Call me Emma

Sleep wouldn't come.

Cassandra lay in her enormous bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing. The attack. The gunfire. Dante's body shielding hers as they ran through the mansion. The way his hand had gripped hers, firm and unyielding.

She couldn't stop thinking about him.

She threw off the covers and padded through the dark hallways. The mansion was silent, the security team stationed outside. Her bare feet were silent against the cold marble.

She found him in the kitchen.

Dante stood at the counter, his back to her. His shirt was unbuttoned, hanging open. His hair was disheveled, falling across his forehead. In the dim light, he looked different. Softer. More human.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps. His eyes met hers.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

"No." She stepped closer. "You either."

"I don't sleep much." He poured himself a glass of whiskey. "Too many things to worry about."

Cassandra moved toward him. "What do you worry about?"

"Everything." His voice was quiet. "The business. My family. The men who want to destroy us."

"And me?"

He looked at her. Something flickered in his eyes.

"Especially you."

Cassandra's heart pounded. She was close enough to touch him now. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why do you care so much about me?"

Dante set down his glass. His hand came up, his fingers brushing her cheek. His touch was warm, calloused, gentle.

"Because your mother trusted me," he said. "And because when I look at you, I see something I haven't seen in a long time."

"What?"

"Hope."

He kissed her.

It wasn't gentle. It was desperate. Needy. Like he'd been holding back for years. Cassandra responded immediately, her hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer. His lips were warm against hers, tasting of whiskey and something darker.

She pulled away, breathless. "I need to tell you something."

"What?"

"My name." She looked into his eyes. "It's Emma. My mother called me Emma. And I want you to call me that."

Dante stared at her. His thumb traced her jawline.

"Emma," he repeated slowly. "I've been waiting for you my whole life."

He kissed her again. This time, there was no hesitation. His hands roamed her body, tracing the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine. She arched into him, wanting more.

He lifted her onto the kitchen counter. His mouth trailed down her throat, across her collarbone. She gasped when his teeth grazed her skin.

"Emma," he whispered against her neck. "You're so beautiful."

She pulled at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against hers. He shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor. Her hands explored his chest, the hard planes of muscle, the scars that told stories she didn't know.

He lifted her off the counter and carried her toward his room. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her lips finding his again.

---

They fell onto the bed together.

The silk sheets were cool against Cassandra's heated skin. Dante hovered above her, his eyes dark with desire.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough. "I need to know you're sure."

She reached up, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "I've never been more sure of anything."

He undressed her slowly. Reverently. Each piece of clothing was removed with care, like she was something precious. Something worth protecting.

His lips traced a path down her throat, across her collarbone, between her breasts. Her breath hitched when he reached the sensitive skin of her stomach.

She trembled beneath him. Not from cold. From anticipation. From the desperate need building inside her.

"Please," she whispered. "I need you."

Dante paused. His eyes searched her face, reading something she hadn't said.

"Emma," he said slowly. "You've never done this before, have you?"

Her cheeks flushed crimson. She looked away, mortified.

"I—" She swallowed hard. "No. I haven't."

Dante pulled back, his jaw tightening. He ran a hand through his hair, his chest heaving.

"I can't," he said quietly. "Not like this."

"Please—"

"You're too young." His voice was strained. "Too innocent. You don't understand what you're offering."

"I know what I want."

"You're scared." He cupped her face gently. "I can feel you trembling. You're not ready for this. And I won't be the one to take something you can't give back."

Cassandra's eyes burned with shame. She pulled the sheet over herself, her body suddenly cold.

"You're right," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"Don't apologize." His voice was soft. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

But she was already slipping out of bed. Her hands shook as she grabbed her clothes. She couldn't look at him. Couldn't bear to see the pity in his eyes.

Stupid, she thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He was old enough to be her father. What was she thinking? Throwing herself at him like some desperate girl.

"I should go," she said, her voice hollow.

"Emma—"

"I said I should go."

She fled.

---

The hallway was dark. Cassandra stumbled through the mansion, her hands shaking as she pulled on her clothes. Tears streamed down her face.

You're a fool, she told herself. A stupid, foolish girl.

He was thirty-nine. Almost twice her age. He'd held her dying mother's hand. He'd promised to protect her. And she'd tried to give herself to him like some—some—

She couldn't finish the thought.

She collapsed in her room, her back against the door. The necklace was cold against her skin. She wrapped her hand around it, clutching it like a lifeline.

What's wrong with me? she wondered. Why did I do that?

She didn't have an answer.

All she knew was that she couldn't face him. Not tonight. Not ever.

---

Dante sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the empty doorway.

He could still feel her warmth against his skin. Could still taste her on his lips.

You did the right thing, he told himself. She's just a girl. She doesn't know what she wants.

But that wasn't true. She knew exactly what she wanted. And so did he.

He wanted her.

God help him, he wanted her.

But he couldn't. Not like this. Not when she was trembling with fear. Not when she'd never been with anyone before.

She deserved better than him. Better than a broken man who'd spent his life in darkness.

Dante closed his eyes. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

Emma.

He'd waited twenty years to find her. He could wait a little longer.