Page 11 of Sev’s Blackmailed Bride (The Dante Dynasty #1)

T en short minutes later they arrived at his Pacific Heights Georgian residence. “This is your home?” Francesca asked, clearly stunned.

Sev had recently updated the house from top to bottom, taking a diamond in the rough and giving it the glitter and polish it deserved.

While still on the formal side, he’d made a point to add a more welcoming feel to the place.

From the two-story entry foyer, acurving staircase, complete with wrought-iron railing, swept toward the second story and an endless array of rooms perfect for entertaining.

“When I’m hosting guests, Istay here. More often I use my Nob Hill apartment.

It’s more compact. More to my taste.” Unable to resist touching her, he slid his hand down her spine to the small hollow just above her buttocks and guided her toward the private den he kept exclusively for his own use.

“This is my favorite room in the house.”

Francesca visibly relaxed as she looked around.

Light filtered in from a bank of windows that provided an unfettered view of the bay and Alcatraz Island.

Two of the other walls bulged with books that overran the floor-to-ceiling mahogany cases.

The final wall, at right angles to the windows, offered a cozy fireplace fronted by the most comfortable couch Sev had ever owned.

He used the electronic controls to light the fire and gestured for her to have aseat.

It amused him that she took the precaution to sit as far from him as the couch cushions allowed. Understandable, but still humorous. “Okay, let me give it to you straight,” he began.

She listened intently while he ran through Primo’s explanation of The Inferno, refraining from asking any questions until he finished speaking. “You said that, in the past, your family experienced this Inferno,” she said after a moment. “What about your brothers? Have they felt anything similar?”

“I’m the first,” Sev replied.

Wariness crept into her gaze. “That suggests you buy in to all this. ”

“No, not really.” And he didn’t, despite Primo’s insistence that legend matched reality. “I think it makes for a charming story, but a story, nonetheless.”

“Then how would you explain what’s happened to us?”

He’d given that a lot of thought and decided to believe the simplest explanation. “It’s nothing more than lust. Given time, it’ll fade.”

Though she took his comment with apparent equanimity, apulse kicked to life at the base of her throat, betraying her agitation. “But what if it’s more than that? Has it ever infected the women in your family?”

“I don’t understand. Which women?”

She made an impatient motion with her hands. “Haven’t any of the Dante men had daughters? Have any of the Dante women experienced this Inferno?”

Sev shook his head. “There’s only been one daughter in more generations than I can recall. My cousin, Gianna. Here, let me show you.”

He circled the couch to a cluster of photos on a console table and picked up a panoramic photograph in a plain silver frame that showed a group shot of all the Dantes.

Seated in the middle were Nonna and Primo.

Sev, his parents, and brothers stood to Primo’s right, while his Aunt Elia, and Uncle Alessandro, with their brood of four, stood beside Nonna.

He handed the picture to Francesca when she joined him, tapping the image of the only female of his generation, astriking young woman with Sev’s coloring.

“If Gia’s been cursed by The Inferno, she’s never mentioned it.”

A hint of laughter lightened Francesca’s expression. “Cursed? Ithought you said Primo called it a blessing.”

He couldn’t help himself. He leaned toward her, cupping her cheek. “Does it feel like a blessing to you?”

She shut him out by closing her eyes, concealing her inner thoughts.

“No, this isn’t a blessing. It’s a complication I could live without.

” She eased back from his touch and opened her eyes again, at the same time slamming impenetrable barriers into place.

“And what about the other women? The women who are the object of the Dante men’s. .. blessing?”

“Like you and Nonna and Aunt Elia?”

“Yes. What choice do we have? How do we escape this Inferno?”

He gestured toward the image of his parents. “My father escaped by marrying someone else. ”

Francesca blinked in surprise. “Your mother wasn’t an Inferno bride?”

Sev shook his head. “Shortly after they died, Idiscovered letters that indicated he’d been in love with one of his designers, but married my mother, instead.”

“Why didn’t he marry the woman he really loved?” she asked hesitantly. “Do you know?”

Sev shrugged. “When I confronted Primo about it, he admitted that my mother had invaluable contacts in the industry. It was more of a business arrangement than a true marriage. Not that it did either of them any good.”

“What went wrong?”

Maybe it was the hint of compassion he heard in her voice, but he found himself opening up in way he never had with any other woman.

“All of my mother’s contacts couldn’t make up for my father’s lack of business savvy.

” He studied the photograph. God, they looked so youthful.

Just six or seven years older than his own thirty-four, he suddenly realized.

They also looked remote and unhappy, though how much of that related to their marriage and how much to business difficulties, he couldn’t determine.

“They were on the verge of a divorce when they died in a sailing accident.”

“And you blame that on The Inferno?” she asked in patent disbelief .

“No. Iblame it on bad luck.” He couldn’t tell her the rest. Couldn’t admit that he blamed himself for what happened right before and immediately after his father’s death.

That piece of guilt he kept locked tightly away.

“I’d just graduated from college. The day after their funeral, Istepped into my father’s shoes.

Ispent the first year of my tenure dismantling Dantes and the last decade rebuilding it. ”

“I’m so sorry.” She slipped her hand into his and squeezed.

Just that, and yet it made all the difference.

The connection between them intensified in some indefinable way.

Before it had been sheer sex, or so he believed.

Now another emotion crept in, one he resisted analyzing.

She hesitated a split second before confessing, “I lost my mother, too. Iknow how painful that must have been for you.”

That might explain some of the sorrow he’d seen lurking in her eyes. “How old were you?” he asked.

“Five.” Soft. Abrupt. And a clear message that she had no interest in pursuing the conversation.

Not that he planned to drop it. He’d just approach the subject with more care.

“It helped that my brothers and I were older, though at just sixteen, Nicolò had a tough time adapting. Fortunately, Primo and Nonna stepped in, which made a huge difference.” He paused.

“ What about you? Did your father ever remarry?”

“My parents weren’t together,” she admitted, avoiding his gaze. “I went into foster care.”

Oh, God. He tiptoed across eggshells. “Didn’t the authorities contact him?”

“They didn’t know who he was. Ididn’t find out myself until after I’d graduated from college and hired someone to locate him for me.

” She picked up the next picture in the line, putting a clear end to the discussion.

Aslight smile eased the strain building around the corners of her mouth.

“Primo and Nonna on their wedding day, Iassume?”

“They eloped right before immigrating to the U.S.”

The ancient black-and-white showed a couple arrayed in wedding finery.

They looked impossibly young and nervous, their hands joined in a white-knuckle grip.

But the photographer managed to catch them in an unguarded moment, as they gathered themselves for a more formal pose.

They glanced at each other, as though for reassurance, and the power of their love practically scorched thefilm.

“Nonna didn’t want to escape The Inferno, did she? ”

“No.”

Francesca returned the photograph to the table with clear finality.

“Well, Ido.” She paced restlessly toward the windows.

Once there, she glanced over her shoulder.

With the sunlight at her back, her expression fell into shadow.

But he could hear the tension rippling through her voice.

“I’m not interested in you or the Dante Inferno or having an affair with you.

Ijust want to be left alone to pursue my career.

This is a distraction I don’t want or need. ”

“I wish it were that simple. That I could make it go away for you. But I can’t.”

He wanted to see her, to look into her eyes and know her thoughts. To touch her and reestablish the physical connection between them. Without conscious thought, he joined her at the windows. The instant he slid his palm across her warm, silken skin, his world righted itself.

“Why can’t I just walk away from you and never look back?

” she demanded. He heard the turmoil underscoring her question, while hunger battled common sense.

And he understood what she felt since it mirrored his own reaction to their predicament.

“Why can’t I simply return to the life I built for myself? ”

“You can. We both can.” Steely determination enveloped him. “The minute we work this out of our systems. ”

Sev swept Francesca up into his arms and carried her to the couch.

She murmured a token protest, one lost beneath the series of tiny, biting kisses he scattered along her throat.

They tumbled onto cushions that molded to their entwined bodies and enfolded them in a private world of suede-covered down.

The buttons of her silk blouse parted beneath his hands, revealing a feminine scrap of lace that struggled to contain her breasts.

He couldn’t help himself. He reared back, drinking in the sight.