This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(52)
“I wouldn’t know.”
“About grammar?”
“About your crotch. And you shouldn’t notice when a girl spills water down her cleavage.”
“I didn’t,” Dante said. “But you got all squeaky about how cold it was. Then you drank another glass of whiskey, so I doubt the water will help much.” He stared longingly at his glass. “Whose turn is it?”
“Mine, I think.”
“Sing something.”
“Pass. I’m a terrible singer.” Her next sip went down a bit too easily. “You sing something.”
She didn’t think he’d do it, but in a voice as rich as honeyed whiskey, he sang: “I took my bonnie lass out on a ship,”
Oh, dear. The burn of alcohol and the warmth of his voice seemed to be melting something inside her.
“To give her a taste of the sea,”
Well. This wasn’t fair at all.
“And when we got back on shore once more,”
Dante took a breath, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“My bonnie lass tasted me.”
She threw her head back, crowing with laughter. “Oh, bravissimo. Such an angelic voice for a devilish song.”
“Grazie.” He bowed his head. “Your turn.”
“I’m not singing.”
“Favorite color, then.”
“Green,” she said. “You’re terrible at this. My turn. How many people have you kissed?”
He scrunched his face in thought. “Seven. No, eight. Wait, do twins count as one or two?”
“Twins are distinct human beings, so two, obviously. And that’s disgusting. You shouldn’t kiss siblings.”
“They weren’t my siblings. I never turn down a kiss from a pretty girl.”
Surprising his tally wasn’t higher, then. She’d be first in line if she wasn’t so deadly, even with his many personality flaws. Although, with a few drinks in him, Dante was almost charming. Or she was no longer capable of judging. The whiskey had warped everything else, so it was quite possibly blurring him, too. Even her glass was listing to one side. Or maybe that was the floor. Or herself. Hard to tell.
What were they talking about?
She gathered her scattered thoughts. “I guess I wouldn’t either, if I knew it wouldn’t end in tragedy. My only attempt did not go well.”
Dante grinned lazily. “Takes practice.”
“Then add kissing to the list of things I will never master.”
“Eh.” He waved a hand. “I’m sure you’ll figure out the death-touch thing eventually.”
Alessa giggled, batting away a little voice warning her she’d regret all of this when she woke in the morning. “Hype-hyper-hypothetically speaking, if you could get past the high likelihood of a painful death, would you ever want to kiss me?”
“Hypothetically?” He enunciated the word more clearly, but not by much.
“Obviously.”
“Hard to get past the painful death part, to be honest.” He clinked his glass against hers.
“It’s hypothetical.” She kicked at him, but barely swiped his leg. “You’d never even have to act on it. Is it that hard to pretend you think I’m pretty?”
“That’s not what you asked.”
“Then I want a do-over.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Do you think I’m pretty?”
“Yes. Favorite food?”
She fluffed her hair with exaggerated pride. Surely she deserved an extra point for prying a compliment from his stubborn lips. “Still not a real question.”
“I’m trying to steer us into safer waters. Greatest fear?”
“Oh, much safer.” She frowned. “That we all die.”
“Boring.”
“That it will be my fault? I think I’m more scared of that than the actual prospect of everyone dying. That must make me a terrible person.”
“I’m not one to judge.” He rolled his fingers across his glass. “Favorite hobby?”
“Aside from accidentally killing people? None. Perhaps I should learn to knit.”
“You’re a gloomy drunk, you know that?”
“It was your turn anyway. Is it too late to change my mind about a cat?”
“Ah, so you accept my theory?”
“That I’m so pathetically lonely I pull the life out of my partners? Sure, let’s go with that one.” Her breath came faster. “I might need more than one cat.”
He put his glass down and stood. “I have an idea.”
Alessa backed away. “What are you doing?”
“I’m giving you a hug so you can save the world.”
She knocked a chair over in her haste to escape. “No. Bad idea.”
“You’re covered from toe to chin, and I’m a full head taller than you. You’d have to leap into the air and smash your face against mine to hurt me.”
Putting the couch between them, she mustered her most stern glare. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Do you want a damn hug or not?”
Desperately.
She swallowed. “Gloves.”
He yanked them from his back pocket, shaking his head with amused exasperation.