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At seven fifty-nine, Kennedy stepped into the elevator at Dante’s apartment, dressed in sensible elegance. Nothing hootchie mama. A flowing, salmon-colored silk shirt with slit sleeves, left unbuttoned to the top of her breasts. A long gray skirt with a slash up the front, ending mid-thigh. Slate-colored leather high heels. The outfit enticed but did not over-reveal. Invited, but left room for the imagination. She felt confident but not exposed. Room for vulnerability. Not walled off. Pleased with her choice of garments, she held her head high, projecting confidence.
When the elevator doors slid open, her eyes landed on Dante, dressed in a similar casual fashion. He wore a butter soft, charcoal cotton, scoop-necked shirt, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his inked forearms. Dark gray linen pants covered his legs. Only one gold chain adorned his neck. A leather bracelet drew her eyes to his wrist. She scanned him up and down, taking in his entire body before her eyes landed on his.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hello, beautiful.” He held out his hand to her, drawing her close.
This time, she didn’t resist.
He dropped a soft kiss on her mouth, then drew back. “You look utterly gorgeous.”
“Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.”
“Thanks,” he said, beaming. “Do come in.” He led her into the front room where a splendid repast of appetizers sat on the coffee table. “I didn’t know what you liked so I ordered up some of everything. There are cheeses, fruit, nuts, and some exotic fish, vegetable and cracker things, the names of which I couldn’t begin to repeat,” he said, letting out a small, apologetic chuckle. “And that’s only the beginning.”
“Honestly, I’d have been fine with beans and rice. I seldom get time for a full meal.”
His eyes flashed something like concern.
“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “In a pinch, I cook up some of the tiger’s food — they’re the ones who get the best cuts of meat.”
Dante let out a laugh. “Seriously?”
“Kidding.” Sort of. The big cats ate human grade meat, sprinkled with supplements. And yes, she had cooked up a small slice of beef once or twice, in the industrial kitchen when she’d been starving after a twenty-four-hour critical tiger watch.
“Everything is paired with a non-alcoholic beverage,” Dante continued. “We’ll start with...” He picked up a bottle resting near a platter of appetizers. “Ginger pear sparkling soda with hints of lime.” He made a face.
She laughed. “Thank you. It looks lovely. But I don’t want you to hold back from consuming alcohol. I’m the one who can’t hold her liquor, not you.” She smiled at him.
“Thanks, but I overindulged last night. After Marquise ruined my night. I’m happy to be alcohol-free tonight.”
“Okay, but I don’t expect you to change your behavior because of my bad habits, okay?” She looked at him earnestly.
“All right. I get it. I’m doing this out of choice, got it?”
“Got it.”
“And I’ve got beer in the fridge in case the ginger pear sparkling stuff makes me start talking all high-pitched and giggling like a girl.”
She laughed again, realizing how long it had been since she laughed at all. “Fat chance of that,” she said, eyeing his extremely masculine body. She let him lead her to the sofa, where she sank into one of the soft cushions.
“I’m sorry you lost the tiger,” he said. “What did you say his name was?”
“Kato. It was Kato. He had congestive heart failure. I had to make the call to have him euthanized.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she managed to blink them back.
“I’m really sorry,” he said, settling next to her.
“It’s really okay. He didn’t suffer much. Kato lived a long and happy life after we got him.”
“You and Mosi?” Dante said, his eyes darkening for a moment.
“Yes. We got him from a despicable operation in Thailand. He was treated horribly there. Overfed, chained up, there to be ogled and bottle fed at the whim of the tourists like a big, fat baby. We brought him in and gave him back his dignity. And look — I’ve been thinking about how I’ve used Mosi as a shield against you. Even if I haven’t said anything, I’ve waved him between us in my mind every time the thought of getting close to you occurred. I’m sorry. He was a significant part of my life, but he’s no longer here. You’re here. Not him.” She’d been rehearsing these words all afternoon and hoped they worked as intended. But even though he watched her intently, she couldn’t get a read on his expression. Suddenly nervous, she glanced toward the door, then down at her hands.
“Thank you,” Dante said quickly, filling in the awkward silence. “I didn’t expect a statement like that. Thank you.”
She lifted her head.
“I was thinking how I’ve rushed you, crowded you, trying to make you see me. So...” He shrugged. “We’ve both been putting up walls.”
She sighed. “Glad we got that part over with.”
Dante laughed. “Me, too.” He picked up the tray of appetizers, extending it in her direction.
She reached for a cracker covered with smoked salmon and some sort of chopped veggie concoction and nibbled on it. “Oh, wow, this is fantastic.”
“Have another. Better yet, have ten. I’ve got way too much food in the kitchen. I got carried away with the order, nervous you wouldn’t like it.”
“You, nervous?” She looked at him, full of mirth.
“Me, nervous,” he said, grinning at her. “Now get me onstage in front of a thousand onlookers and...”
For the next hour, Kennedy relaxed into a warm conversation and sharing. She told him of life in Africa, living on a game reserve. She told him of the reserve’s trouble with poachers and how she had to learn to be an extremely good shot with a rifle. And yes, she’d winged a poacher or two.
He shared what life on the road was like a ...a mix of boredom between events and extreme excitement when he got to the gigs.
And then Dante set his dessert plate down, and gave her a look, melting her, making her insides light on fire. He held out his hand to her, and said, “Come here.” He got to his feet.
“Where are we going?” she asked, suddenly a jittery jumbled mess inside.
“I haven’t shown you my favorite room.”
“And what room is that?” Her heart hammered in her chest.
“The bedroom. But actually, with you, I intend to christen every room as my favorite.”
Her heart skipped and stuttered. As she walked through the carpeted hallway, leading to the back of the penthouse, her mind raced. Okay. You can do this. You have to get this over with and hope he still likes you and doesn’t think you’re stupid.
He led her into a room that made her stop, drop her jaw, and then pick it up off the floor. She expected some chrome and sleek looking masterpiece, like the front room. Instead, lit with a golden glow, a huge bed dominated the space, framed by four simple posts, covered with a soft suede-like bedspread in shades of russet and gold.
A wall of windows looked out over Central Park and the city beyond. The floors were covered with wall to wall plushness, the color of savannah grasses, the kind she wanted to wiggle her toes in or roll around on like a big cat. The walls were empty of art, peppered with the same hooks meant for hanging something. A gas fireplace sat opposite the bed, the flames lit low, making the temp perfect for being...well...naked. The entire room spoke of a warm, welcoming vibe.
“You need a new decorator,” she said, smiling.
“I do?” He moved behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her into his warmth.
“Yes, she doesn’t know the first thing about wall art. Or maybe she’s going for a statement piece by putting hooks along the walls. Like, you get to use your imagination when you roam your home.”
He kissed her hair. “That sounds brilliant. Maybe you should be my decorator.” He pushed his fingers inside the slits of her sleeves and drew them along her upper arms.
She inhaled a breath at the sizzling touch, leaning her head back on his shoulder. “I suck at home decorating. Give me the wilderness, and I do great. Wild things and me...well...” Her words drifted away as sensation got the best of her.
“Wild things and you...” His hands moved around to her front, sliding down and back up the silken fabric of her shirt. He toyed with the red spiral curving along the top of her breast with one scorching fingertip.
She let out a hum of arousal.
“I so want to see where this leads,” he whispered in her ear, his finger still tracing the red line infused with tragic memory. “Perhaps tonight’s the night.”
When his fingers began to unbutton her shirt, she stiffened.
He stopped, fingers poised at the delicate pearl fasteners. “Are you going to let me in tonight, or should I stop right here? Tell you it’s been a lovely night and kiss you good-bye?”
The words seemed to hang in the air. Kennedy’s breath moved in and out in short, shallow flutters. “I’m going to let you in,” she finally said, the phrase leaving her throat in a long sigh.
“Good girl.” He slowly guided the first button free of the hole. And then the next. And then the third, until the shirt fell open to her ribs. He pushed his fingers under the silk, gliding across the top of her breasts.
She hissed at the contact.
His hips slowly ground against her back, letting her feel the hard ridge of his erection. He lowered his head, his lips landing on her exposed neck, tracing a trail of kisses along her excited skin. He pushed her shirt away from her shoulder, kissing the smooth skin.
She shivered, her entire arm electrified from his lips.
He slowly spun her around until they faced one another, his eyes looking intently into hers. “Remember me telling you how I’m going to start with you? Remember me telling you how I’m going to go nice and easy?”
“Yes,” she said.
He took a step forward.
She took a step back.
“That’s exactly how this is going to play out.” He took another step, his hands now cupping her shoulders, warm and soothing.
She stepped back.
“Unless you tell me you want more.”
“Okay,” she said, taking more steps backward as he guided her toward the bed. Her legs finally met the pliable mattress, and she dropped into a seated position.
He inclined his lips to hers, claiming her mouth with a fiery kiss.
As her hunger increased, her hands snaked around his neck, drawing him closer. She craved this man. Everything about him, the taste of him, the feel of him, set her senses on fire. His scent, a combination of some musky cologne coupled with his own masculine essence, tantalized her. His body was pure art, muscled and meant for seduction.
He gently guided her onto his bed, lifting her until she lay with her head atop the pillows. Crawling on his hands and knees, he kissed the top of her breasts. Kissed the red spiral. Licked her, his tongue sliding underneath her lacy bra, teasing her nipple into a hard, round pebble.
She whimpered, stunned by the tormented need singing through her bloodstream, digging her fingers into the bedspread. “It unhooks in the front.”
“The bra?”
“Yes,” she said.
His head cocked for a moment as if mulling over lingerie ingenuity, and then he gently slid a finger between her mounds of tender flesh. He hooked the bra with his finger and took the clasp between his teeth. Somehow, who knew how or where he learned such a skill, he unclasped the fastener with his tongue and teeth. When he drew back, his eyes were dark with arousal. He peeled back one cup with his mouth, and then the other, hissing as he took in her breasts. “So beautiful,” he murmured.
Her skin prickled with sensation, each tiny hair no doubt standing straight in anticipation of his attention.
He cupped her breasts with his palms, drawing one nipple into his mouth, suckling it, and then the other, until each one ended in a puckered bud.
She kneaded the supple bedspread, arching into his mouth, wondering if she could climax from breast sucking. Her core throbbed with wet heat.
Dante sat up slightly, kneeling, and began unbuttoning her shirt the rest of the way. As he did this, his eyes tracked her ribbon-like tattoo.
She chewed her lower lip, studying his expression, fearing his reaction.
When he finished with the buttons, he did the same thing along the front of her skirt, unfastening each bone clasp in the gray textile that covered her hips. When complete, he peeled back the fabric, reverently, one piece at a time, never taking his eyes off the red ink.
She kept her eyes glued to his face. She realized she’d stopped breathing. Waiting. Watching. Eyebrows slightly furrowed. Breath high in her throat, fluttering like a captured dove. The vast silence in the room unnerved her, far more than a noisy, crowded street.
Abruptly, he drew his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor.
She still couldn’t pry her gaze from his face, certain he’d react to her ink.
He continued to study her tattoo. He slowly, carefully, delicately traced the crimson slash, starting at the spiral, moving along the side of her breast, tracking her ribs. He paused at the separation of lines at the juncture between ribs and abdomen, using two fingers to follow the jagged split, then, back to one when the lines joined again near her belly button. He followed the inked gash until it disappeared beneath the wisps of fabric covering her hips. Without a word, he lifted her hips once more and urged the silken panties from her legs. Kneeling beside her, his finger landed on the place where he’d left off, softly tracing the dip of tender skin next to the crest of the iliac spine, the bony ridge between hip and belly.
When his finger slid between her legs, she instinctively squeezed them together. “I can’t let you see,” she said, in a breathy, high pitched voice.
“Shhh,” he said.
“No. Seriously. I can’t.”
He slid both hands between her tender thighs as if to force them apart.
She sat up and grabbed his wrists.
His gaze turned from ardent curiosity to concern. “Sweetheart, what are you afraid I’ll see?”
“A stupid mistake I made a long time ago. It hurt so bad I never had the heart to change it,” Dante thought, fully aware she wasn’t simply talking about physical pain.
He cocked his head, his hands still poised, palms out, between her legs. “Okay,” he said. “I won’t force you.” Still, he left his hands in place.
“Okay,” she said, peeling her fingers from his wrists. “You can look. But please don’t judge.” She let her legs relax as he urged them to part.
As he stared at the base of her tattoo, his eyes narrowed. His mouth fell open. He had that horrible “deer in the headlights” look she’d feared.
“Please don’t laugh. Please, please, please don’t make fun of me. I was young. And stupid.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“D.V.” he said, outlining the tiny, swirling initials marking her inner thigh with his forefinger. “D.V.” he said again.
“I was so stupid,” she said for the third time. “In high school, I had this dream we’d hook-up on graduation night. I saved up all my babysitting money and bought this tattoo. The guy at the tattoo parlor didn’t want to do it. I begged him. I pleaded with him. Finally, he said, ‘it’s your skin.’ I think he needed the money. He’d barely opened his business. I was a minor for Christ’s sake.
“Look,” she continued, talking a mile a minute. “I’m not proud. When you kissed me on graduation night, I felt certain I’d done the right thing. I thought you’d think it so cool. And then you left me.” A tear tracked down the side of her face, disappearing into her hair. “And all the pain I went through to get the thing seemed like my penance. I’d have to live with your initials between my legs for the rest of my life. Mosi didn’t care. He didn’t judge. He said it merely marked a milestone. But I thought it marked my idiocy. It marked my obsession.”
Dante continued to look at her, his face unreadable. “And the red trail of ink?”
“Mosi was attacked by a rogue tiger,” she said, blinking back tears. “It wasn’t one of ours. One of the females went into heat, and he wanted to get in on the action. I left a gate open. I’d been working on fence repairs. We had these high, high wire mesh fences surrounding the perimeter of the game reserve, and I must have left the gate open when I left to get some lunch.
“Mosi was in another area. I thought he was doing errands in town. I didn’t know there was a transient tiger in the vicinity. This one probably escaped from another game reserve. The rest of our tigers were in a separate part of the grounds. Usually, we got a message from a nearby ranger if a rogue tiger was on the loose. Anyway, I should never have left it open. I knew better. I always closed the gates.” The words tumbled from her lips in a chaotic mess that even she could barely follow.
“The tiger’s claw...well, it made one wicked slash. Mosi apparently fell backward, and the tiger raked his claw from here,” she tapped the spot where Dante’s initials were placed. “To here.” She caressed her left breast. “Mosi didn’t stand a chance. His femoral artery...” She touched her inner thigh. “His abdominal aorta...” She fingered her abdomen. “All the way up to here.” She touched the spiral. “He didn’t have a chance,” she repeated.
“He bled out in seconds. We all heard the yell and rushed to him in the Jeep, but he was dead by the time we got there. I dispatched the fucking tiger,” she said fiercely. “Stalked him. Hunted him down and took him out. But I couldn’t eliminate what I’d done by failing to close a goddamned gate.
“So it only seemed fitting to mark my tragedies, to commit a life passage to my skin by connecting them to my broken heart.” More tears trickled down her temples, creating dampness in her hair. Mortified by the choices she’d made, horrified she let him see her tattoo, she desperately wanted to throw on her clothes and run from the apartment, never to see him again.
Dante’s breath began chuffing from his lungs. He stared at her, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “Sweetheart,” he said, his voice cracked and ragged. “You didn’t mark your skin with your stupidity. You marked it with mine. I could have found a way to connect with you. I could have told you where I’d gone. I’m the one who was stupid. Me. Not you. And to ink yourself with the slash that killed your lover...” He shook his head, causing tears to fly from his eyes. “Oh, Kennedy. Oh, dear God. I’m utterly and completely without words.”
