Page 38 of Savage Devotion

I guide her from the elevator, my hand covering hers where it rests in the crook of my elbow.

As the suite door closes behind us, I watch understanding dawn in her eyes. The realization that our time in Paris is more than a business trip, more than a public appearance.

It's a test. For both of us.

And neither of us can afford to fail.

Chapter Ten

Francesca

The black gown feels like pure luxury against my skin, the silk caressing every curve as Dante's fingers work the hidden zipper at my back. His knuckles brush my spine deliberately, each touch leaving a trail of heat I refuse to acknowledge.

"The dress is perfect," he growls, his breath warm against my bare shoulder.

I stand before the hotel suite's ornate mirror, barely recognizing the woman reflected back at me.

The gown is a masterpiece. Tight across my body before cascading dramatically past my hips, the back dipping dangerously low. Diamond earrings reflect in the depths of Dante's hungry gaze behind me, sparking in his eyes as I twist the matching bracelet around my wrist.

Dante's reflection shifts in the mirror, his massive frame draped in a perfectly tailored tuxedo that emphasizes the brutal strength beneath the civilized veneer. The crisp white of his shirtcontrasts with the olive tone of his skin, making him look like something carved from shadow and light.

"So, you approve of the dress?" I ask, our eyes meeting in the mirror.

"I will kill anyone who so much as looks at you tonight," he replies simply, possessive hands resting on my hips.

"Killing won't be necessary."

He chuckles. "Of course not. Maybe I will restrain myself tonight… For you."

The statement should terrify me. Instead, some dark, twisted part of me feels a thrill at his words. At being considered worth killing for.

When did this happen? When did the monster who captured me become someone whose touch I actually…crave?

"Your mask," he says, reaching for the creation I'd selected during our shopping expedition yesterday. The mask is layered in black lace and crystals, designed to cover just the upper half of my face while leaving the deep red of my lipstick exposed.

Dante positions the mask carefully, securing the ribbons behind my head. The mask transforms me further.

From captive to queen, from victim to temptress.

"You look like something from a dark fairy tale," Dante observes, his voice dropping to that register that makes my skin prickle with awareness. "The kind where the princess willingly chooses the monster."

I turn to face him directly, reaching up to place his own mask—a sleek black one that accentuates the predatory sharpness of his features.

"And what makes you think she chooses?" I challenge, straightening his bow tie.

His smile appears beneath the mask, cold and beautiful. "Because all monsters, no matter how dark or fucked up they might be, recognize their own kind, Francesca."

I lean up on my toes, my body suddenly operating on instinct rather than reason. The mask's edge presses into my cheek as I brush my lips against his, feeling the contrast between the cool black material and the heat of his mouth.

"Francesca," he whispers, my name a warning or invitation. I can't tell which.

I slide my tongue along the seam of his lips, tasting champagne and power, silently asking permission to enter this forbidden space. My hands find purchase on his broad shoulders, steadying myself as I hover in this dangerous moment.

Dante growls a deep, primal sound that vibrates through my body like a current. And suddenly… the kiss transforms.

His mouth claims mine with bruising intensity, his tongue invading with deliberate, commanding strokes over mine. One hand grips my waist while the other tangles in my hair, angling my head to deepen the connection.

The kiss isn't just desire; it's possession. A dark baptism marking me as his in ways the tattoo never could.

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