d come to see the grandeur of this fountain at night. The area was inundated with tourists, many of them posing for photos and throwing coins into the water

  As we made our way closer, people seemed to gape at my companion, almost in surprise and excitement. Some even snapped his photo. I wrinkled my brow, scowling slightly. When I started to ask why people were taking his picture, he cut me off.

  “Do you know where the name Trevi Fountain is derived from?”

  “No…,” I answered in a drawn-out voice, my eyes glued to him as he pretended to be blissfully unaware of everyone staring at him.

  “In early Roman times, this fountain was built as the end point of the Aqua Virgo aqueduct. This is the junction of three roads, which is how it got its name. Tre vie means three roads.”

  “I’m glad I ran into you,” I remarked, my tone light. “Not only did I get a free meal out of it, but now I have my own personal tour guide.”

  “I’m quite pleased you ran into me, as well,” he responded, winking. His hand found mine and he pulled me to the edge of the fountain. While it was probably just as impressive during the day, there was something haunting and romantic about this place at night, the white stone brilliant against the dark sky.

  Leaning closer, I observed hundreds, perhaps thousands of coins sprinkled on the bottom of the pool of water in front of the beautiful sculptures. “It’s like a giant piggy bank.”

  “The legend of the fountain,” Dante explained. “If you throw a coin from your right hand over your left shoulder and into the fountain, it’s said to ensure a return trip to Rome.”

  “Is that so?” I glanced around, observing several people doing precisely that.

  “That’s so.”

  I began to reach for my purse when Dante stopped me,
holding out his hand, revealing three coins.

  “Three coins?” I raised a brow.

  “Legend also says to throw in two coins if you’re seeking love, three if you’re hoping for wedding bells.” He inched toward me, his dark eyes narrowed. “So what’ll it be, Eleanor? One, two, or three coins?”

  I kept my gaze locked on his. I’d always hated when people used my full name. I never liked it much and had gone by Ellie most of my life. Something about the way it rolled off Dante’s tongue excited me. He made it sound sexy, charming, vivacious. I had a feeling even the most mundane and boring words would have a completely different life when spoken in his provocative tone.

  “Just one.”

  “Not looking for love?”

  “After ditching my ex-fiancé at the altar, love is the last thing I need in my life right now.”

  “Ah, but we sometimes find it when we least expect it.” He placed a single fifty cent euro coin in my right hand.

  I studied him for a protracted moment, wondering if there was a hidden meaning to his words, but I quickly shook it off. He was probably just being friendly. Turning around so my back was to the fountain, I threw the coin over my left shoulder and into the pool of water. Dante smirked at me when I faced him once more.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugged, his smirk growing.

  “What is it? Do I have food in my teeth or something?”

  “No. You’re just a bit of an enigma, Eleanor. That’s all.”

  “How do you mean?”

  He licked his lips. “You refuse to acknowledge the existence of fate or destiny, yet you’ll throw a coin into a centuries-old fountain in accordance with an arcane legend.”

  Emboldened by my surroundings, I pinched my lips together, raising myself onto my toes. Closing the distance, I inhaled, catching a whiff of his aroma. It wasn’t an overpowering scent. Basil. Mint. Maybe even a hint of licorice. It was a heady combination that intoxicated me in a way no wine ever had.

  “You know what they say, don’t you, Dante?” I whispered in a coy voice, blocking out everything else — the running water, the chatter of tourists, the buzz of scooters speeding down the nearby streets.

  His hand palmed my lower back, forcing me against him. This all felt incredibly surreal. This kind of thing never happened in real life, did it? How did I go from enjoying a quiet dinner alone to standing in front of what was arguably one of Rome’s most romantic sites with a strikingly handsome man’s body pressed against mine? I wanted to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming again.

  If this was a dream, I hoped I’d never wake up.

  “And what’s that, Eleanor?”

  “When in Rome…,” I breathed.

  A smile slowly cracked on his lips. I attempted to step away, but he maintained his firm hold on me. If the sexual tension between us in the restaurant was charged, it had now grown into a five-alarm raging fire, the thumping of my heart loud enough for everyone to hear.

  A subtle wind blew through the plaza, sending an unruly wave of hair in front of my eyes. Dante brushed it behind my ear, the feel of his fingers on my skin turning me into putty.

  “Eleanor.” His tone was guttural, hoarse, impassioned.

  “Dante.”

  He cupped my cheeks in his strong hands, drawing in a deep breath. “You should stay away from me.” There was a pleading look in his eyes.

  “What if I don’t want to?” I answered in a small voice.

  “You barely know me.”

  “Sometimes that’s a good thing,” I insisted. “There are fewer complications.”

  “You just left your fiancé at the altar,” he reminded me, his lips so close to mine, I could almost taste them. He ran his hand down my cheek, my neck, the curve of my body, settling on my waist. His words and body language were entirely contradictory, as if he were engaged in his own internal battle between his head and heart. “Your judgment is compromised right now.”

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I need this. I need you.”

  “I’m just going to use you, Eleanor.”

  “Do you think I care?” I whispered, the truth of my words surprising me.

  This was something the old Ellie would have never done. She would never throw herself at a man, let alone one she barely knew. She never would have even considered his invitation to accompany him to the fountain. That was precisely why I needed to do this.

  “I’m in Rome for ten days,” I said in the firm voice I typically reserved for the courtroom. “Then I will board a plane back to the States and never see you again. If anyone’s using someone, I believe it’s the other way around.”

  “Or perhaps it’s mutual.”

  “Isn’t that all sex is anyway?” Emboldened, I straightened my spine. This was simply another negotiation. I was a damn good negotiator, as long as no one in my family was a party to it. “Two people using each other for their mutual benefit?” I looked away, my confidence faltering momentarily. “At least it should be for their mutual benefit.”

  “But it wasn’t, was it?” Dante grabbed my chin, forcing my eyes back to his, gazing at me with an expression that was hard to label. It wasn’t sympathy or pity. Perhaps understanding?

  “None of that matters,” I answered, my confidence returning as I shook off the memories of my former life. “I’m done living in the past, living according to someone else’s rules. My parents would die of heart failure if they knew I was currently propositioning a man in front of the Trevi Fountain.”

  “Then why are you?” Dante asked. His resolve surprised me. I thought most men would jump at the chance of a complete stranger — a tourist, no less — propositioning them for a night of passion, then never seeing each other again. “Is the only reason you’re doing this to spite your parents?”

  “I’m twenty-eight.”

  “Such a baby,” he commented smoothly, caressing my cheek.

  I melted into the contact, then swiftly snapped out of the spell his touch cast over me. “I’m far past the age of doing something just to piss off my parents.”

  “Not if all you’ve ever done is live by their rules.” He studied me momentarily, then released his hold on me, briskly walking away.

  I blinked repeatedly, surprised by his sudden retreat. Dumbfounded, I watched as he maneuvered seamlessly through the crowd before turning the corner, disappearing from view. It took me a minute to snap out of whatever daze I was in. Finally, my brain told my legs to put one in front of the other and I hurried to catch up, spying Dante walking in the direction of the restaurant. At least I thought it was toward the restaurant. All these streets seemed to look the same.

  “Maybe it was fate,” I called out, my voice echoing against the stone buildings.

  He stopped and turned to look at me.

  “You said it yourself,” I continued when he remained silent. “You believe there’s a reason our paths crossed. Maybe this is that reason.”

  “This?” He lifted a brow, closing the distance between us with long, determined strides. My breathing grew ragged, my pulse skyrocketing from the carnal expression on his face.

  “Yes.” I swallowed hard. “This.”

  “You think our paths crossed simply so I could fuck you?”

  The way those words left his mouth excited me in a way I didn’t think possible. This went against everything I believed in, yet I’d never wanted anything so badly in my life. I wanted to break a few rules. I wanted to have a one-night stand with a handsome stranger. I wanted to eat food that was high in calories and fat. I wanted to throw caution to the wind and take a risk. I wanted to laugh again.

  “There’s only one way to find out now, isn’t there?”

  He pulled me to him, nuzzling my neck. “I thought you didn’t believe in fate,” he crooned.

  I closed my eyes, lost in the sensation of his touch. I didn’t know anything about this man, other than he was in Los Angeles for some reason and he owned a restaurant in R
ome. Other than that, he could have been a sexual predator, a drug addict, or worse…at least in Brock’s opinion…a socialist. But none of that mattered to me. I didn’t care about the unlikelihood he was a hardened criminal or had strange quirks, like collecting toenails. All I cared about was the rush of electricity running through me from the feel of his body so close to mine.

  “Then make me a believer.”

  I didn’t know what came over me at that precise moment, but the tension I’d felt building all night had become unbearable. In desperation, I grasped his cheeks in my hands and forced his mouth to mine. His body stiffened momentarily before he groaned, deepening the kiss, his tongue expertly invading my mouth. His kisses weren’t reserved by any stretch of the imagination. They were full of passion and excitement. I didn’t remember Brock ever kissing me like this. His kisses were chaste. Restrained. Modest. They were nothing like the hungry way Dante kissed me, the way he held me against him, his mouth locked on mine in a way that made me think he couldn’t let go, even if he wanted to.

  Panting, he tore away, surprising me. He studied me for several excruciatingly long moments, and I braced myself for him to walk away, to tell me I wasn’t the type of woman he was interested in.

  Then he grabbed my hand and yanked me down a darkened alley. Before I could say anything, he clutched my hips, lifting me and forcing my legs around his waist as he pressed my back against the wall. With fever in his eyes, he dove in for another impassioned kiss, thrusting against me. I raked my fingers through his coarse hair, lost in the sensation of him between my legs. I was wound tight, desperate for some sort of release. I was on the precipice of coming undone, my brain a slave to my starving libido.

  “Is this what you want, Eleanor?” he grunted, then cupped my face in his large hands, forcing me to peer into his eyes.

  “Yes.”

  He buried his head in the crook of my neck. My eyes rolled back into my head as his teeth clamped onto my skin. I gasped, the pain remarkably pleasurable. I had no idea what had come over me, but I wanted more, the ache jumpstarting my heart, bringing me back to life.