Solo Tu

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Solo Tu

By

Mandy M. Roth

 Chapter One

 

Francy Montgomery pulled her silver sedan to a stop outside of the three-story cream-colored home and killed the engine. It was strange being back after so long but it was necessary. A strange calm surrounded her as she stared up at the house her longtime friend, Dante, insisted wasn’t a mansion. With nine bedrooms and ten bathrooms it counted as one in her book. Trust Dante not to think so. The man had been born in the lap of luxury.

Getting out of her car, she took in a deep, fresh breath of country air. The very sight of the place took her breath away. It was both overwhelming and exhilarating to see it again. Part of her wanted to get back in her car and drive away. Another part wanted to lay down roots and never leave again. Unfortunately, she couldn’t do that. Running wasn’t an option either.

Letting her power rise, Francy let it run out and over the grounds in search of Dante. A witch by birth, she had only learned to control her powers in the last several years. Being under thirty years of age made her a fledgling in the eyes of the supernatural world. Her lack of control and five-year span of trying to harness her powers was unacceptable by many, but not Dante. He made controlling supernatural gifts look simple and always made her feel good about what she’d accomplished. The minute she sensed his magik, Francy drew hers back quickly. Her entire body tingled from the rush of power and from the thrill of having brushed against Dante, even if it was only mystically.

I should have just called. I can’t face him.

It had been over five years since she’d been able to visit Dante and she wasn’t sure what to expect. Sure, they kept in touch as much as they could on the phone but they both led very busy lives. With the bombshell she had to drop on him, she was positive that their days of doing their best to stay in contact were numbered. Still, it was important that he hear the news she had to share before anyone else told him.

Red rows of tulips flanked the limestone circular drive, giving the illusion of a red carpet welcome. The arched, notched-out entranceway had potted plants on it, consisting mostly of ivy. Italian herbs were randomly growing throughout as well. That suited Dante.

The plants softened the hard edges of the entranceway perfectly. Francy could still remember Dante planting them. She had been in high school, visiting her family’s cottage, and he’d seemed desperate to find things to do to occupy his time. After all, the man had centuries under his belt and countless more to come. Immortality had its price—boredom seemed to be part of it.

Desperate for anything to avoid one-on-one time with me.

It was a harsh thing to think and not entirely true. So much had transpired between them that it was hard to pinpoint what they had. In her mind and her heart, she would always hold Dante near—love him with more of herself than she would ever offer another. In reality, he was her friend. Nothing more, and now she was promised to another. That in itself was something she was coming to terms with.

Francy didn’t bother knocking. It wasn’t something she was known for when it came to visiting Dante and it would seem time hadn’t changed the habit. She opened the heavy wooden door and smiled when she found the front room hearth covered in fruits and vegetables. It was an open layout, leaving the hearth in close proximity to a large wash basin. It was Dante’s stopping spot from the garden. Francy could still picture him spending time cleaning all that he brought in from the garden in preparation for whatever feast he was planning.

She smiled as she stared at the hearth. The charred backdrop made her laugh as she remembered how and why it was that way. Stepping closer to it, Francy put her hand out, almost touching the scorch marks. The marks had been made when they had decided to enjoy a late-night meal together with a soothing fire going. Dante had insisted on cooking for her and there was no way she’d ever pass that up. Not with as excellent a chef as he was. His ability to turn ordinary pasta into something extraordinary had always won her over.

The way to your heart, Francy, is through your stomach. Dante’s words echoed in her mind.

Francy let out a soft laugh at the thought of her friend’s comment and how he would tease her that he had but to cook and she’d forgive him for just about anything. In truth, it wasn’t quite that easy. There were things she wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive him for.

Staring at the charred wall, she thought back to five years ago, when she’d last seen Dante. The meal had started out like any other but had ended in a way she’d never dreamt possible—with the two of them teetering on the edge of making love. They had come so close yet hadn’t completed the act. It was a regret she would forever live with.

So many nights, when she should have been thinking of another, she’d lain in bed touching herself. Making herself come with the use of her fingers and memories of her night with Dante.

That night, Francy had been so aroused, so in need of Dante to be in her, fucking her, taking her every way possible that she’d been careless with the gifts she’d been born with, accidentally releasing her magik and sending a charge into the fireplace. A second before Dante was about to slide his long, thick cock into her, huge flames shot forth, charring the cream-colored stone wall. It had left the two of them in an awkward spot, lying on his kitchen table, staring at the wall, and ended what could have been the beginning of something else entirely.

Francy still wasn’t sure what Dante’s reasoning was for casting her aside, telling her to go and live her life, but she did know that she’d never truly gotten over it. The odds were against that ever happening. Various scenarios had raced through her head but the best she could come up with was he didn’t feel the same for her as she felt for him.

She had left town shortly after and hadn’t been home since. Sure, Dante had spent years trying to convince her to return home, accept his apology and all would be right. Nothing was ever that easy. Francy had let someone else enter the equation but wasn’t sure exactly why. She had felt compelled, as though a greater force was driving her, pushing her to accept another and move on.

“I can’t believe he left the wall like that.”

“And I,” a deep familiar voice said from behind her, “can’t believe you’re finally here. Come sei bella—how beautiful you are.” The very sound moved over her, caressing her body in places it shouldn’t be able to touch.

“Dante.” Turning, she found him leaning against the entranceway. His onyx-colored hair came to his chin, framing his rectangular face perfectly. It swept out a bit, always looking as though it was windblown. Though he looked to be in his mid to late twenties, he was much older than that, almost two hundred years to be exact. Their age difference had bothered him once. He swore each time they spoke on the phone that it was no longer a concern but with Dante she wasn’t certain.

He is gorgeous.

Dante’s dimpled chin and full lips had always been a source of fascination for her. Countless nights she’d lain in the cottage just beyond the edge of his property line with her hand buried between her legs, tweaking her clit to images of him.

Stop thinking about him that way. You have someone else in your life now.

He shifted slightly, causing the unbuttoned thin white cotton shirt he had on to move to one side. The sight of his steely, tawny chest and torso left her channel moist and her breathing ragged. The bulge in his khaki-colored, just past knee-length, cotton drawstring shorts only served to make her moan softly. It didn’t matter how many years she put between face-to-face visits, the man still made her body burn. If only he felt the same way.

No. It’s better he doesn’t. You’re with another man. Remember that.