She had no idea what to do. Her brain was on autopilot. Even the questions and panic were gone now; all she knew was she had to kiss Dante Luciano. She started to move forward, but another guy stepped between them.
“Dude, you’re out of booze.”
Dante slipped his hand into the front pocket of his jeans. Moonlight sparked off the small metal key. “Here, hit my dad’s liquor cabinet. He’s got plenty.”
With a start, Isabel realized this was Dante’s house. Her breath hitched. He really was bad.
“Real nice of your dad to share.” His buddy grinned.
“Right. Like he shared his truck,” Dante said with a smirk. “You gotta help me get it out of that ditch tomorrow.”
Even his voice was sexy. Low, husky and filled with what she imagined sin sounded like. Dante Luciano had the worst reputation in the county. Even Audra, who was a known hell-raiser herself, was in awe of how much trouble he stirred up.
“Looks like someone’s waiting for you,” the guy said, his laugh a little mean this time. It took Isabel a few seconds to realize he meant her. At their stares, her cheeks flamed and she would have turned away except the look on Dante’s face had her rooted in place. She barely noticed his friend snicker and stalk off.
“Hey there,” Dante said with a slow grin. The world ground to a slow halt around her.
“Hi,” Isabel squeaked after a few gulps. Her heart raced so fast, she worried it was going to fly out of her chest. When he beckoned her closer, she tamped down a hysterical giggle and stepped forward until she was near enough, for the first time, to stare into his eyes. They were vivid green, like the emeralds in her mother’s anniversary band.
Maybe his gaze was cloudy with an alcohol haze and he was swaying more than the trees, but Isabel didn’t care. If only she could think of something to say.
He reached out and flicked one of her curls, then let his finger trace over her shoulder. Isabel’s nipples hardened. Something intense, damp and sticky, tightened deep in her belly. She didn’t know what was going on inside her body, but it felt good. In a scary, confusing kind of way. What should she do? Should she touch him? Should she say something? Her mind, already fogged with nerves, shut down at his touch.
Which was fine with her body. It had plenty going on.
“As the host of this little get-together,” he said, his hand now tangled in her hair, “it’s my duty to welcome you to the party. My momma insists I be polite, you know.”
His idea of welcome was friendlier than a handshake, Isabel realized, when, with his hand still in her hair, he pulled her against his body.
Her gasp was lost in his mouth. Her hands curled into the smooth delight of his chest as he took advantage of her shock to slip his tongue between her lips. Terrified pleasure filled her. Romantic notions of love-at-first-kiss filled her head, tangled with the incomplete images of dark, forbidden touches.
She’d been kissed before, but never like this. Dante’s mouth was pure magic. Soft and sweet, his tongue danced along hers. Something wild, something intense coiled low in her belly. Isabel shifted, trying to find relief, trying to figure out what to do about the power of the feeling.
When his hand cupped her breast, she gasped. Not able to help herself, she pulled back.
He laughed. “You’re a sweet little thing, aren’t you?”
“That’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked, her tone as soft as the night air. She’d screwed up. Ruined it. Tears filled her eyes as emotions she didn’t understand gripped her.
He flashed a half-smile, then brushed his finger over the strap of her tank top. “It’s not bad. I’ll bet you taste as sweet as you look…everywhere. Like a ripe, fresh-picked peach.”
The image of his mouth on her—licking, tasting—stopped Isabel’s breath. Like the scariest ride at the amusement park, she wanted to try it. But at the same time she was terrified. Torn between desire and fear, she stared up at him.
“Dante?”
They both glanced at the redhead standing to the side. Her heavily made-up eyes slid over Isabel in instant dismissal.
“Dance?” she said to Dante, her hand tracing down her throat, over her plump breast, then to her hip.
“Sweet,” Dante repeated, giving Isabel a look so hot, she swore she felt her heart melt. He leaned forward again to brush a soft kiss over her cheek. “But I don’t do good girls.”
A minute later, Isabel blinked back the tears as Dante swayed to “As Long As You Love Me,” with the redhead wrapped around him like plastic wrap. From the looks of her, that girl would definitely know how to handle Dante. When the girl’s hand slid down the back of his jeans, Isabel clenched her jaw and turned away. She couldn’t watch.
She scanned the couples curled up on loungers or lying together on the lawn. She wanted to—had to—get out of there, but she didn’t see Audra. She hurried inside. As she reached the door, a kid ran through, almost knocking her on her butt.
“Parents! Cops!” he yelled. “Run.”
Panic seized her. Couples shot apart and flew left and right. Cops? Oh, shit.
A half hour later, she sat in the Luciano’s living room, listening to the policeman lecture her and the dozen other kids who hadn’t escaped into the woods. This was definitely bad.
Her parents were going to kill her. And worse, be disappointed. She’d never let them down, never given them a single reason to lecture her. Panic flitted, inky black, at the edges of her awareness. The only thing keeping Isabel from sobbing was the fear that if she did, she’d throw up.
Dammit, what had she gotten herself into? She didn’t belong here. Her response to Dante proved that. She was just a kid, definitely not ready for the big leagues. Suzi leaned over and nudged her. Apparently, Audra had managed to escape, just like Dante and most of the others.
“Hey, I’d say you made it. Busted like a Wicked Chick, huh?” From the grin on Suzi’s face, she wasn’t afraid. Unlike Isabel, who was sure this was her last night on earth.
With a weak smile, Isabel slid down the worn fabric of the couch. Maybe she should have planned this better. Blinking back tears she realized she didn’t want to be wicked. The only thing she wanted now was Dante Luciano.
1
“I NEED A REAL MAN,” Isabel Santos decided. She shot a bleary look across the table at her best friend, then squinted to take in the rest of the cozy Italian restaurant. Although she and Audra were still seated, there were a few couples on the dance floor, swaying to the soft rock music.
At half past eleven in the evening, the only men left were a pair of waiters who were obviously into each other, a teenaged busboy and the cook. Considering the pasta had been overdone, Isabel crossed him off her potential list.
“I have to admit, a man would have been a more imaginative birthday gift than the nightie I gave you,” her friend mused, snagging Isabel’s attention back from her useless hunk-search. “But I wasn’t sure what size you were in the market for.”
Isabel snickered.
“It’s not the size that matters, it’s the quality,” she insisted, careful to enunciate her words through the fog of wine curling through her head. She really should have quit at one glass, but she’d been so bummed over being dumped, turning another year older and discovering she was as desirable as a dried-up prune, she’d ordered a second. Then a third. “I need a real man. A hot, sexy man. The kind that makes a girl squirm, but doesn’t require conversation and pampering. You know, a stud.”
Audra Walker-Martinez, Isabel’s oldest friend, was probably the only person in the