"The first one was better.” I grinned, blushing.
He laughed and hugged me close, then brushed my wet hair away from my face. I caught a flash of the little tattoo on the side of his wrist, just below the wrist bone.
"What's that?" I asked, trying to get a better look.
"What? Oh, this?" He turned the outside of his wrist to face us. "It's a magus mark. Not a real one, of course. It's just a tattoo."
He held still so I could look at it. Coloured in with black ink, the tattoo was no larger than a pea. Its shape was clear, though—a flame. Or a fireball. It was rounded at the bottom and sharp on top, little flames licked toward his pinkie finger. Something about it was familiar.
"What's a magus mark?" I rubbed my thumb over the tattoo and felt its softly raised edges.
"Well, I could tell you..." he said, leaning in for another kiss, "but then I'd have to kill you."
He captured my lips and took my breath away again. I was grateful that he was holding me up because I wasn't sure my legs could keep me upright.
But the magus mark was on my mind now, and I pulled away. "Please?" I batted my eyelashes and trailed a finger down his cheek. "I won't tell anyone."
He laughed. "You really are a Bond girl." He kissed the tip of my nose. "What do I get in return?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"How about..." I twined my arms around his neck and pulled out my best doll voice. "How about the satisfaction of knowing that you've shared something special in order to foster trust and a feeling of closeness in the early stages of dating?"
The combination of baby voice and smoky voice sounded adorable, which was exactly what I'd been shooting for.
He laughed again. "I'll tell you, just because I like you and you sound so much cute. But we have to get out of the water, I'm freezing."
Only now did I notice the gooseflesh on his arms.
"Dante!" I put my feet down and pulled him toward the beach. "You idiot. Why didn't you say something?"
He shivered as the night air swept over us. I didn't feel cold at all—I felt great. But he was completely stiff. He wrapped his arms around himself.
"I was just trying to be tough and manly." He laughed through a tight jaw. "How can you stand the water? It's freezing tonight." He picked up the bag he'd brought, pulled out two towels, and handed one to me.
"You thought of bringing towels? You are far more prepared than any boy should be." I dried the water from my skin, but then I wrapped my towel around him and rubbed his shoulders to generate heat.
His kept the towel around himself and I followed him to a nearby park bench. We sat side by side, admiring the view of the stars reflecting on the water, and the lights of Lido in the distance.
"I knew a guy named Nicodemo who could do amazing things with fire," Dante began.
Immediately, I became still. I could hardly breathe. "What kinds of things?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He lifted the towel to his head and scrubbed his wet hair.
"Try me." The banked fire in my belly flickered in anticipation of the story. This was information that I needed. My heart thudded. Warmth flowed through me and for once it was more pleasure than pain.
"I was never supposed to know. I found out by accident one day when I overheard him and my dad talking in our living room. Nicodemo worked for us, but he and my dad were close. Nicodemo was family."
"So, what? He was like a fire-breather or something?"
He gave a wry laugh. "No, it went way beyond that." He turned to me and lowered his voice. "He could create it. Control it. What is the word for," he gestured toward himself with his hands. "Absorb it, that's the word. I know it sounds crazy. I would never have believed it myself if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."
He faced the sea again, his eyes getting a faraway look. He wasn't worried about whether I believed him or not. I wished I could just tell someone my crazy story and not be scared of them not believing me.
"I never knew such power existed," he continued. "I was only about ten but I became obsessed with gaining this ability for myself. Every time Nicodemo had meetings with my dad, I would wait for an opportunity to catch him alone and ask him to teach me."
"And did he?"
He gave a half-laugh. "No, of course not. He couldn't. He showed me a mark that he had, like this one." He raised his wrist to show me the tattoo again. "Only his was natural, like a birthmark. He said only a real fire magus had the ability to control and create fire. It was genetic, so it couldn't be taught. Biggest disappointment of my young life," he said with a trace of bitterness. "Anyway, I saved up my allowance and got the tattoo. My father just about killed me. At the time, I just wanted to look cool, but it's served as a reminder that no matter how much money you have, you can never have everything that you want. So that's it, now you know." He put his arm over my head and around my shoulders.
I was about to ask him more about Nicodemo when my phone vibrated from inside my shoe. I reached down and looked at the screen.
"Oh, crap!" I said, standing up. Elda had called me twice and texted four times since Dante had arrived. I had been so engaged in our little make-out session that I hadn't heard my phone go off.
First: Where are you? I knocked on your door but you didn't answer.
Then: Isaia is asking for you!
Then: I don't think you understand, he's ASKING for you!!!
Finally: Saxony! Please call!
Guilt hit me like a truck.
"What's wrong?" Dante stood and put an arm around my shoulders and looked down at my screen, his eyes scanning the texts. "Is that the lady you work for? At this hour? What is she, your mother?"
"I have to go, Dante. I'm so sorry." It was the second time I'd be leaving him rather rudely, but it couldn't be helped. I bent to pull on my shoes. The word 'ASKING' vibrated at the front of my mind. Had Isaia actually spoken?
Dante wrapped his arms around me, impeding my efforts to put on my second shoe. "You don't have to go. This is your time off. It's the middle of the night."
"You don't understand." I managed to pull on my second shoe in spite of Dante's arms around me. I stood and turned toward him, my hands on his chest. "Isaia, he hasn't spoken in..."
Dante interrupted me, his hands ran down my arms and curled around my wrists. "No, you don't understand. This is your opportunity to show her your boundaries, or she'll always think you're at her beck and call. I know people, trust me."
"What?" I was so surprised at his lack of understanding that I didn't know what to say. "I have to go."
I turned and took a step. Dante's fingers clamped down on my wrists like a pair of handcuffs. He jerked me back toward him. The fire in my belly flared up in anger. Why was he doing this? We came nose to nose.
"You're not listening," he said in a dangerous voice. His eyes narrowed and his jaw popped.
"Dante, what's wrong with you?" My own eyes narrowed, and I felt the telltale flush in my face—my temper, rearing its ugly head. The fire was one thing, but now I was getting really mad. I couldn’t keep the threat from my voice. "Let me go. Now."
It was the wrong thing to say to him. His face darkened. "Why is it that just when you have the opportunity to get the upper hand, you flush it down the toilet? Don't be stupid, now listen to me. Dante has something to teach you." His hands tightened, the bones in my wrists creaked painfully.
"Dante, you're hurting me," I rasped. "Let go, please." Fear had begun to rise in me, along with the crackling flames readying themselves to leap to my defence.
He let go of my wrists but only to put his hands on either side of my face, squeezing and locking me still like a bug with a pin through it.
Who did he think he was? This was not okay.
"I'm only doing this because I care," he said, but the anger in his voice was thinly veiled. Somehow, I had really pissed him off.