Impossibly (Dante’s Nine MC #1)(33)
Author: Colleen Masters

“Did our little talk the other night bring this about?” I ask, fighting to stay cool.

“It certainly did,” Declan replies, “You know that I want you, Kassie. And I know that the feeling is mutual. Isn’t that an excellent way to start a date? Usually, there’s so much uncertainty, and game-playing, and posturing. In case you haven’t guessed, I hate that bullshit. I hope you won’t mind my frankness, but I have every intention of taking you to bed tonight.”

“I want that more than anything,” I breathe.

“That’s good,” he grins, giving my hand a squeeze, “So we already know how tonight’s going to end. Now, we can just enjoy ourselves. All I want is to get to know you a little better, Kassie. I’m done pretending that my interest in you is strictly professional.”

“Me too,” I say simply. What else is there to say? On top of everything else that makes this man perfect, he’s also resolved not to play games with me? If this all turns out to be some crazy fever dream, I wouldn’t be at all surprised.

I marvel at the sight of our fingers entwined together on the leather seat. How is it possible to get so turned on just by holding hands? I suppose that when the promise of finally sleeping together is locked up between those fingers, it only stands to reason. I look up at Declan Tiberi, decked out in a perfect black suit and thin red tie, his muscled body looking incredibly at ease in his fancy attire. I guess it’s no mystery after all how he gets me so worked up.

We weave along the Vegas streets, hidden from the rest of the world by tinted windows. The driver’s divider is up, too. We’re totally alone back here. I shift in my seat as a deep, thudding need pulses in the very center of me. It would be so easy to straddle him right there on the seat, demand that he take me in my little black dress and pearls. But no—he’s made it very clear that we’re going to spend this evening getting to know one another. I don’t think that knowing in the biblical sense will be welcomed until later.

“Here we are,” Declan says, breaking up my dirty thoughts as the limo rolls to a stop.

The driver comes around to open my door, and I step out into the warm, dry air. A towering white hotel rises up before me, so high I have to crane my neck to see the top. The architecture is all grand columns and sweeping arches. I feel like I’ve stepped back in time to the days of ancient Rome.

Declan takes me by the hand and leads me into the decadent palace. He gives one cool look to the concierge, and we’re led at once through a series of curtained corridors, away from the main building. I squeeze Declan’s fingers, excited and nervous about being so wholly in someone else’s care. But I guess that’s his motive exactly. He can sense that I’m not someone who trusts, easily. But I have the feeling that if I can learn to trust anyone, it’s him. I’m not saying it won’t be a challenge, but it’s a challenge that would be worth it.

When we finally emerge from the maze of hallways, it’s through a set of tall French doors. I swallow a gasp as we step out into a secluded garden terrace. Tall shrubs shield the spot entirely from view—it’s a perfectly quiet, perfectly private oasis…in the middle of Las Vegas. Delicate string lights hang overhead, and at the center of the space is a table, set for two.

“This is where we’re having dinner?” I breathe.

“That’s right,” Declan says, escorting me to the table, “I thought it might be nice to have a bit of privacy.”

The concierge pulls out my chair and hurries away the moment I’m seated, leaving me alone with my stunning date for the evening. I take in the sight of him, sitting across from me at this gorgeously set table, beneath a canopy of twinkling lights. It’s all so perfect, so insanely ideal. And of course, because of this, I burst out laughing.

“That nervous laughter thing is no joke, huh?” he asks, leaning his elbows on the table.

“I’m s-sorry,” I manage to choke out between bouts of laughter, “This whole thing is just…too much…”

“I wanted to show you a proper good time tonight,” he says, “This seemed like a good place to start.”

“No, it is,” I say, gasping for breath, “It’s just…how the hell can we be sitting here like this tonight, when just yesterday we were slugging back shots at the Fory-Five Club? How can you hop off your Harley, jump into the boxing ring, then slip on a tie and close some new investment deal? All before taking me out for the perfect date. I can’t even get the start of a read on you, Mr. Tiberi.”

“What can I say? I’m a multifaceted man,” he smiles.

“A diamond is multifaceted,” I say, “You are something else entirely.”

A bottle of champagne is brought out to our table. Naturally. Declan waits for the servers to depart again and raises his flute to me.

“To our successful partnership so far,” he says, “And to everything that’s yet to come.”

I take a hearty swallow, the bubbly drink tickling my nose. This whole getting-to-know-you thing isn’t going to be easy, between the two of us. We’re not exactly the most open and emotionally available pair. But I’m game. And a bit of liquid courage might just help the process along.

“Tell me, Kassenia,” Declan says, reaching across the table for my hand, “How is it that I have you all to myself this summer?”

“Well, that was the arrangement,” I remind him, “I move here, work with you—”

“What I mean is, why aren’t you off enjoying your summer with friends? Or backpacking across Europe with your boyfriend instead?”

“You know full well that I don’t have a boyfriend,” I say, cocking an eyebrow at him, “And my closest friend is starting her new job before the summer is out. As for other people in my life…well, it’s a long story.”

“I’m just a bit amazed that some trust fund frat boy didn’t try and snatch you up during college,” Declan says, “Not that you’re the kind of girl who lets herself get snatched up. But you can’t honestly tell me there isn’t a line of men already waiting for you, when you go back home to California.”

“You really don’t have anything to worry about,” I insist, “I don’t really…date much. Or ever, to be honest. I’ve never even had a boyfriend. Not a real one.”

“How can that be possible?” he asks, shaking his head, “You’re twenty-five, aren’t you Kassie? By your age, I’m sure I’d had a slew of—”