Free Dante's Temporary Fiancée by Day Leclaire

us,” Nonna said. “Soon she will be.”
    â€œNot too soon,” he soothed. “This Inferno business is new to both of us and a bit of a shock. We need time to get to know each other before jumping into marriage.”
    Nonna turned on him. “Where will she stay until then?”
    â€œRight here in my guest room.”
    She shook her head. “That is not proper and you know it.”
    He gave her his most intimidating look. Consideringshe was his grandmother, it met with little success. “You think I’d break my promise to Primo?”
    She lifted a shoulder in a very Italian sort of shrug. “The Inferno is difficult to resist.”
    â€œIf it becomes too difficult, I’ll make other arrangements.”
    Nonna gave a dainty snort. “We will see what Primo has to say about that.”
    No doubt. Giving each woman a kiss, he sent them on their way before going in search of Larkin. He found her in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee. Unable to help himself, he stood in the doorway and watched, vaguely blown away by her grace.
    There was a gentle flow to her movements, as though each step was choreographed by some inner music. What would it be like to dance with her? At a guess, sheer perfection. She was made to dance, and the idea of holding her in his arms while they moved together in perfect symmetry filled him with a longing he’d never experienced with or toward any other woman.
    Another image formed, a picture of another sort of dance, one that also involved the two of them, but this time in bed. She had such a natural sense of rhythm, combined with a lithe, taut shape. How would she move when they made love? Would she drift the way she did now, initiating a slow, sultry beat? Or would she be fast and ferocious, pounding out a song that would leave them sweaty and exhausted?
    â€œCoffee?”
    The mundane question caught him off guard and it took him a moment to switch gears. “Thanks.”
    â€œCream? Sugar?”
    â€œBlack.”
    She poured two mugs. “Do you really hate it?”
    Rafe hesitated, still off-kilter. It wasn’t until she ruffled her hair in a self-conscious gesture that he realized what she meant. “No, I don’t hate it at all. It suits you.”
    And it did. Before, her hair had been long and straight, and the two times he’d seen her, she’d worn it either pulled back from her face in a braid or piled on top of her head with a clip. The stylist had cut it all off and discovered soft curls beneath the heavy weight of her hair, curls that clung to her scalp and framed her elegant features. Few women had the bone structure to get away with the stark style. She was one of them. If anything, it made her look even more like a creature from fantasy and make-believe.
    â€œAnd the clothes?” she pressed.
    â€œI suspect I’d like you better without them.”
    Startled, she looked at him before grinning. “There speaks a man.”
    â€œWell, yeah.”
    He sipped his coffee and circled her. He had to admit that his mother had done a terrific job orchestrating the change. Between the haircut, the stylishly casual blouse, the three-quarter-length slacks and the scraps of heeled leather that passed for sandals, Larkin had settled on an eclectic style that was uniquely her own. No doubt some of that was due to his mother’s influence. She had a knack for seeing the true nature of a person and giving them a gentle nudge in the appropriate direction, rather than simply layering on the current fashion, regardless of whether or not it suited. But the rest was all Larkin.
    â€œHow did she convince you to accept the clothes and salon treatment?”
    A hint of color streaked across Larkin’s cheekbones and she buried her nose in her coffee mug. “Your mother isn’t an easy woman to refuse,” she muttered.
    â€œEngagement present?”
    Larkin sighed. “It started out that way. Of