Page 49 of Blood Vows

“Someone created a company on the day I was born!”

“I heard him,” Dante said.

“And twenty-seven years later, they’re using my identity, and apparently, my father knew.”

“Probably,” he said.

“And he never told me.” Her voice cracked, and she hated that. She hated how lost she suddenly felt.

Dante crossed the last few feet between them. “Elena.”

“What if my entire life was planned?” she whispered.

“It wasn't,” he said.

“You can't know that,” she insisted.

“No.” He reached for her face. This time, he actually touched her. One hand cupped her cheek, and Elena froze. So did Dante. Maybe he hadn’t meant to do it, but he didn't pull away. His palm was warm against her skin, and his thumb rested just below her cheekbone.

“Listen to me,” he said. She did, because suddenly she couldn't do anything else. “You are not a bank account.” His voice was low. “You are not some fucking company.” His thumb moved across her cheek. “You are not whatever deal your father made before you were old enough to understand it.”

Her eyes burned. “You don't know who I am.”

Dante stepped closer. “No.” His gaze held hers. “But I'm starting to.” Her breath caught, and she felt that pull again. It was stronger now, even without gunfire or guards interrupting them. She had no reason to pretend it wasn't happening.

Dante’s eyes dropped to her mouth, and Elena’s heart hammered. “Dante.” He leaned closer slowly. It was so slowly she could have moved, but she didn’t. His other hand settled at her waist. The shirt she wore was his, and he fisted the fabric as he tugged her closer. His mouth almost touched hers. Everything about this was a bad idea, but Elena didn’t care.

She closed the last inch herself, and their mouths met. Dante went completely still for one heartbeat before his control broke. His hand slid from her cheek into her hair, and he kissed her back—hard and deep. There was nothing tentative about it. Elena gripped his shirt and pulled him closer, and he made a low sound against her mouth that sent heat racing through her. This was Dante without the leash, and God help her, she liked him this way.

His arm tightened around her waist, lifting her against him until there was no space left between them. She forgot the accounts, forgot Crimson Holdings, forgot the people trying to kill her, and for a few stolen seconds, there was nothing but him. Then Dante tore his mouth from hers, leaving them both breathing hard. He pressed his forehead against hers.

“Fuck,” he swore.

Elena almost laughed. “That bad?”

His eyes opened. “That's not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He stared at her. “That shouldn't have happened.” The words hurt more than they should have, and Elena immediately stepped back. His hands dropped to his sides.

“Right,” she breathed.

“Elena,” he said.

“No, you're right.” She tugged at the hem of his shirt, suddenly painfully aware that she was standing in his kitchen wearing his clothes after kissing him. “You're protecting me. I'm a suspect. Whatever.”

“That isn't why this is a bad idea,” he growled.

She looked at him. “Then why was kissing me a mistake?” Dante opened his mouth, and his phone rang. Elena laughed bitterly. “Of course.” He looked like he wanted to throw the thing through a wall. “Answer it.”

“Elena—” he breathed.

“Answer your phone,” Dante swore and grabbed it.

“Yeah?” he answered.

She turned away. Marco’s voice came through the speaker. “I found the storage facility.” Elena stood still in front of him and noticed that Dante’s entire posture had changed.