“If you ask me,” he continued after a brief pause. I snapped my head to my right. “He’s a fool for letting you slip out of his hands.”
I studied him with a furrowed brow. “What makes you say that? You don’t even know me. I could have some weird habits no man in their right mind would be able to put up with. Like not putting my clothes in the hamper or forgetting to run the dishwasher.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek, recalling two heated arguments Brock and I had gotten into over those exact things.
“I could be wrong,” he said smoothly, “but I don’t think that’s the case. I’ve been known to be a pretty good judge of character.”
“Based on just two minutes of conversation across the aisle of an airplane we’ve both been on for nearly twelve hours?” I smirked, lightening my expression. “I didn’t know jet lag could produce such riveting dialogue.”
“You just said it yourself.” A smug look crossed his face. He appeared to be surprisingly awake and composed, despite it being the end of a rather long flight.
I briefly tore my gaze from him, surveying everyone else in the cabin. Eyes drooped. Travelers ran their hands over weary faces. Coffee was consumed as if we were on a lifeboat and it was the only source of sustenance. Despite the comfort of flying in the first-class cabin with flatbed seats, nothing compared to a soft bed to stretch out in. Regardless, this man appeared refreshed, like he had just spent the night in the most luxurious bed known to man. I surmised he must travel often.
“It’s been a long flight,” he continued. “You don’t need to talk to someone to learn about them.”
“I find it helps.”
He shrugged. “For some people.”
“But not you?” I lifted a brow, leering at him with slight disapproval.
“In my line of work—”
“What is it you do exactly?” I interrupted.
He studied me, his hooded eyes unnerving in the way they seemed to rake over every inch of me, piercing me. I’d been with Brock for ten years. I’d never so much as fantasized about another man. Now that I didn’t have my parents looking over my shoulder, telling me how to behave, I actually found myself peering into this man’s mysterious eyes with intrigue and perhaps a bit of longing.
“That’s not important,” he answered after much thought. “Suffice it to say, it’s part of my profession to anticipate people’s wants and needs, to be able to read them by just one look.”
I lowered my voice. “Are you a gigolo?” The combination of his words and rugged confidence left me no other option but to think that.
His heated expression turned jovial and he chuckled. The lines around his eyes wrinkled with amusement. I couldn’t remember the last time I had such an easy, unstilted conversation with another man. With Brock, most of our discussions revolved around how the Democrats were ruining our country. I never got too involved. After one particularly tumultuous argument, I’d learned to simply keep my political opinions to myself. I had a feeling my father would disown me if he found out I had secretly campaigned for a Democrat in the last presidential election.
“No, definitely not a gigolo.” His scruff voice cut through my memories. “But thank you for your vote of confidence, Miss…” He paused, lifting his brows.
“Eleanor. Ellie.”
“Dante.” Smiling, he held his hand toward me.
I reached for it and he clasped his fingers around mine. His skin was rough, warm, inviting. They were the hands of a man. Hands that didn’t have a problem getting dirty. Hands that didn’t go for a spa manicure on a weekly basis.
Dante turned my hand over and raised it to his mouth, planting a light kiss on it. “Piacere di conoscerti,” he murmured against my skin.
“Piacere di conoscerti,” I offered in response, barely able to speak through the strange sensations flowing through me as I savored the feel of this man’s — this stranger’s — lips on my flesh.
The old Ellie would have ripped her hand away and berated him for acting so brazenly. But the point of this trip was to bid farewell to the old Ellie. For the past decade, perhaps even longer, I’d been a hostage in my own life. I refused to crawl back home, beg forgiveness, and try to piece my life back together. I’d made my decision and I intended to stand by it. I deserved a new start. Hopefully, Italy would give it to me.
“Are you okay, Eleanor?” Dante asked, noticing my bereft expression.
Pulling my hand from his, I gave him a forced smile. “I’m fine.”
I stared straight ahead, the feel of his eyes on me burning my flesh, flustering me. He had this confidence and self-importance about him. Culture and custom taught us it wasn’t polite to stare after you reached a certain age. Dante didn’t appear to have paid attention during that lesson in his early years. As unnerving as the feeling of his eyes on me was, I found myself enjoying it. It was a welcome change to finally have the attention of a man, instead of simply being an afterthought, an armpiece to increase approval ratings.
“So…” I cleared my throat. “If you claim to be such an expert on reading people without so much as having any sort of discussion, tell me what you think you know about me.”
He pinched his chin, his fervent gaze disarming. I couldn’t help but feel he was able to strip away all the layers and see me for who I really was, even though I wasn’t quite sure who that was myself. I raised my glass to my lips, swirling the wine around my mouth.
“You’re sheltered,” he said after much thought. “You’ve been living in the shadows for so long, you’re unsure of whether you’re doing the right thing by breaking the chains that have kept you bound for years…and not the good kind of chains,” he added with a lascivious wink. “You were scared to get on this plane back in Los Angeles, but you were even more scared to stay.” He lifted a brow.
My jaw grew slack at his astute assessment. I wondered if he’d been watching me since I arrived at the gate, nervously pacing, debating whether I should even board the plane.
“Am I right?”
I straightened my spine, as I always did to make it appear I wasn’t intimidated. It often worked against my opponent in the courtroom or during negotiations.
“That couldn’t be further from the truth,” I responded in a strong voice, avoiding Dante’s eyes. This man was a stranger, yet he saw me with more clarity than anyone else in my life ever had.
How was that possible?
I hope you’ve enjoyed this peek into Inferno. This is a gripping, suspenseful saga about the power of fate. If you’d like to read more, start the series today for free. Download your copy here.
Acknowledgments
Phew. I did it. Finally. This has actually been the most challenging book for me to write, not because of the subject matter, but because I rewrote the dang thing THREE TIMES!
This was always going to be a story about a woman who was dumped by her long-term boyfriend. The premise remained, but the details changed. First, Julian was just a tech guru and it was set in San Fran. Then I decided a male escort would be a lot more fun, so he became just that and it moved to Manhattan. Then I decided to switch from Manhattan in the winter to the Hamptons in the summer. And boy did it open up a world of possibility for me. This is what I love about writing and allowing my characters to take control. They really do have their own ideas. If I tried to steer them in the direction I’d originally planned, this story wouldn’t be as fun and endearing as it is.
As always, I have my husband to thank for putting up with my constantly bouncing new ideas off him, sometimes when he’s trying to sleep. I couldn’t do this without him, so a big thanks.
Another big thanks to my two nannies who help with Harper Leigh so I can get lots of writing time in — Brooke and Karissa. Thanks so much for loving Harper as much as I do.