“A little,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice her voice squeak.
He snagged a blanket draped over the back of the couch and draped it over her.
She could have offered her bed, but inviting Dante there felt like an entirely different proposition than lying beside him on a couch, so she kept quiet. Plus, the couch was narrow, which meant she had to be close to him or she’d fall off. A perfect excuse to get closer. She shifted, wiggling her hips, and her bottom snuggled up— Oh. Maybe wiggling was dangerous. She would not wiggle. No wiggling. Not even a little wiggle. She wouldn’t move at all. She’d stay still and try not to feel anything. Or … try to feel everything. Without wiggling.
She stared into the darkness, wondering if he was as aware of her as she was of him. Or if he was regretting the invitation. But eventually, his warmth and the steady beat of his heart dragged her under.
She floated, mired in the space between light and dark, thoughts and dreams. A blanket on the sand, a calloused palm brushing across her rib cage. With lips like his, Dante had to know a thing or two about kissing.
He made a low sound deep in his throat, and her eyes flew open.
She was either asleep and having the best dream ever, or he was asleep and—his hips moved, pressing against her, and her cheeks flamed—he was asleep and having a very nice dream. Or … they were both awake, and he wanted to see if she was interested in not sleeping. Which she was, but she hadn’t responded, so he might think she was saying no.
His breath tickled her ear, and she lost track of her thoughts,
Breathe, she reminded herself.
His lips brushed the sensitive spot just below her ear, kindling a fire below her navel. Her thoughts scrambled as his fingers grazed the underside of her breast. This felt so right—nothing had ever felt more right—but Dante had made it clear he planned to keep his hands to himself. Which he most certainly wasn’t.
Speak. She opened her mouth, and a whimper slipped out.
Dante wasn’t a liar. Which meant he probably wasn’t awake.
“Dante?” It came out barely more than a breath.
Try harder, Alessa.
She said his name again. Louder.
Dante tensed like she’d dumped a bucket of ice on him, then vanished, vaulting over the back of the couch.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I don’t know what happened. How long—I mean, how many—No, don’t answer that. My fault. Not yours. This is my fault.”
Something crumbled inside her at the horror on his face.
Why had she expected anything else?
“Dante, it’s fine.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “It is not fine.”
“You were asleep.” She hugged her knees to her chest.
He let out a string of curses. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not okay. I’ll leave right now, and you’ll never see me again.” He began gathering his things, leaving a trail of dropped items behind him.
She clenched her fingers. “It was my fault.”
“It’s your fault I groped you?” He shook his head. “No.”
“I didn’t wake you. Not right away.” A mortified heat crept up her neck. She’d melted under his touch, while he’d been dreaming of someone else, and she couldn’t even salvage her pride by denying it, or he’d leave, consumed by guilt.
He bent to retrieve a dropped sock. “You can’t blame yourself for panicking, waking up with someone pawing at you—”
“Dante, I wasn’t asleep!”
He froze so long she thought the silence might shatter.
“I—I thought, maybe you were awake, too.” Alessa hugged her arms to her chest, which felt about to cave in. “I’m sorry. It was wrong. I was wrong.”
Dante sighed so deeply his lungs had to be completely empty. “I told you I’d keep my hands to myself.”
“You were asleep. I wasn’t. Blame me.”
“It was my—”
“Can we just agree we both screwed up and promise never to touch each other again without making sure it’s okay first?”
He looked at the door.
“Dante, if you disappear, I’ll have to tell them why you left. Please don’t make me do that.”
He didn’t want her, but she didn’t want him to go.
He bit his lip. “I’m still sorry.”
Not as sorry as she was.
Thirty-Four
Molti che vogliono l’albero fingono di rifiutare il frutto.
Many desire the tree who pretend to refuse the fruit.