Page 40 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

The room is hot and stuffy as I jolt awake. I smile, sinking back into the delicious dream I’ve been unwillingly pulled out of.

Dante’s lips trail my collarbone.

His fingers glide up my leg, nudging my thighs apart. His moans mix with mine in a cacophony of pleasure.

Shit. That dream felt a little too real.

A strong hand lands on my abdomen, pulling me across the silky sheets.

No. No, absolutely not.

Soft snores snap me out of my denial, and I gasp for air, struggling to fill my lungs. I’m in Dante’s bed. His warm arms are wrapped around me, a patchwork of colorful tattoos encircling my pale, naked torso.

So that wasn’t a weirdly hyper-realistic dream, then.

My heart pounds as I slowly unwrap myself from him. I send a silent prayer to anyone willing to listen that he doesn’t wake upand catch me. Thankfully, his snores continue to echo through the room, even though he stirs as I slip out of bed.

I tiptoe across the cool wood floors, picking up haphazardly discarded pieces of clothing, and dress quickly in front of the door. I can’t stop myself from taking one last peek at his beautiful sleeping form.

Wild dark curls frame his peaceful face. The only time Dante looks at peace is when he’s in a deep sleep. Thick eyelashes rest on high cheekbones, which lead to a set of perfectly shaped lips.

Lips that kissed every inch of your body last night.

I force myself to shut the door gently behind me, the click of the latch sounding too loud in the silence. I lean against the smooth wood, my mind a mess.

What the hell just happened?

A mix of emotions whirl inside me. Confusion, guilt, and the ever-present fear cloud my mind, but deep down, I feel a bud of happiness burst forward. I let myself fall into Dante’s arms again. And damn it, I can’t deny that I loved every second of it.

But I can’t afford to feel that way—not with Matteo in the picture. What would Dante do if he found out about Matteo? I can’t let that happen.

I tiptoe down the long hallway, every creak of the floorboards making me flinch. The house is so quiet at this hour, but my thoughts are deafening.

I know I shouldn’t have gone to his room last night. I know I should have said no when he gave me the easy out. I definitely shouldn’t have stayed the night with him. But the pull between us is too strong, like gravity, impossible to fight.

The coolness of the house fades as I step into the kitchen. It’s warm and festive here. The aunts are softly singing along to some Christmas oldies playing on the radio. A few of my uncles sit in a tight group at the breakfast table, sipping coffee and discussing the attack.

The smell of pine from the Christmas tree in the living room reminds me that we’re supposed to be celebrating. But I can’t shake the dark pit of dread forming in my stomach.

The attack, Dante saving us, and last night all have my mind stuck in a constant overthinking loop. I plop down at the island as Aunt Carla thrusts a mug of coffee at me.

“Oh, good, you’re up!” Her voice is too loud, too chipper for this hour.

I fake a smile. “Yeah, just couldn’t sleep.”

“Well, we’ve got a big day ahead. We need to finish setting up for tonight’s dinner. And don’t even get me started on tomorrow’s festivities. You’ll help, right?”

I nod, even though my head is still spinning. “Of course.”

Aunt Carla sets down the pancake batter and gives me a look. That knowing look. “You look...tired, Gia. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” I lie, averting my eyes. “Just...a lot on my mind.”

“Hmm,” she hums, not convinced. “Is this about our Greek god? I saw the way you two were looking at each other last night.”

“He’s not even Greek.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Please. You think I don’t notice these things? How you’ve been avoiding each other all week, then suddenly...well, you know.” She grins, waggling her eyebrows.

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