Page 12 of Desire

Emma felt herself audibly swallow. It was like one of those gulp moments that you saw in comic strips.

“I’m guessing that this will be your first time in a scene?” Anya asked.

“Yeah, I’ve always been curious. But I haven’t had the courage or the ability to build trust with anyone like I have with Dante.”

“Men like Dante don’t come with training wheels. You might be better off starting your lessons with someone less intense. Like Micah over here.” Anya linked her arm through Emma’s and walked her across the room where a beautiful man with flowing golden hair that fell just past his butt was lounging on a leather chaise. He was dressed regally in what looked to be authentic leather armor. He had a silver-handled dagger with an ornate jeweled pommel sticking out of his boot. And when he stood up as they approached, he shifted a sword belt with a long sword nestled inside it that was attached to his belt.

“Micah, this is Emma. She works with Colleen and Tee, but she does scheduling for downstairs as well.” Anya placed emphasis on the word downstairs.

Micah was wearing lavender-colored contact lenses and she saw hints of a pointed ear when he bent over her hand and gently kissed it. She felt the ridiculous need to curtsey. All he needed was a crown of gold leaves to look like an elven prince.

“It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, milady,” he said.

Damn, he was pretty. Emma wished she felt something, anything, for him. But there wasn’t even a mild attraction.

“I love your costume,” she said truthfully.

“My thanks. This is my first time wearing it. I’m planning on trying it out at the Renaissance Faire circuit this year.”

“I need to get back to Clint,” Anya said. “He’s been taking some great candid shots. But I’ve got to remind him that all work and no play makes Clint a very dull boy.”

Micah looked up in amusement. “I’d like to watch his reaction when you tell him that.”

“I’ve heard that you like to watch,” Anya flirted, and then with a saucy wink tottered away on her impossibly high heels. Micah was about to say something to Emma, but then his gaze caught on something over her head and his eyes widened. She resisted the urge to turn around because she felt Dante approach. She knew it was Dante because the hairs of her arms rose up in awareness. Even though the party was noisy, Emma felt the thump of his boots as he came closer as if it was the beat of her very own heart. When his hand came down on her shoulder, she couldn’t resist a full body shiver. Micah noticed, and with a smile took a step back.

“Dante, who are you supposed to be? The Big Bad Wolf?” he said.

“I’m no one of consequence in any storybook that you’ve ever read,” Dante said. “Emma, show me around your party.”

“I didn’t think this was your scene,” Micah said to him, putting a double entendre into his words.

“Emma is not part of any scene,” Dante said, and gave Micah a warning look. Micah put up his hands as if he was surrendering.

“How disappointing, Emma. It was a pleasure meeting you.” And with that, Micah returned to lounging on the couch.

“I don’t need you to watch out for me,” Emma said as they walked away. But she couldn’t stay mad at him when he put his hand under her arm. She felt cherished and protected, which was ridiculous since Dante was just being polite.

“I don’t believe you know who Micah is,” Dante said. “He isn’t on the Club’s schedule. He books his own fun.”

“Anya hinted at what he is, but I was just having a conversation with the man. He’s awfully pretty, don’t you think?”

Dante’s jaw tightened. “Looks can be deceiving.”

“I know that. For example, you look dark and dangerous. And we both know that you’re a teddy bear.”

Dante barked out a laugh. “People change. Come with me.” Dante walked her toward the dance floor. A four-piece band was playing baroque music, and a few couples were waltzing, or at least attempting to waltz. Some of them were just seizing the opportunity to dance close and sway to the music. She hoped Dante would do a turn on the dance floor with her. His mother had made him take dance lessons. Emma had begged her mother until she relented and let her take the same class. She’d desperately hoped that they would be partners, but Dante had always chosen an older girl.

Emma wasn’t about to wait for him to make the decision. “Would you care to dance?” she asked him.

She didn’t think she could have shocked him more. But if he thought this was shocking, he was really going to clutch his pearls next week.

“I didn’t take you for one who’d lead the dance,” he replied, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate straight through her.

“Maybe I’m full of surprises,” she shot back, her confidence blossoming as she registered the flicker of intrigue in his eyes.

He extended a hand, rough and sure—his grip strong as he guided her toward the pulsating heart of the dance floor. The heat of his skin seared hers, branding her with an invisible mark that whispered of countless possibilities.

Their bodies melded into the rhythm, finding a harmony that transcended the music—a silent language composed of motion and touch. Beneath the strobe lights, Dante’s fur vest brushed against her bare arms, each soft caress stoking the fire that threatened to consume her from within.

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