Page 18

SEVENTEEN

Inaya

He slept for the better part of three days. Dante’s body and mind must have agreed that he needed rest because he was in the middle of one of his night terrors, but suddenly calmed. I’d waited for him to start again, but he didn’t. By the second day, I was able to break his fever, which made his sleep more productive at restoring his body.

After I had gotten him to bed the first day, he gave me the code to get into the storage where he keeps the good stuff like antibiotics. I only got what I needed for him while trying to ignore the rest. He has given me some level of trust, even if it's just for necessity, and I don't want to break it. The money, passports, weapons, and other personal items remain unchecked while I keep my focus on the rest of the medicine stash.

Now, he has enough energy to move on his own for short periods of time. It makes me happy because it’s a bitch taking care of a temperamental assassin while cramping. It's a deadly combination that wouldn't work out in my favor. The worst of the pain has subsided, but I have that low-level throb that doesn’t want to go away.

Dante is out on the hammock, taking in some sun and fresh air while I make us some lunch. It’s not much, just a shrimp salad with mango because my observations tell me it’s his favorite fruit. It’s almost time to give him more medicine, and he needs food in his system.

The slight wind blows my hair when I step outside, the warm sand under my toes shifting with each step as I make my way to where he lies. Dante is wearing shades and nothing else, because who am I to tell him to put on clothes.

“Here’s a salad,” I tell him. “I added extra mango since you like it so much.”

He frowns and pushes the bowl hard enough for me to almost drop it. A chunk of mango lands on top of my foot and spikes my irritation.

“This isn’t a couple's vacation. Stop being so domestic,” he gripes, despite not being at full strength yet.

I swear I feel my right eye twitch as my temper gets the best of me. “This is not me being domestic. I’m simply playing nurse. Now eat the damn salad so you can take your meds.” I press it down on his chest. “Or I’ll force feed you.”

Dante turns his head in my direction as he lifts his shades, his brown eyes scanning me from head to toe, as if he’s checking me for malfunctions. Despite what he’s seen from his time with me, I’m not a pushover. I just know when to shut the hell up in the presence of a killer, but…not today. He’s just going to have to tase me or whatever.

He purses his lips like he’s come to a conclusion and drops his shades back into place.

“Hormones.”

That’s a man’s number one excuse to explain away him getting on a woman’s last nerve. It’s never them, just our hormones.

“No. It’s Dante acting like a sick child, like all men do. You’re a fucking assassin , but it’s still the same shit. I wish we were in the hospital. That’d be my territory and then we’d see who’s scary .”

Okay, maybe my cramps are a little to blame in this situation because reason starts to seep back in after my little rant. Hurt or not, Dante is still Dante, and we’re not on my territory, we’re on his.

Dante’s laugh, while still raspy from his sore throat, is so out of character for him that it’s scarier than his threats. It’s one thing if it were a smirk or even a quick chuckle. But no, this is full-blown, clutching-his-belly, tears-collecting-in-the-corners-of-his-eyes laughter. I back away slowly; this just might be the day he kills me because what the fuck .

I stand in the cabin for a little while, facing the front door to see if he is coming after me. After a few moments, I relax enough to start eating my food. It’s a good salad, I must say. The citrus and the shrimp pair well together. I’m a few bites from finishing when I look over and see the meds and water still waiting on the counter. With a sigh, I finish my food and prepare to see the beast.

Dante is still lying on the hammock, watching the water while he’s in the contemplative place he seems to visit often since he’s been awake. His shades are gone, and his bowl is empty. I don’t see any signs of him throwing away the salad. It’s good that it’s at least in his body.

“Your meds,” I say as I place my hand palm up near his chest.

Slowly, he turns his head to look at me. His brown eyes survey my body as he takes the meds. I drop my eyes to his throat and watch it work as he takes the pills, then chases them with water. I know he’s watching me, but his unobstructed gaze in the sunlight is a lot to handle. Not to mention, the memories of what his body can do to mine are ever present because of his desire to be naked.

As I turn to walk away, he grabs my wrist. The sensation of his thumb rubbing across the skin of my inner wrist goes straight to my nipples. He’s seductive even when he’s not trying.

“Sounds like you wanted to fight earlier.” I shake my head and try to move away once more, but he simply tightens his grip on my wrist. “Yeah. You did. Fight me.”

“No.” Dante pokes me on the side with his free hand. “Stop,” I gripe, but it just amuses him more.

“Come on, Gatita . Fight me.”

He pokes me in the ribs a few times until my anger spikes. I swing at him with my free hand, and he drops my other to block it. No matter the method or the hand, I don’t land a damn thing. By the end of it, Dante is holding both of my wrists, looking unbothered while I gasp for air.

A small yelp escapes me when he pulls me on top of him. I struggle for a bit, only to find myself on my side with him being the big spoon. He’s holding my wrists in one hand as the other tweaks my nipple.

“You were bested by a sick man lying in a hammock. You’re a terrible fighter.”

Him saying it, and the fact that it’s true, irks the hell out of me. My attempts to get free, however, don’t do anything but make his dick hard. It presses into my ass cheek as Dante’s teeth sink into the back of my neck, pulling another shudder out of me. My new round of attempts to get free all go ignored.

“Either take a nap on your own, or I’ll knock you out. Your choice.”

My exaggerated huff pulls another chuckle out of him, but I settle in my spot while allowing the fantasy of beating him up to lull me to sleep until one thing occurs to me.

“Dante?”

“Hmm?”

“You are aware that this is considered cuddling, right?”

A snort is his only response as his breathing evens out. If he weren’t sick, I’d be surprised that he was able to fall asleep so quickly. I don’t know what happened in his dreams when he was fighting the virus, but he did wake up a somewhat different person. I just can’t say exactly how.