A R I A N A

Dante’s hand stayed firm on my waist as he led me through the crowded, his grip was tight, almost painful, like he was afraid I would disappear if he let go.

The heat from his touch burned through the thin fabric of my dress making me uncomfortable.

We stopped near a quiet corner, were we for less attention. Dante turned me to face him, his dark eyes sweeping over me from head to toe.

His jaw clenched when his gaze landed on the low neckline of my dress. ...