Abruptly he stepped away, not at all accustomed to restraining his passions. The witches might have stolen his lust for hunting humans, but every other lust remained in exquisite working order.
"Come along, lover. You shall have your bath."
Turning on his heel, Dante moved to a door neatly hidden by the paneling. A press on the hidden lever and the door swung open to reveal a narrow hall. With a glance over his shoulder to ensure that Abby was following, he led her past the various bedrooms to the master bathroom.
With a flick of the switch, muted light filled the room. From behind him he heard a faint gasp, and then Abby was stepping into the center of the room with a dazed expression.
For a moment Dante regarded her in puzzlement, but as she reached out to run a hand over the marble tub that was the size of a small swimming pool, a smile touched his lips. Of course. For one unaccustomed to Viper's extravagant taste, the perfect replication of a Grecian bath would be somewhat surprising. And perhaps just a tad overwhelming.
"Viper is never subtle," he murmured, sweeping past her to turn on the faucets that were shaped as goddesses.
"It's beautiful."
'Yes."
Pausing to pour a measure of scented bubble bath into the cascading water, Dante turned back toward Abby and then firmly reached out to begin unbuttoning her grimy shirt.
Her eyes widened as he nimbly dealt with the fastenings and stripped the offending garment from her slender form. Without hesitation, he performed a similar duty to her khaki pants and slid them down the length of her legs.
"Dante," she at last managed to croak, "what are you doing?"
Flowing to his knees, he removed her shoes and pulled away the slacks to toss them into a pile in the corner.
"Preparing you for your bath, my lady," he murmured, rising to tackle the lacy bra.
Instinctively her hands rose in protest. "You can't…"
His gaze collided with her own as he swept aside her hands and undid the clasp to her bra with one motion.
"Trust me, my love."
She swallowed heavily, but clearly too weary, or perhaps as caught in the spell-tingling moment as he was, she didn't protest. Still holding her gaze, he caught her silk panties in his fingers and slowly slid them down before at last lifting her in his arms and carrying her to the waiting bath.
With a careful tenderness, he lowered her into the water and reached for a washcloth that was folded in a pretty seashell.
He was forced to kneel upon the marble floor as he began the slow task of scrubbing her skin clean. Not that he noticed the hardness beneath his knees or the warm steam that was making his silk shirt cling to his body. His every thought was consumed with the sensual delight of touching this woman.
"So soft," he husked, rubbing the cloth down the length of her arm. "Like warm ivory."
Leaning back her head, Abby allowed her eyes to drift closed. 'That feels wonderful."
Wonderful. Yes. And wicked. And sinfully tempting.
A slow, simmering hunger woke within Dante as he continued his self-imposed torment. Lying in the tub built for the worship of goddesses, she might have floated down from Mt. Olympus itself with her long, slender limbs and honey curls floating about her fragile face.
Careful to do nothing that might startle her out of her oblivion, he washed her creamy skin and then the honey curls. The warmth of her filled his cold body. Filled him and made his blood run hot as he rinsed the last of the shampoo from her hair.
Barely aware of what he did, Dante softly cradled her face and traced her cheeks with his thumbs. Such delicate beauty, he admired in silent satisfaction. Not the absurd physical beauty that humans held in such high regard and could change at the drop of a hat. Hell, anyone could buy that sort of beauty from a plastic surgeon. But Abby possessed a spiritual beauty that called to him with irresistible force.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head and stroked his lips over her mouth. For a moment she seemed to stiffen, but even as he prepared to pull back, her lips astonishingly parted in silent invitation.
The capitulation was as soft as a whisper, and yet Dante felt a bolt of pleasure shimmer through his body.
Bloody hell. He had dreamed and ached for this woman for weeks. Months. Now he trembled with the sheer force of keeping himself from devouring her.
His fingers tightened upon her face. He could taste soap upon her lips and smell the heat of her blood. Sweet, forbidden magic raced through him as his kisses deepened with demand.
Beneath Mm Abby offered a sigh of appreciation as she lifted her damp arms to wrap them about his neck. Dante moaned his approval. He savored the fierce sensations clenching his body. His passions had always run high. He had enjoyed countless women over the centuries. But never had he been stirred with such a relentless force.
It was as if she had awakened a slumbering hunger that would not be satisfied with anything less than absolute possession.
Parting her lips with his tongue, he explored the moist cavern of her mouth. He needed more. Her body pressed beneath him. Her legs wrapped about his waist. Her hips lifting to sheath him deep into her body.
Her fingers clenched in his hair even as his mouth shifted, tracing a path of searing fire over her cheek and down the curve of her neck.
He felt as if he were drowning as he nuzzled the frantic pulse at the base of her throat and moved his hands down to brush over her slender curves. Abby shuddered in response before her fingers were suddenly cupping his face and her body arching upward.
"Dante?" she demanded in soft confusion.
Lost in his heated passions, Dante wanted to ignore her whisper. It would be so easy. Beneath his hands he could feel her shiver with a longing that matched his own. Why shouldn't he provide the sweet release that lurked so tantalizingly close?
It was the unwanted memory of his own words that made his head slowly lift.
Trust me, he had commanded as he had prepared her for her bath.
Damn. He had urged her to put aside her natural caution and place herself in his hands. Perhaps the most difficult thing for a woman such as Abby to do. Whatever his desire for her, he could not risk any belated sense of betrayal. Both their lives depended upon her faith in him.
Grimly lifting himself upright, Dante gathered Abby carefully in his arms and wrapped her in a warm towel. "Come, it's time you were safely tucked into bed."
For a moment she stiffened, as if embarrassed by her blatant reaction to his touch. Then with a rueful sigh she allowed her head to drop onto his shoulder.
"I'm so tired," she muttered.
"I know, my sweet. We will rest here today."