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All the hairs at the back of Dante’s neck stood straight. His scalp prickled like ants making nests in his hair. His mouth felt like he was getting prepared for taxidermy, being stuffed with cotton. He saw himself as an asshole teenager who’d broken a young girl’s heart, caught up in his own drama.
He experienced horror at Kennedy’s long inked gash, marking a gruesome tragedy in such a graphic fashion. But then he thought of the ink on his own chest - a classic graphic of a heart with a dagger in it. It marked the loss of Madeline. It marked his own ignorant, foolhardy behavior. It simply happened to be a more acceptable form of inked art, instead of literal representation.
His opinion about Kennedy began to shape into one of admiration and awe. “I really am at a loss for words. I don’t know what to say,” he said, dragging his hand through his hair. “You have far more courage than I can ever dream to possess.”
Her head whipped back and forth on the pillow, causing her long hair to muss the way he’d hope to muss it.
His thoughts about himself weren’t that forgiving. “Yeah. I’m an asshole. A bona fide asshole. I don’t deserve you.” His erection flagged in his trousers, deflating like his heart.
“Isn’t that for me to decide?” she asked.
“Let me save you the trouble. You don’t want me.”
“Stop it, Dante. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. I’m the one in a recovery program. That’s supposed to be my job.” She flashed him a small smile, probably trying to make him feel better.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you back then. I’m even sorrier you had to go through what you went through with your African...” He started to say Prince but then corrected himself. “Uh, lover.” Even saying that word ground through his heart like gravel. He didn’t want to acknowledge her as having been with someone else so intimately.
“Me, too.”
“And honestly, I don’t think I’m man enough to be able to get it up again,” he said, dropping his gaze to his crotch. “Not that you’d want me to.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course, you can. You’ve experienced loss and tragedy. You said you lost your girlfriend to addiction. We have similar horrific stories.” She sat up, crossed her legs, and pulled her shirt around her beautiful torso, denying him the visual. “Don’t make me waste this moment. Do you have any idea how hard it was to let you see this?” She gestured to her creamy inner thigh. “Or have to explain this?” She indicated the ribbon of ink.
“I can guess. I got to witness it.” He felt swamped with shame in a manner he couldn’t remember experiencing—ever. “Shit. I feel like the Godzilla of assholes.”
“Stop berating yourself.” Her blue eyes flashed fire. “I have to sit in weekly meetings listening to people talk trash about themselves, and then some smart person always says something brilliant like, ‘Cut the crap. Leave your past where it belongs.’ I realize it’s easier said than done, but that’s what I aim to do.” She grew quiet. “But I guess I’ve been wallowing in my own past, too. I realized today when we put Kato down, I need to move on. I’ve been hiding from it too long. And now, like I said, it’s tracking me, forcing me to deal.”
“The bad guys you mentioned?” Dante asked, keeping his earlier investigation to himself.
“Yep. Mosi’s brother and associates. But that’s a topic for another day. I can only do so much reveal at one time.” Again she smiled.
“Here you are trying to make me feel better, when I’m the one who should be soothing you,” Dante said, still kicking himself. He studied her porcelain skin, cheeks tinged with a pinkish, rosy glow, the tumble of blond strands falling along her shoulders, her breathtaking body. A stir of arousal shot through his groin. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”
“Thank you,” she said, casting her eyes to her lap. “You’re pretty handsome yourself. And wasn’t there a rumor floating about how you couldn’t get it up?” Her gaze lifted from her hands to his erection, stirring to life.
“Yeah,” he said. “About that rumor. It must have been some gossip I heard on Page Six. The lies people tell,” he said, shaking his head. He placed his palm on her cheek, urging her lips toward his. The feel of her was unlike any woman he’d ever kissed. He could get lost in her for days, weeks, months...hell, maybe a lifetime. Surprised to find his desire about ten times hotter than before, he guided her back to prone. He swiftly unfastened his pants and kicked them free of his legs, wanting nothing between them. No barriers. Only nakedness.
He pushed her shirt back, revealing her silky skin. His free hand roamed along her curves and valleys, exploring, memorizing, earmarking spots for further exploration. When he brought his gaze to her face, he winced, noting the tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’ve held onto this stuff for a long time. After Mosi died, I...well, I wanted to die, too. I launched my self-destruct button and did some really awful things. I’m still crawling out of a deep, dark hole. I...Dante...please hold me. Please tell me you don’t think I’m a stupid, stupid girl.”
The words bashed against his heart, clattering against his fortified walls, as if trying to wake it up. He felt himself claw, grasping toward the surface, realizing he’d been numb, completely void of feeling, for a long time, too. “Sweetheart, shhh.” He gathered her in his arms, soothing her, stroking her back, her hair, her arms. Kissing her face. Holding her close.
His heart ached, but he refused to give into it. Refused to let out whatever fucked up emotions he’d been hiding. “You know how I keep telling you to see the man behind the mirror? ‘See the man, not the rock star,’” he said, mocking himself.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I...” He drew the letter out like it had a million syllables. “I’m not sure I know where that man is.” His voice cracked as he spoke, making him sound like an adolescent. Shit.
“Then let’s find him. Together.” She pushed back to face him, her eyelashes wet, her face damp, appearing like an angel.
Double shit. The way she looked at him had him twisted in a giant knot inside.
Her blue eyes glowed, luminous and huge, caring and kind.
He couldn’t sustain the contact. His gaze skittered away from Kennedy. “I’ve done some things I’m not proud of,” he finally said.
“Me, too,” she said simply. “My sponsor tells me all the time that the things I’ve done don’t make me unworthy of love. It’s the things I do about the things I’ve done...the way I act moving forward that makes a difference. I sometimes think she’s full of shit but...” She bit her lip. “There are also days when I believe her.”
“Huh,” Dante said. He wanted to get up and get a beer. He wanted to hide in his studio with his guitar. The moment felt unbearable. Where are all my smooth moves, now, Gia? Finally, he let out the sigh of sighs. “I’m a bit of a mess inside.”
“Me, too.” She said again. “I can deal with messes. I muck tiger pens. Feed them raw, bloody meals. Tend to their torn bodies when they’ve fought with one another. They lick me. Drool on me. I can deal.” She grinned at him.
He laughed, relieved to find his chest expanding, breath flowing in and out again. “Well, I can play a mean guitar.” He made his fingers ripple on her bare skin, causing her to shiver.
“I bet you can.”
“My solos are some of the best,” he continued. He brushed Kennedy’s skin with feather soft touches.
“Show me. Show me one of your primo solos.”
This time, somewhat raw, a tiny bit vulnerable, he got busy showing her what he meant. My muse, he thought, as he stroked and caressed. A sweeter harmony never was, than the song between you and me. He chuckled, telling her, “You’re helping me with lyrics. For a song, I’m writing.”
“I’m glad. Now you help me get rid of this horny ache I’ve been carrying around, running from for a couple days, okay?”
“I can do that. Happy to help.” He rolled over, reaching for the side table, pulling out the drawer to get a condom. Once it had been rolled into position, he moved between her legs, balanced on his knees and one hand. He used his free hand to grip himself and slide along her wet heat. His gaze dropped to his initials, marked on her inner thigh. I don’t deserve this girl. But by God, I’m sure going to try.
When he entered her slippery velvet, he had to rest his forehead against hers to keep from coming on the spot. Sex had never felt so sweet. Never so intimate as this. Being inside her body felt like coming to sweet, pleasurable rest, away from the madness that dominated his public life.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice tinged with wild panic.
“Keeping from stopping the party on the spot,” he said, somewhat sheepish. “Like a virgin,” he sang. “Touched for the very first time.”
She laughed. “Well, get busy, Madonna.”
“Yes, sweetness.” He plucked some pillows from the head of the bed, carefully propping them under her hips without sliding out of her. When her legs spread wide, he used his thumbs to stimulate her clit, watching her unravel with greedy, eager eyes. With her gripping him inside her slick core, he could barely keep it together.
“Dante,” she cried. “Don’t stop. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”
His grin broadened. “I have no intention of stopping, sweet Kennedy. Now, come for me.”
Absolute, stunning beauty radiated from her face as her head tossed back and forth. She yielded to his touch, flying off the edge to satisfaction. As she rode the wave, he gripped her hips and began pumping inside her. It didn’t take long until he joined her, too, in intense erotic bliss. “Kennedy,” he roared. “My sweet, sweet, Kennedy.”
The last thing he remembered was pulling her close, cradling her in his arms as they drifted into the newness of shared sensuality. Into the number six...
