Sicilian's Christmas Bride Read online

  He put her in the passenger seat, hurried to the driver’s side and got in. For a long moment, they sat without looking at each other. Then he took a cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open.

  “It won’t work,” Tally said wearily, leaning back in her seat.

  Dante turned toward her. Her face was pale. He sensed that her anger had given way to resignation. It was an emotion neither of them could afford in a situation like this.

  “Well, then,” he said briskly, “we’ll just have to come up with another plan.”

  He turned the ignition key so that he could read the instrument panel. The gas gauge, in particular, though he knew what he’d find. He’d been in such a damned rush to get to the bank before Taylor arrived…

  One look confirmed what he’d suspected.

  “We don’t have much gas. Just enough to run the engine for maybe twenty, thirty minutes. After that—” After that, they’d freeze. “So,” he said, again in that brisk tone, “here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll go for help. You stay here and turn on the engine every ten minutes. Let the car warm up, then shut if off. Do that as long as you can and I’ll do my best to find help quickly.”

  “Don’t be a fool! You won’t get a hundred yards.”

  “Why, cara,” he said, the words laced with sarcasm, “I didn’t think you cared.”

  She didn’t. But she did care about Sam. A moment ago, she’d almost let despair overtake her. Now she knew she couldn’t let that happen. She had to live. To live for Sam.

  There was only one choice. It was a risk in endless ways, but staying here was worse.

  She took a deep breath. “Are you a good driver?”

  “Of course.”

  Such macho intensity! Any other time, she’d have laughed.

  “And is there enough gas in the tank to go fifteen miles?”

  He nodded. “Just about.”

  “Then start the car. I’ll get us to my house. My neighbor has a truck and snowplow. He can lead you to a place near the highway—tow you, if necessary—where there’s a gas station and a motel. You’ll be fine there until the storm’s over.”

  “And you? Will you be fine, as well?”

  Tally looked at Dante. His eyes were cool, making it clear his was a polite question and nothing more.

  “I’m not your concern,” she said. “I never was.”

  A muscle knotted in his jaw. Then he nodded, turned the engine on and headed out of the parking lot and into the teeth of the storm.

  THE WORLD HAD TURNED into an undulating sea of white. Shifts in the wind’s direction revealed only an occasional landmark, but that was enough.

  The heavy vehicle, Dante’s skill at the wheel and Tally’s knowledge of the roads combined to get them safely to her driveway.

  They battled their way to the door. Tally dug out her keys; Dante automatically reached for them as he used to when he saw her home in New York, and they waged a silent, brief struggle until he held up his hands in surrender and let her unlock the door herself.

  She paused in the doorway.

  The danger of the drive here had deprived her of rational thought. Now she was making up for it with frantic desperation. Were any of Sam’s things in the kitchen? She didn’t think so. Besides, it was too late to worry about it now.

  If there were, she’d come up with some kind of explanation. In the last hour, she’d learned to be an accomplished liar.

  She stepped into the room, fingers mentally crossed, with Dante close behind her, and reached for the light switch. The room remained dark. The power was out, as she’d figured it would be. The phone, too. All she heard when she picked up the handset was silence.

  “It would seem you’re stuck with a guest,” Dante said coolly.

  Tally didn’t answer. She felt her way to the cupboard and took out the candles and matches she kept handy for just such occasions. When the candles were lit, she put one on the sink and another on the round wooden table near the window.

  A shudder raced through her. The kitchen was the smallest room in the house but an hour or two without the furnace going had turned it into a walk-in refrigerator.

  “Are you cold?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Dante frowned, shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “You’ll never be a good liar, cara.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “You damned well do! Keep the jacket until the room warms up.” He jerked his chin at the old stone fireplace that took up most of one long wall. “Is that real?”

  “Of course it’s real,” Tally said brusquely, trying not inhale the scents of night and leather and man that enveloped her. “This is New England, not Manhattan. Nobody here has time for pretence.”

  A smile twisted across his mouth. “What an interesting observation,” he said softly, “all things considered.”

  She felt her face heat. “I didn’t mean—”

  “No. I’m sure you didn’t.” He held out his hand. “Give me those matches and I’ll make a fire.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Nothing is necessary,” he said curtly. “Not if it involves me, is that correct?”

  He’d come so close to the truth that she was afraid to meet his eyes, but that had been their initial agreement, hadn’t it? Their relationship had been based on accommodation, not necessity. No strings. No commitment. No leaning on him for anything…

  “Look, I know you want me gone,” he said impatiently, “and believe me, I’ll be happy to comply, but until then I’ll be damned if I’m going to freeze just so you can prove a point. Give me the matches.”

  He was right, even if she hated to admit it. She tossed him the matches and watched as he knelt before her grandmother’s old brick hearth and built a fire. Just seeing the orange flames made her feel better and she moved closer to them, hands outstretched so she could catch some of their warmth.

  “Better?”

  Tally nodded. All she could do now was wait for the storm’s power to abate. At least she wasn’t worried about Sam anymore. She’d seen the Millers’ lights glowing when they drove past their house. She’d forgotten that Dan and Sheryl had a generator. Their place would be snug. Sam would have a hot meal, a warm bed…

  “So. You inherited this from your grandmother?”

  Her gaze shot to Dante. Arms folded, face unreadable, he was looking around the kitchen as if it were an alien planet. It probably was, to a man accustomed to luxury.

  “Yes,” she replied coldly. “And now I’m about to lose it to you.”

  “And where is your lover? Out of town? Or in another room, afraid to face me?”

  “I told you, I don’t have a lover. And if I did, why would he fear you? My life is my own, Dante. You have no part in it.”

  “You made that clear the night you ran away.”

  “For God’s sake, are we going to talk about that again?” Tally marched to the stove, filled a kettle with water, took it to the hearth and knelt down, searching for the best place to put it. “I left you. I was absolutely free to do that. I know it’s hard to face, but I didn’t need your permission.”

  “Common courtesy demanded more than that note.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Damn it,” he growled, clasping her shoulders and drawing her up beside him, “I’m tired of you dancing away from my questions. I want to know the reason you left.”

  “I told you. Our affair was over.” She looked straight into his eyes. “And we both knew it.”

  She was right…wasn’t she? Hadn’t he come to the same conclusion? That it was time to end things? Not that it mattered. He hadn’t ended the relationship. She had.

  Wasn’t that the reason he was here? Except, she was doing it again. Taking the upper hand, and he didn’t like it.

  “I never gave you the right to speak for me,” he said sharply.

  “No. You didn’t. So I’ll speak for myself.” She took a deep breath and turned away. �
�I wanted a change.”

  Dante’s mouth thinned. “You mean, you became involved with another man.”

  “That’s ridiculous! I didn’t—”

  She cried out as he caught her and swung her toward him. “More lies,” he growled.

  “For the last time, there is no other man!”

  “There is. I know his name.” His hands dug into her flesh. “Now I want to know if you respond to him as you did to me a little while ago.”

  “Respond?” She gave a harsh laugh. “Is that what you call it? You—you forced yourself on me!”

  It was a foolish thing to say. His nostrils flared like a stallion’s at the scent of a mare in heat.

  “You don’t learn, do you?” he said softly. “You keep making statements and I end up having to prove that they’re lies.”

  Tally looked up into the face of the man who had once been the center of her universe. How could she have forgotten how beautiful he was? And how cruel?

  “We’re both adults, cara. Why not admit we want each other?”

  “Didn’t you just say you knew I was eager to see you gone? That you’d be happy to go?” Damn it, why did she sound breathless? “Didn’t you say that?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he cupped her face and lifted it to his. “Kiss me once,” he whispered. “Just once. Then, if you don’t want to make love, I promise, I won’t touch you again.”

  “I don’t have to kiss you to know the—”

  His mouth took hers captive. Tally made a little sound of protest. Then his arms went around her and she let him gather her into his embrace, let his lips part hers and she knew nothing had changed, not when it came to this. To wanting his touch. His mouth. His body, hardening against hers…

  The door flew open; the gust of wind that followed slammed it, hard, against the wall as a small woman cradling a grocery bag in one arm all but sailed into the kitchen.

  “Sorry not to knock,” Sheryl Miller said breathlessly, “but I don’t have a free hand. I brought you leftovers from dinner and a loaf of oatmeal bread I baked this morning. Dan’s going to get his mom and I said I’d go with—” Her mouth formed a perfect circle as she peered around the bag. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, Tally. I didn’t know you had company.”

  Neither Tally or Dante answered. Both of them were staring at the toddler, round as a snowman in a raspberry-pink snowsuit, who clung to Sheryl’s free hand.

  “Hi, Mama,” Samantha Gardner Sommers said happily, and flew to her mother’s arms.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FOR A MOMENT, no one moved but the child.

  Then, as if someone had pushed a button, the room came to life again. The woman in the doorway, her face a polite mask, put the bag she’d been holding on the counter. Taylor scooped the toddler into her arms, and Dante…

  Dante forced himself to breathe.

  Mama? Was that really what the child had said? Taylor was staring at him over the little girl’s head. Her face had gone white. So, he suspected, had his.

  “Who is this?” he said hoarsely.

  The woman glanced at Taylor. Then she took a step forward. “I’m Sheryl Miller. Tally’s neighbor.”

  His head swung toward the woman. He thought of saying he didn’t mean her, that he didn’t give a damn who she was, but that would have been stupid. He needed time to get hold of himself and she had given him exactly that.

  Oh yes, he needed time because what he was thinking was surely impossible.

  “And you are?” Sheryl said, breaking the strained silence.

  “Dante Russo.” Dante forced a polite smile. “Taylor and I—”

  “We knew each other in New York,” Tally said quickly. A little color had returned to her face but it only made her look feverish. “He was in the area and—and he thought he’d drop by.”

  A horn beeped outside. The Miller woman ignored it. “Funny,” she said, “but Tally never mentioned you.”

  He wanted to tell the woman to get out. To leave him alone so he could ask Taylor who this child was, why she’d called her Mama, but he knew better than to push things. The tension in the room was thick. Taylor’s neighbor was already looking at him as if he might be a serial killer.

  “No,” he said politely, smiling through his teeth, “I’m sure she didn’t.”

  The woman ignored him. “Tally? Is everything okay?”

  Tally swallowed a wave of hysterical laughter. Nothing was okay. Nothing would ever be okay again unless she could come up with a story to change the way Dante was looking at her and Sam.

  “You want me to tell Dan to come in?”

  “No! Oh, no, Sheryl. I mean—” What did she mean? “It’s as I said. Dante is an old—an old—”

  “Friend,” Dante said, his tone level. “I thought I’d stop by and see how Taylor was adjusting to small-town life.”

  The Miller woman looked doubtful but Tally said yes, that was it, and smiled, and finally the woman smiled, too.

  “Why wouldn’t she adjust? Didn’t she ever tell you she’s a small-town girl at heart? That she comes from Shelby?”

  “No. But then, I’m starting to realize there are lots of things she didn’t tell me.” Dante looked at Taylor. “Isn’t that right, cara?”

  Taylor didn’t answer. That was good because it meant she knew that whatever she said now would only fuel the fury building inside him.

  The horn beeped again. “Dan wants to get going,” Sheryl said. She peeled off a glove and offered Dante a brisk handshake. “Nice to have met you.” She leaned forward, as if to share a confidence. “Tally can use the company. I keep telling her she needs to get out more but what with Sam, well, you know how it is.”

  “No,” Dante said, forcing another smile, “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  Sheryl grinned. “Men never do. Anyway, it’s good to see someone from her old life drop by.”

  “That’s definitely what I am. Someone from Taylor’s old life.”

  This time, the horn beeped three times.

  “Okay, okay,” Sheryl muttered, “I’m coming. Tally? I was going to say, if you want to come with us, I’m sure Dan’s mother wouldn’t mind.”

  For a wild moment, Tally imagined running out into the storm with Sam, getting into the truck, telling Dan to drive and drive and drive until she’d put a million miles between Dante and her—

  “Tally?”

  What was that old saying? You could run, but you couldn’t hide.

  “Thanks,” she said brightly, “but we’ll be fine.”

  The Miller woman looked unconvinced. Dante put his arm around Tally. When she stiffened, he dug his fingers into her flesh in mute warning.

  “Taylor’s right. We’ll be fine.” He drew his lips back from his teeth and hoped the result would still approximate a smile. “The snow, a fire, candlelight…it’s quite romantic, especially for old friends. Isn’t that right, cara?”

  The child, thumb tucked in her mouth, looked at him. Liar, her round green eyes seemed to say. But the woman’s big smile assured him she’d bought the story.

  “In that case, I’m off. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Russo.”

  Dante held his smile until the door closed. Now, he told himself, and dropped his arm from Taylor’s shoulders.

  “Whose child is this?”

  No preliminaries, she thought dizzily. No safe answers, either.

  “Taylor. I asked you a question. Is the child yours?”

  Sam chose that moment to give a huge yawn. Tally grabbed at the diversion.

  “Somebody’s sleepy,” she said, ignoring Dante and the pounding of her heart.

  “Am not,” Sam said, yawning again.

  Despite herself, Tally smiled. “Are, too,” she said gently. She buried her face in her daughter’s sweet-smelling neck as she carried her to the small sofa near the fireplace and sat her down. She tugged off the baby’s boots, zipped her out of her snowsuit but left on the warm sweater and tights beneath it.

  “How about taking a nap, sweetie?
Right here, by the fire. Would you like that?”

  “Wan’ Teddy.”

  “Teddy! Of course. I’ll get him. You just put your head down and I’ll get Teddy and your yellow blankey, okay?”

  “’Kay,” Sam said, eyelids already drooping.

  Tally rose to her feet and forced herself to look at Dante. “Don’t,” she began to say, but caught herself in time. Don’t what? Go near my child? That wasn’t the problem. The questions that blazed in his silver eyes was the problem.

  So was answering them.

  By the time she returned, Samantha was fast asleep. Tally covered her, tucked the teddy bear beside her, smoothed back the baby’s hair…

  “Stop playing for time.”

  She swung around. Dante, standing only inches away, might have been carved from granite. Her heart was beating in her throat but the biggest mistake she could make now would be to show her panic.

  “Please keep your voice down. I don’t want you to wake Sam.”

  “Sam?” His mouth twisted. “The child’s name. Not your lover’s. Why did you let me think otherwise?”

  She busied herself picking up the boots and snowsuit from the floor.

  “I had no idea what you thought. Besides, why would I care? This is my life. I don’t owe you explan—”

  She gasped as his hand closed, hard, on her wrist. “No games,” he said in a soft, dangerous voice. “I warn you, I’m not in the mood.”

  “And I’m not in the mood for being bullied. Take your hand off me.”

  Their eyes met and held. Slowly, he released her. Tally took a last look at her sleeping daughter, then walked briskly into the kitchen with Dante on her heels.

  “I’m still waiting for an answer. Is the child yours?”

  The million-dollar question. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t envisioned this scene before and all the possible ways to handle it. Dante would demand to know whose baby this was and she’d come up with a creative reply.

  She’d say she was raising the child of a sister or a dear friend. Or she’d tell him that she’d adopted Sam. Any of those explanations had seemed plausible, but now, with his cold eyes boring into hers, Tally knew she’d been kidding herself.