Page 39 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet
I pressed her intractably to the swell of my cock trapped in my trousers, and she faltered, losing time and tripping over her heels to end up straddling my thigh. Her eyes were all black, the steel gray a fine frame for her blown pupils as she stared at me, afraid and alert to the presence of a predator.
I grinned wolfishly as I lowered her down the hard length of my leg, enjoying the way she shuddered against me. I opened my mouth to tease her, to enjoy the contrast between her sharp-tongued wit and her pliant body against mine when suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.
Elena frowned as I hesitated against her. “Dante? You look pale.”
I wanted to tell her I was fine, but the air seemed to have been vacuumed out of my chest. A bead of sweat dripped into my eye, blurring my vision as I angled my head to see the buttons of my shirt and shakily undo even more. My fingers fumbled on the buttons as my head swam.
“Dante,” Elena repeated, alarm in her tone as she wrapped her hands around my body, alerting me to the fact that I was swaying. “Tore!” she yelled over the music.
Her hand went to my neck, sharp tipped fingers digging into my pulse as she struggled to hold me up. “Tore, his pulse is really slow.”
The father of my heart was there, taking my other side to prop me up and lead me to the couch.
“Is Dr. Augustus Crown here?” he demanded of someone I couldn’t make out over his shoulder.
I blinked because my eyes were dry, but when I tried to open them again, the lids seemed weighted by cement. The last thing I heard before I succumbed to the blackness was Jacopo’s loud voice growling, “You, bitch. You did this!”
“You, bitch. You did this!”
I blinked at the short, slight man who was suddenly in my face yelling at me.
“Jaco,” Tore snapped, wrenching him away from me and lightly slapping his face. “Do not accuse anyone without foundation. We do not know what happened.”
“He was clearly fucking poisoned,” Jaco cried, pointing at Dante’s pale, sweaty form passed out on the couch. “She was the one dancing with him.”
“Oh? And you think I poisoned him with a kiss?” I asked venomously. “Don’t be an idiot.”
“Both of you, quiet,” Tore demanded in a voice that brooked no argument as a large man with a dimpled chin, thick gold hair, and blue eyes pushed through the gathered crowd. “Dr. Crown, I thought you were here somewhere.”
“You’re lucky I bring my bag with me everywhere,” was his grim reply as he knelt beside the couch and removed a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff from his leather bag.
“Party is over, people,” the man I knew was named Frankie called out as he stepped up on a marble side table to address the crowd. “Get out.”
“Is he going to be okay,dottore?” a beautiful woman in her mid-to-late thirties appeared over the couch, bending to sweep a sweaty lock of black hair out of Dante’s face.
Dr. Crown knocked her hand out of the way without looking at her. Instead, he addressed Tore. “Get everyone the fuck outta here.”
Instantly, Tore transformed from the suave and debonair Italian host to the mafia boss I’d heard rumors about since my youth in Naples.
Unbending, vicious, and controlled.
“You have five minutes to get out!” he ordered, his voice carrying without him having to yell the way Frankie did.
I remained where I stood as everyone quickly gathered their things and left, ushered out by a group of men who were no doubt Camorra soldiers. No one told me to go, and Yara hovered by my side, so I stayed where I was.
The sight of Dante’s massive body pale and slick with sweat was oddly impactful even though I told myself I didn’t particularly like the man. He was just so potent, so vivacious and full of passion that to see him depleted felt absolutely wrong.
I was shaken as much by his sudden illness as I was by my lapse of judgment in dancing with him. My only defense was flimsy at best, but true enough, I had to admit it to myself. I’d never known a man who exuded such raw, palpable sexual energy. Being around him, with the full glory of his attention pinned only to me in a room full of nearly a hundred affluent and beautiful guests, was heady. The walls I’d erected between myself and the male species felt battered and war-torn against the force of his charm, and before I’d known it, I was dancing with him.
Dancing like I hadn’t in years.
Dancing like sixteen-year-old Elena in a piazza in Sorrento with a man I’d thought was my soul mate.
I hadn’t even danced like that with Daniel because somehow, I’d forgotten how much I loved it.
A shiver rippled down my spine, threatening to spill my emotions all over the floor for any of these people to rifle through. I sucked in a deep breath and cleared my mind, focusing on Dante, who still lay pale and seemingly passed out on the long leather couch.
Dr. Augustus fitted a portable oxygen mask to his face, then pricked his finger with some handheld blood monitoring device.
