“You seem…agitated this morning, Elena,” Dante noted in that smooth, accented drawl he used when he was teasing me. I glared at him, irritated with us both for the interminable dance we were locked together in. “I slept badly.” “Bad dreams?” he asked with a quirk of a black brow. I pursed my lips and arched one of mine. “About a bad man.” “Oh.” He folded his paper in his lap and leaned forward with a wolfish grin. “Do share with the class.” I snorted. “Not likely.”
