Dante: Claiming His Secret Love-Child Page 10

  “But—”

  Arguing was pointless. She knew that. Once Dante made up his mind to do something, nothing would deter him. She had no choice but to loop her arms around his neck and give in as he carried her down the corridor. When he shouldered open a door and she saw that he had brought her to his bedroom, sick as she was it sent a little thrill of recognition through her. She had not been here in a very, very long time but it looked the same. Big, masculine. A perfect reflection of the man who had once been her lover.

  He carried her to the bed. His bed. As he eased her back against the pillows, she thought of how many times he had done that in the months they’d been together.

  “Dante. Wait…”

  Too late. He was gone, returning seconds later with Daniel in his arms. Her heart skipped a beat. Her son, in his father’s powerful arms. The sight made her throat tighten. He gave Daniel to her while he arranged a pair of big, upholstered chairs so they faced each other, their soft, high arms forming the walls of an improvised crib. Then he took the still-sleeping baby from her, laid him gently in the improvised crib and covered him with a cashmere throw.

  “Okay?” he said softly, looking at her.

  Gabriella smiled. “Perfect. Thank you.”

  He nodded. His gaze swept over her; his dark eyebrows drew together. “You’re soaked.”

  She looked down at herself. Her cotton nightgown, plastered to her skin with sweat, She flushed, slipped under the duvet and drew it to her chin. The bed smelled of Dante: masculine, clean…wonderful. She looked up, ready to tell him she couldn’t stay here but he was gone again. Of course. She felt her color deepen. He had done all she could possibly expect and more, held her while she was violently ill, taken care of the baby…

  “Sit up.”

  She raised her head in surprise. His voice was gentle; he had a bowl of water, a towel and one of his T-shirts in his hands.

  “Dante. Really—”

  “Gabriella,” he said softly, “really. Just relax, sweetheart, and let me take care of you.”

  No, she thought, no, she could not do that. Not even for these precious moments. She could not permit herself to fall under his spell again; it would break her, if she did. He was kind, he was generous, he was the most gorgeous man she had ever known, but there could never be more to it than that.

  The cloth stroked lightly over her face. It felt wonderful. His nearness to her felt wonderful. Sighing, she closed her eyes and gave in. Let him bathe her face, her throat. Let him push aside the straps of her damp nightgown, run the warm cloth lightly over her shoulders, her arms…

  The upper slope of her breasts.

  His hand slowed. His breath quickened. So did hers. Her eyes flew open. Her lover’s face was all harsh planes and angles, his pale-blue eyes blazed with flame.

  “Gaby,” he said hoarsely.

  He had never called her that until today. There was something incredibly intimate in it. And when his hand paused, cupped her breast, she cried out at the pleasure of his touch. She was going to die from this. From wanting him. Needing him. Aching for him.

  He said her name again, brushed his thumb across her nipple, erect under the nightgown. He bent toward her, closer and closer—

  A thin wail broke the silence. It was Daniel. Her son’s cry grew stronger.

  “The baby,” she whispered.

  Dante drew back. His hand fell away from her; he was all business now.

  “Lift your arms,” he said briskly, and when she did, he pulled the nightgown over her head, his gaze never dropping below her arms and face, and replaced the gown with the T-shirt. By the time she’d finished easing it down her body under cover of the duvet, he was leaning over her with the baby in his arms.

  She reached for her son. Daniel was kicking and crying as if he had not nursed at her breasts only three hours ago. She smiled at her little boy, tugged down the loose neckline of the T-shirt and brought him to her breast. She did it without thinking; she had nursed him from the day of his birth, completely unselfconsciously…

  But not in front of the man who had given her baby to her.

  Dante made a soft sound. A groan. She looked up. His gaze was fixed on the baby, on his small hand against her breast, his small mouth at her nipple. A sensation so powerful it made her tremble swept through her. She whispered Dante’s name. His eyes met hers; he groaned again, bent to her, cupped her face and took her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss.

  And then he was gone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE baby nursed until Gabriella was certain she could almost feel his little tummy rounding under her hand. She shifted him to her shoulder, gently patted his back and was rewarded with a contented burp.

  “That’s my boy,” she said softly. He gave her a happy grin and she laughed and played a round of I-See with him, forgetting everything for a few happy minutes. Her aching head and bones, her unsettled stomach…

  Her unsettled life.

  Daniel seemed to sense her change in mood. His dark, winged brows drew together. His sculpted lips turned down. His features were such a perfect duplication of Dante’s…

  Gabriella swallowed hard. “It’s all right, bebé,” she crooned. “Mama loves you. She’ll always love you.” She touched the tip of her finger to his nose. “We’ll be fine, you and I. Just wait and see.”

  The baby’s expression softened. He smiled. Yawned. Yawned again, and Gabriella scooted down in the big bed, holding him securely in the curve of her arm. In a few seconds he was fast asleep. The flight, the change in routine, had tired him.

  She looked at the thick, dark lashes that lay against his cheeks, noting again that he was the very image of his father. When her boy grew up, he and Dante would be mirror images.

  Mirror images no one would see.

  Dante had made it sound as if she and Daniel were to be part of his life, but she knew better. It wasn’t that he’d lied but that he’d spoken under stress. He was, at heart, a decent man and he’d reacted with gallantry to her circumstances.

  Reality had come after they’d boarded the plane. It had not been difficult to see. He had become distant. When the flight attendant suggested she and Daniel might be more comfortable in the small private room at the rear, Dante had said that was an excellent idea. It was, in a way. It had meant she could nurse the baby, change him, rock him to sleep in her arms without any distractions, but still…

  Foolishly enough, she’d thought Dante might at least spend some time with her and the baby, but he had not entered the little room, not even once. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten their presence. He’d sent the attendant to her, several times.

  Was everything all right? the woman had inquired politely. Did the senhorita need anything? If so, she had only to press the call button.

  What Gabriella needed could not be gotten by pressing the call button. She hadn’t said that, of course, she’d simply smiled politely and said she would be sure to do that. Then she’d fed the baby, put him into a fresh diaper, curled up on the sofa with him and fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  To her surprise, she’d slept for hours. She knew she was tired but it was as if only now, miles above the earth and from the fazenda, her mind and body were ready to admit she was not just tired but exhausted.

  So much had happened during the past months! She had first tended to her father, then to her brother. Her father, true to form, had seemed to expect everything she’d done for him until his last breath; her brother, also true to form, had worried she was doing too much.

  “You are with child,” he’d said. “You must worry about a new life, Gabriella, not a worn-out one like mine.”

  Remembering those months before Arturo’s death was bittersweet. They had been as close as when they’d been children—but all the while, she’d known she could not save him.

  And she’d been pregnant. An easy pregnancy, thankfully, but still, she was exhausted all the time, going without sleep, worrying over the increasing awareness that her father
had gambled away everything, that there was no money left in his accounts or, eventually, in hers. Looking back, it seemed as if she had done nothing but worry.

  Then Dante had appeared.

  For a little while, at least, she could lift her head, take a breath, make plans. Yes, he’d obviously realized what a burden he’d undertaken, but once she was in New York, things would be better. She’d lost the fazenda and that broke her heart, but perhaps the cold truth was that she’d be better off in Manhattan. She knew it better than she knew Bonito. She had friends in the city, contacts, her old agent. She could find a small apartment, get some modeling assignments, start to regain her feet.

  She had thought about all those things during the flight, but by the time the plane landed she was sick. Whatever bug she’d been fighting had finally won. Everything ached; her belly felt as if someone had jabbed it with a hot poker.

  She hid it from Dante. Not that he’d have abandoned her if he learned she was ill—she knew that. But the last thing she’d wanted was to be more of a burden than she already was. She would never have let him know she was sick if he hadn’t stumbled across the information by accident.

  But she would get better. She would not overstay her welcome. A few days. A week, at most, and she would move on.

  She had to, she thought now, as the baby slept beside her. Oh, yes, she had to move on. And quickly, before her foolish heart led her into trouble. Into temptation. Look at what had happened a little while ago. That kiss. The whisper of Dante’s fingers against her breast. She’d felt her body come alive, reminding her that she was not only a mother, she was a woman.

  Yara had said she would be free of such urges for a very long time but clearly, her old ama was wrong. Those urges, those needs, were still there. They were there for Dante, only for Dante.

  A light knock sounded at the closed door. Gabriella drew the duvet higher.

  “Yes?”

  “Is it okay to come in?”

  It wasn’t, not while her heart was pounding like this.

  “Sim. Yes, of course.”

  Dante had a tray in his hands. There were things arranged on it. A carafe of iced water. A glass. A teapot, cup and saucer. A box of tissues. And a small brass bell.

  “In case you’re thirsty,” he said briskly, making room on the teak night table. “And a bell, if you should need me.”

  “A bell,” she said, as if she’d never heard the word before. Why wouldn’t he look at her? Moments ago he had kissed her as if he would never get enough of kissing her and now…

  “One of my sisters, Anna, brought it back from somewhere. Thailand. Katmandu. Wherever aging hippies go to die.” He did look at her then, flashed a quick smile. “Not that Anna’s an aging anything. I keep telling her she was born a few decades too late.”

  “Anna,” Gabriella said, and it truly was a word she’d never heard before. In the months they’d been together, she’d met his brothers once, purely by chance, but Dante had never talked about his family. Of course, neither had she. “It’s…it’s a lovely name.”

  “Old-fashioned, Anna says, but…”

  But what? Dante thought. Why was he talking about his sister? Was it because it was safer than doing what he really wanted to do, reaching for Gabriella, drawing her into his arms and kissing her until she wrapped her arms around his neck and begged him to finish what they had started a little while ago? No way. She was sick. He couldn’t take advantage of her and besides, it would only complicate things—as if they weren’t complicated enough.

  He moved the pitcher of water, the glass, the teapot, did a handful of absolutely unnecessary things and then he stepped back.

  “Okay,” he said brightly. “As I said, if you need anything…”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you feel better?”

  “I’m fine.”

  The hell she was. Her face was almost the same shade of ivory as the pillow. The baby, at least, looked okay. He was sleeping, lashes dusting his cheeks, mouth pursed in a small bow.

  Cute.

  Dante frowned. Wrong. The baby didn’t look cute as much as he looked, well, like a miniature of a familiar face. A very familiar face…

  He swallowed hard. Turned his gaze on Gabriella.

  “Yeah. Well, we’ll see what the doctor has to say.”

  “Dante. I don’t need a—”

  “Yes. You do.”

  “I don’t. Honestly, Dante—”

  “Honestly, Gabriella,” he said, and then, because he damned well had to do it, he bent and kissed her, very lightly, on the mouth. “Ring the bell if you need me,” he said, and then he was gone.

  Gabriella glared at the closed door. Damn the man! Did he think he could give her orders? Kiss her into obedience? He had not changed at all. He still acted as if he owned the world.

  She had hated that about him.

  She had adored that about him.

  Until he’d come into her life, she’d never known you could be furious at a man and crazy about him at the same time, but how could anyone hold Dante’s macho arrogance against him? It was part of him and it was incredibly sexy. He’d shown it the first time he phoned to ask her out, except he hadn’t “asked” her anything. He’d said hello, reminded her they’d met at a party a few nights before, and then he’d told her he’d be by at eight to take her to dinner.

  “Did I miss something?” she’d said, even though she’d been hoping he would call. “I mean, exactly when did you ask me out?”

  “Why should I ask you for something we both want?” he’d said in a low, husky voice.

  Being sure of himself was part of who Dante Orsini was.

  The trouble was, he was sure of her, too. Sure that she was mesmerized by him. And she had been. For all her air of cool sophistication, she’d been his from the start.

  “I don’t want you seeing anyone but me,” he’d said, that very first night. She’d been in his arms by then. In his bed. In this bed. And he’d been deep, deep inside her. “You belong to me,” he’d added, his voice rough. “You’re mine. Do you understand that?”

  Yes, she’d said, yes, yes, yes.

  Gabriella blinked back the sudden threat of tears. Ridiculous. It had been fun. She had been faithful. So had Dante. He was, after all, a moral man. It was just that his interest in a woman never lasted all that long.

  As for what seemed to be happening now…it meant nothing. He was a virile male in his prime. And she—she was a woman who had not had sex in quite a while.

  All right.

  She had not had sex since the night before he’d gone away on business.

  The baby gave a little cry in his sleep. Gabriella drew him closer. She would get them out of here as fast as she could. A few phone calls would start the process. Then she’d thank Dante for all his help and say goodbye.

  Another knock at the door.

  Dante again. This time with a physician in tow. He introduced them, then left the room. If the doctor was surprised at finding a woman and an infant in Dante Orsini’s bed, he gave no sign, simply examined her and then Daniel, who reacted to the insult to his small person with earsplitting wails of protest.

  The doctor packed away his stethoscope.

  “You have a virus.”

  “I could have told you that,” Gabriella said grumpily.

  “The baby’s fine,” he said, ignoring her bad manners. “Has he ever had formula?”

  “Yes, but why? Will it be dangerous for me to nurse him while I’m sick?”

  “Not dangerous. Tiring. You need to rest. And to drink plenty of fluids. Let Mr. Orsini take care of things while you concentrate on getting better.”

  The doctor left. Dante reappeared. The ease with which he had taken over, making decisions for her, was, for some reason, infuriating. When he held out his hand and showed her the two capsules in his palm, she shook her head.

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, I’m not taking those things. Your doctor should
know better than to prescribe antibiotics for a virus.”

  Dante rolled his eyes. “They’re Tylenol.”

  Of course they were. And they’d help ease the ache in her bones, in her head. Another decision she’d let Dante make…and what did it matter? It was only temporary.

  She took the capsules. Drank some water.

  “More,” Dante ordered.

  She glowered at him but she finished what was in the glass.

  “Thank you,” Dante said, straight-faced. He took the glass, put it on the night table. Then he scooped the baby from the improvised crib where the doctor had put him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Lie back. Close your eyes. Get some rest.”

  “Listen here, Dante, I am not yours to command. I am not a child—”

  “Listen here, Gabriella,” he said, spoiling it by flashing a grin that made her want to grin in return. She didn’t, of course, and he swooped in to press a quick, soft kiss to her parted lips.

  “You’ll catch the flu,” she said, because she had to say something or run the danger of kissing him back.

  He touched the tip of his finger to her nose. “Time to take a nap.”

  “But Daniel…”

  “Daniel and I will do just fine.”

  Hearing her son’s name slip so softly and simply from Dante’s lips did something to her, something that left her knowing she dared not reply for danger of doing something stupid…like weeping. Instead she watched Dante stroll from the room, the baby pressed to his shoulder, her son’s pale eyes filled with curiosity.

  All right. She’d lie here for a few minutes. Then she’d go rescue the baby from a man who knew nothing about babies.

  She awoke and knew that hours must have gone by.

  Experimentally she stretched her limbs. She hurt a little but nowhere near as much as before.

  Cautiously she sat up. Got to her feet. Her legs felt a little like undercooked pasta, but nothing major seemed wrong except that she needed to pee, desperately, and there wasn’t a way in the world she was going to ring for Dante and ask him to help her with that.

  She made it to the bathroom, sank down on the toilet, sighed with relief as she emptied her bladder. She flushed, gave the huge walk-in shower a longing glance but decided not to push her luck. Instead she washed her hands and face, used Dante’s brush on her hair, automatically opened the drawer that had always held a couple of packaged toothbrushes, tried not to think of how many women had opened this same drawer in the past months, unwrapped a brush and cleaned her teeth.