Chapter 8

  The grand ballroom was a sea of penguin suits and tight-fitting gowns, people spilling into all angles of the camera’s wide lenses for photo ops and general narcissism.

  Dante couldn’t claim to know half of the uptight tuxedos in his house, most of them invited through Paul, but he did glimpse dozens of famous Hollywood and political types who were apparently good for exposure. He didn’t care but he knew they were pertinent to the cause.

  In the mix were the allotted doctors and sick kids they had requested and for a foreign second, he felt a stab of guilt. The children seemed ill-at-ease, as if they knew they were being used as pawns in a game.

  This is wrong, he thought, his eyes scanning the crowd for Paul. They don’t need to be here in the shark tank. We’ll put them in the game and theater room so they can actually enjoy themselves while they’re here, not sitting around watching failed presidents eating caviar with arthritic fingers.

  With a champagne glass in his elegant hand, he circled the room, a genial smile plastered on his face as he made small talk with the guests and waited for the formal dinner to commence.

  How is this only cocktail hour? I’m already aching to set my own house on fire. What the hell was I thinking?

  Having the gala in his home went against every fiber of his being, showing off the opulent home he had guarded so closely.

  It’s only one night, he reminded himself. You can do this for your company.

  “You’re losing your charming smile,” Paul piped in his ear and Dante wondered from where the middle-aged hipster had materialized.

  “Get the kids out of the ballroom,” he ordered. “Set them up downstairs and put on a movie. Order them some pizza or something.”

  “But D.C., we need them here!” he protested. “They are the reason people are throwing money at the – “

  “Do I look like I need to be mansplained to?” Dante hissed, his multi-colored eyes flashing in fury. “You’re a smart guy. You can’t figure out how to have cameras on the kids without them being here?”

  Paul paled and nodded.

  “Yeah, of course you’re right,” he agreed quickly, knowing that an argument would not serve him well. “It doesn’t look good if the kids look uncomfortable.”

  “Do it now,” Dante ordered, turning away as a bejeweled woman touched his arm.

  “Dante, darling!” Corinna Dupris cried, air kissing his cheeks phonily as she clung to his arm. “How wonderful that you are doing such a lovely thing for the children!”

  Dante cast Paul a warning look and the PR manager disappeared into the crowd to round up the kids.

  “Well, Corinna, you know that the Seattle Children’s Hospital is one of my favorite charities. I figured that there is no reason that everyone shouldn’t get the opportunity to share in my love for such a worthy cause.”

  She laughed merrily, her voice reminiscent of Shax’s high-pitched shrill and he wished she would release her claws from his forearm.

  “Some people believe that this is a publicity stunt,” she told him, leaning in conspiratorially. “But I know you’re kind-hearted underneath that powerhouse exterior.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time that Corinna had tried to seduce him and Dante knew it would likely not be the last. Every time he saw the senator’s wife, she seemed to grow more aggressive as if she would eventually win against his immortal indifference to her nouveau riche status. 

  “You’re kind to say so,” he replied, slowly removing his extremity from her grip. His eyes moved over her dyed platinum chignon toward the entranceway, a familiar prickling sensation rising on the back of his neck.

  Corinna was purring something else in his ear but Dante could no longer hear her, his eyes traveling like lasers over the horde of people, his pulse beginning to race.

  She’s here, he realized, gulping back his disbelief.

  “Excuse me,” Dante muttered, pulling himself away, his body temperature rising as he made his way out of the ballroom, toward the foyer. He could sense her nearby, the same way he had in the hospital.

  Was she a doctor? One of the guests?

  In the back of his mind, Dante could not let go of the idea that Arya was there as more than just a party guest.

  “Where are you going, D.C?”

  “Where is the guest list?” he demanded and Paul shrugged, pointing toward the security milling around the entranceway.

  “They all have it on their tablets,” Paul replied, his face scrunched in perplexity. “Why? Do you see someone here who doesn’t belong?”

  But before he could open his mouth to respond, he saw her.

  For a moment, Dante was sure he was imagining things, taken away by the feeling of intoxication which had overcome him.

  “Boss?”

  She slid inside the house through the open double doors, nodding curtly to security as she ventured through.

  They had no reason to suspect she didn’t belong. After all, she was dressed in an expensive floor-length gown in a stunning teal blue, and adorned with a gold and diamond set which accentuated her sparkling eyes and auburn hair perfectly. The shoulder length waves were pinned to the sides with pretty combs, the tresses spilling against her naked shoulders to curve around the line of her chin.

  Instantly, Dante remembered the feel of her jawbone against his lips and without warning, he felt a telltale tug in his pants.

  As she walked across the marble floor, a pair of black slippers peeked against the hemline of her dress and she clutched a small jewelled handbag tightly with her fingers.

  It was only her hands which gave away her nervousness, her beautiful face not displaying an ounce of insecurity as she stared about almost indifferently. Even as a liveried waiter strolled past with a full tray of goblets, she picked one up with ease and nonchalance, her eyes displaying nothing.

  What is she doing here?

  She seemed to either sense him or hear his thoughts, her head rising to stare at him directly and time froze between the two, a heaviness hanging in the air.

  Dante knew that her presence could not be met with anything but suspicion yet he would be lying to himself if he said he was not dizzy with desire for her.

  He didn’t remember crossing the floor but suddenly they were standing face-to-face and he was peering into her fair face, searching for his voice.

  “Hi,” she offered first. “Did you come to steal my drink again?”

  He gaped at her for a moment, his mouth parted as he tried to understand why Arya Ambrose was standing before him. There was an underlying bitterness in her tone, despite the bemused smile on her face but before he could respond, a security officer appeared, seizing her by the arm.

  “I’m sorry, miss. You’re not authorized to be here.”

  Arya’s face contorted into anger as she wrenched her arm away indignantly.

  “Don’t touch me!” she spat. “I am authorized to be here. You’re wrong.”

  “Come with me, miss and we’ll sort it out from outside the gate. The facial recognition software has flagged – “

  “It’s all right, Henry. She can stay,” Dante interjected. “Don’t touch her.”

  “But sir, if she’s not on the list – “

  “Is this my house or yours, Henry?”

  The guard lowered his head but Dante caught the twitch of defiance in his face.

  “I am just looking out for your safety, Mr. Carmichael. She is – “

  “I just said she’s fine. Do I need to say it again?” Dante’s eyes fixated on the security officer’s face, his gaze boring into him with fury.

  Henry cleared his throat and backed away.

  “No, Mr. Carmichael.”

  Dante dismissed him with a wave of his hand and turned his attention back to Arya.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “But you did sneak in here.”

  “I didn’t!” she replied hotly. “I was invited by Jefferson Cutway but he ditched me as soon as we walked in.”

  Dante felt a pang of jealousy snake through him.

  “Jeff Cutway? I thought he was gay,” he replied evenly and Arya laughed.

  “I never noticed,” she replied. “Anyway, thanks for rescuing me. It’s good seeing you again.”

  She turned away and Dante felt a stab of panic grip him as he realized she was leaving him.

  “Arya, wait!”

  She eyed him warily.

  “What is it?”

  “I – I just – “he stopped abruptly, suddenly realizing how many eyes were on the two of them.

  Cameras were flashing from every corner and suddenly he felt very conspicuous.

  “Can we go somewhere and talk privately for a few minutes?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she murmured, taking a quick sip of her drink, her eyes shifting about.

  “Please. I owe you an explanation.”

  She eyed him reluctantly.

  “I don’t think that – “

  “Dante, who is your friend?”

  An obnoxious male reporter whose name evaded Dante at that moment approached and Arya turned away, her face reddening with embarrassment.

  Without responding, Dante grabbed her arm, sensing she was about to slip away and guided her away from the crowd, down the hallway toward his study.

  “Dante, I really don’t need an explanation,” she murmured but she didn’t fight him as they made their way into the library.

  He secured the doors at his back and watched as Arya slowly wandered through the large room, her eyes fixated on the endless books lining the high walls toward the stained-glass skylight.

  The room was his sanctuary, a place he went to escape and it seemed fitting that he was sharing it with Arya when it was off-limits to everyone else.

  “How have you been?” he heard himself ask. “You look well.”

  He wasn’t flattering her; she had a quality about her which enhanced her already lovely looks, a maturity which had not aged her in the least. She still looked exactly how he remembered her, the way she played out in his memories and sometimes, his dreams.

  “Thanks. You too,” she replied quickly, downing the rest of her drink with one gulp. She was looking for an escape, her nervousness overcoming her but he was not about to let her go so easily.

  “Arya, I came looking for you,” he told her, striding toward her as she stood, looking out the rectangular windows into the rose gardens beyond. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night.”

  As he neared her, she didn’t turn but her shoulders tensed, sensing his approach.

  “You haven’t?” she replied easily. “That’s flattering.”

  Again, he heard the cynicism in her voice and he knew that his actions would not be easily explained but he had to try. Whatever they had shared was a bond he couldn’t deny. And he could tell that despite her wariness, Arya felt the same or else she would not be standing there.

  “Arya, I didn’t leave you on purpose. I had to go. It was beyond my control.”

  “It’s fine, Dante. I’m not mad.”

  He didn’t believe her proclamation in the least.

  “Will you please look at me?” he growled. “I am trying to tell you what happened.”

  “That was a long time ago, Dante. A lot has changed. I’ve changed.”

  The words lacked conviction and he was not ready to give up so easily.

  “You came here to see me,” he said and she slowly turned, her emerald eyes filled with something he could not quite understand.

  “You missed me too,” he told her, pulling her closer. “I can tell you did.”

  She shook her head in denial but he caught her mouth in mid-swing, pressing his lips against hers.

  Three years of pent up passion bubbled at the surface as the electricity he remembered so well coursed between them. Arya moaned slightly, her lips parting. As he stared at her face, he saw the resolve dissipating slowly.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured, pulling back to stroke her face. “I won’t leave you again. I swear.”

  Her hands encircled his neck and she pulled him back toward her, sighing deeply as they locked into another embrace, the heat between them rising.

  For the first time in years, Dante felt right, his body pressed to hers as she bucked forward to feel the bulge at his crotch.

  Her fingers twined into his hair almost painfully but he was far too caught up in the moment to notice the anger in her clutch, even as she forced his face along the ridge of her chin.

  She smelled the same and yet different as if her pheromones had evolved, the scent of her skin driving him wilder, his kisses becoming bullets of lava, splotching along her shoulders.

  Arya pulled him back, her calves contacting the window seat where she fell, pushing his face lower into her bosom.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he groaned, his mouth teasing along the flesh of her breasts.

  “Show me,” she purred and he yanked the bodice of her shimmering gown lower to expose the dark pink skin of her nipples.

  Suctioning onto her, he dropped to his knees, her legs parting as his palms lifted the delicate material of her skirts.

  Arya groaned, her back falling against the cushions, her legs rising toward his shoulders and he slid her silk panties around her curvy thighs, casting them aside.

  “Lick me,” she ordered, her voice barely a whisper but he could hear the edge in her tone.

  She has changed, a voice in his head called out but Dante was far too entranced in the juices between her legs to pay any mind to the warning.

 She had every right to be angry, to feel betrayed.

  He would have to make it up to her, starting with that moment.

  Arya gasped when his tongue met the pulsating nub of her center, her ass rising to meet his face fully and he squeezed her cheeks between his palms, pushing them both into a rhythm.

  Up and down her hips moved, his lips locking against her sopping cleft and beneath him, Arya began to tremble.

  Cum for me, he told her silently, his laps growing more demanding, his tongue working feverishly.

  Arya cried out, her sensual frame spasming as she bolted upright. Their eyes met and as a spray of hot liquid rained over his face, he saw the naked plaintiveness in her face.

  She was trying to play it cool but she missed me just as much as I missed her, he realized, slowing untangling his mouth from her dripping middle.

  The aroma of her filled his nostrils and while he wanted to mount her, pinning her mercilessly to the seat of the window, there was something about her expression which stopped him cold. He raised his body toward her, pausing to trace the line of her face with his fingertips.

  “Hey,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  She smiled and nodded, shifting her eyes away but not before he could see the look of naked confusion in her face.

  “Arya, I swear, I won’t leave you again,” he told her huskily. “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I do. I just need some time to process all this, Dante. I -I need to talk to you about something but I need a minute.”

  He nodded slowly and rose adjusting his tux as he did.

  “Take all the time you need,” he told her quietly. “Come and find me when you’re ready.”

  She nodded and tried to smile but tears had filled her eyes.

  “Hey, everything is going to be okay, now. I’ve got your back.”

  She didn’t respond and he turned to leave, his heart still pounding.

  I should have tried harder to find her. She’s been through hell. I can see it in her face.

  But as he made his way into the hallway, closing the door behind him, he knew that Arya had not wanted to be found. She needed to find him on her own terms and there they were.

  She’s in trouble. I can feel it. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.

  “Boss!”

  Shax appeared in his face, his squealy voice grating on Dante’s nerves.

  “What is it?” he asked, annoyed to have his good mood diminished even slightly.

  “Arya Ambrose, boss,” the demon minion screeched. “She’s here. You saw her and let her in!”

  “I know, Shax. Thank you for the update,” he retorted sarcastically, shoving past.

  “Dantalion!”

  The sound of his full name made him pause in mid-step and he turned to stare at Shax in surprise.

  “What?” he demanded, a peculiar feeling of danger starting in the pit of his stomach.

  “It’s her. She’s the one responsible for all the thefts on the Strip.”

  “How can you know that?” Dante demanded.

  “I found security footage of half a dozen heists. I ran her face through the facial recognition software and that’s why she was flagged here, boss. I’m sorry. Henry said he tried to warn you but…”

  Shax trailed off, knowing his boss would not like to be reminded that he had allowed a security threat into the mansion.

  Disappointment crept through him but Dante was not as shocked as he should have been. On some level, he had suspected as much.

  That is what she wanted to talk to me about. She got mixed up in something and she can’t get out of it.

  “Thank you, Shax. I’ll deal with her.”

  “No, boss, it’s worse than that,” Shax insisted. “She works for Rowan.”

   A mental picture of the icy high priestess gave Dante an unpleasant sensation in his gut. He’d had occasion to deal with her over a dozen times over the centuries and he was not filled with fond recollections of the cold blonde.

  That power-hungry wench. Still, not surprising. Rowan has her tentacles in everything. Arya was probably manipulated by her. I should have taken care of that witch years ago. Now I have an excuse.

  “All right, Shax, I’ll – “

  “Boss, Rowan has been working with Uvall. You need to get Arya Ambrose out of this house because I think she’s here to steal – “

  An alarm screamed, reverberating through the mansion with fury and the demons stared at one another, a look of understanding flooding both their faces simultaneously.

  “The Chasm of Guile,” Dante choked, whirling back toward the library where he had left Arya alone with the invaluable book.

  But of course, she was gone, along with the precious artifact, the window leading to the rose garden shattered at the pane.

  Dante was consumed by rage and humiliation.

  Arya had never missed him, never thought about him. She was there on a job.

  He had been played in the worst way imaginable by a woman he had thought about almost every single day of his life for three years.

  Nobody played Dantalion Carmichael for a fool.

  There would be blood for this.