Dante, sprawled in an armchair with one leg draped over the side, mouth open and one eye closed, squinted at a carved wooden statue he held in front of his face. “No, that’s the water I told you to drink an hour ago. Poured half right down your dress like a river between your breasts.”
Alessa scoffed. “I did not. And if I did—which I didn’t—you shouldn’t discuss a lady’s bosoms.”
“Bosoms?” He dropped the statue—a priceless heirloom at least two centuries old—on the cushion beside him. “Don’t think bosoms are plural.”
Alessa stood, chin high, and waited for the room to right itself. “Of course, they are. Bosoms almost always come in pairs.”
“Breasts come in pairs, but I don’t think bosoms—who even says that?—can be plural. Two breasts, one bosom. As in, I have two legs, but one crotch, that sort of thing.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“About grammar?”
“About your crotch. And you shouldn’t notice when a girl spills water down her cleavage.”
“I didn’t,” Dante said. “But you got all squeaky about how cold it was. Then you drank another glass of whiskey, so I doubt the water will help much.” He stared longingly at his glass. “Whose turn is it?”
“Mine, I think.”
“Sing something.”
“Pass. I’m a terrible singer.” Her next sip went down a bit too easily. “You sing something.”
She didn’t think he’d do it, but in a voice as rich as honeyed whiskey, he sang: “I took my bonnie lass out on a ship,”
Oh, dear. The burn of alcohol and the warmth of his voice seemed to be melting something inside her.
“To give her a taste of the sea,”
Well. This wasn’t fair at all.
“And when we got back on shore once more,”
Dante took a breath, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“My bonnie lass tasted me.”
She threw her head back, crowing with laughter. “Oh, bravissimo. Such an angelic voice for a devilish song.”
“Grazie.” He bowed his head. “Your turn.”
“I’m not singing.”
“Favorite color, then.”
“Green,” she said. “You’re terrible at this. My turn. How many people have you kissed?”
He scrunched his face in thought. “Seven. No, eight. Wait, do twins count as one or two?”
“Twins are distinct human beings, so two, obviously. And that’s disgusting. You shouldn’t kiss siblings.”
“They weren’t my siblings. I never turn down a kiss from a pretty girl.”
Surprising his tally wasn’t higher, then. She’d be first in line if she wasn’t so deadly, even with his many personality flaws. Although, with a few drinks in him, Dante was almost charming. Or she was no longer capable of judging. The whiskey had warped everything else, so it was quite possibly blurring him, too. Even her glass was listing to one side. Or maybe that was the floor. Or herself. Hard to tell.
What were they talking about?
She gathered her scattered thoughts. “I guess I wouldn’t either, if I knew it wouldn’t end in tragedy. My only attempt did not go well.”
Dante grinned lazily. “Takes practice.”
“Then add kissing to the list of things I will never master.”
“Eh.” He waved a hand. “I’m sure you’ll figure out the death-touch thing eventually.”
Alessa giggled, batting away a little voice warning her she’d regret all of this when she woke in the morning. “Hype-hyper-hypothetically speaking, if you could get past the high likelihood of a painful death, would you ever want to kiss me?”
“Hypothetically?” He enunciated the word more clearly, but not by much.
“Obviously.”
“Hard to get past the painful death part, to be honest.” He clinked his glass against hers.
“It’s hypothetical.” She kicked at him, but barely swiped his leg. “You’d never even have to act on it. Is it that hard to pretend you think I’m pretty?”
“That’s not what you asked.”
“Then I want a do-over.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Do you think I’m pretty?”
“Yes. Favorite food?”
She fluffed her hair with exaggerated pride. Surely she deserved an extra point for prying a compliment from his stubborn lips. “Still not a real question.”
“I’m trying to steer us into safer waters. Greatest fear?”