Bloody Heart (Brutal Birthright #4) - Sophie Lark Page 0,22
I’m breathing hard. Jules asks me a few questions about how my parents are doing, and if I’ve chosen my college yet.
“I’ll be going to Harvard,” he says proudly.
“That’s great,” I smile.
Just then my back fetches up against something hard and immovable.
“Oh, sorry!” I say, turning around.
I have to look up to meet the eyes of the man towering over me.
He’s dressed all in black. His hair is combed straight back. He’s wearing a black silk mask that covers the whole of his face. His dark eyes glitter down at me.
Before I can say a word, he’s grabbed my waist, and my hand is enclosed in his.
“Excuse me—” Jules protests.
“You don’t mind if I take her,” the man growls.
It’s not a question. He sweeps me away without another glance at Jules.
I knew it was Dante from the moment I saw his bulk. There isn’t a man in the room with shoulders that wide. If I hadn’t already guessed, that rough voice and the intoxicating scent of his cologne would have given it away.
I’m only surprised that he managed to get in the room at all—I doubt he’s on the donor list for KIPP. And I didn’t expect him to own a perfectly-fitted suit.
“What are you doing here?” I say, looking up at him.
Behind the mask, his eyes are more ferocious than ever.
“Watching you dance with another man,” he growls.
The edge in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. His hand swallows mine. I feel the heat coming off his body.
I can’t read his expression, but I can feel his muscles tense with fury.
“Are you jealous?” I whisper.
“Extremely.”
I don’t know why that sends a thrill of pleasure through me.
“Why?” I say.
In answer, Dante only pulls me tighter.
I can feel eyes turning to look at us. It’s impossible not to notice the tallest man in the room. The other dancers create space for us, no one wanting to be flattened by Dante as he spins me around to “Waltz for Dreamers.”
Usually I dislike when people stare at me, but right now I couldn’t care less. They can whisper all they like. All I care about is Dante’s fingers locked around my waist, the impossible strength he uses to whip me around, and the way he doesn’t take his eyes off my face for an instant.
“Why am I jealous?” he says, responding to my question.
“Yes.”
He presses me tight against him.
“Because I don’t care if the richest, fanciest fuckers in the world are in this room. You belong to me.”
8
Dante
I came to the ball to surprise Simone.
I bought a ticket, at an outrageous price, from someone who had actually been invited. Then I got out the one and only suit I own, and even found a mask.
I did all that to see her smile when she realized I’d infiltrated the one party we could attend together without anyone seeing my face.
But then I showed up. I drank in the wealth and power in the room. Every rich and influential person in Chicago, and from cities all around. I scanned the room full of beautiful people, looking for the most stunning woman of all.
And I saw her dancing with another man.
I recognized Simone immediately. No one has skin that glows like hers, or a figure that outshines even the most ostentatious gown. She makes every man in the room drool with envy. The lucky fuck she was dancing with knew he was miles out of his league.
But I was jealous anyway. So fucking jealous I could barely breathe.
I could tell the kid was rich just by his watch and his suit. In fact, I was pretty sure he was the same little shit she was talking to at the Young Ambassador’s Dinner.
I wanted to break his fucking legs for dancing with her.
He knew how to dance. He looked like he’d been doing it all his life—and he probably had. He had style, bearing, manners—everything I don’t. And he had Simone in his arms.
So I ripped her away from him. Literally pulled her right out of his hands and took her. I spun her around that floor until she was dizzy, showing every stiff-shirt in that room that she was mine, and I’d take her whenever I wanted.
But it wasn’t enough. Not even close to enough.
So now I’m pulling her off the dance floor, out of the ballroom, all the way out of the party entirely.
Some idiot in a security guard’s uniform tries to stop us.