Tally stared at him, her face a mask of confusion. Was she trying to find a way to tell him she wouldn’t go along with his plan? It had come to him during the night; he’d been pleased with it until this moment, when he realized that Tally might not want to be with him this way.
“Tally.” His hands slid to her shoulders. “Please.” His fingers bit into her flesh. “Tell me want to be with me. I don’t want to lose you again. Say yes.”
Her head whispered of reservations, of questions, of why the arrangement would never work…
But Tally listened to her heart and said, “Yes.”
CHAPTER TEN
THROUGHOUT THE AGES, wise men caution that a man who makes decisions in the heat of the moment might very well live to regret them.
Dante had always agreed.
He was not impulsive. He made choices only after he had examined all the facts. If a man did anything less, he might, indeed, live to regret his decisions.
And yet, he’d acted on impulse when he’d asked Tally to live with him.
It should have been a mistake. The worst mistake of his life, considering that he’d never asked a woman to do that before. Living together, spending your days and nights with one woman, was the kind of involvement he’d always avoided. He liked to come and go as he pleased, to spend time in a woman’s company only when he was in the mood.
Add a small child to the mix and a man would surely go crazy.
At least, that was what he’d have said of this new arrangement a week ago. A disaster in the making, he’d have called it…
Dante smiled as he stood at his office window and watched the lights wink on over Manhattan.
He’d have been wrong.
Asking Tally to live with him had turned out to be the best decision he’d ever made. Being with her, with Samantha, had already changed his life.
He’d lived in New York for more than a dozen years and most of that time he’d lived very comfortably. As his fortune grew, he’d become accustomed to a certain start and finish to his day.
In the morning, his housekeeper would ask if he’d be home for dinner; in the evening, she’d inquire pleasantly as to how his day had gone. If the doorman made a comment beyond “Good morning” or “Good evening” it was about the weather. His driver might exchange a few polite words with him about European soccer or American football.
Dante’s smile became a grin. How that had changed!
Mrs. Tipton regaled him with stories about Sam. Carlo, whose grandson turned out to be Sam’s age, was a font of helpful advice. Even the doorman got into the act with details of Sam’s latest adventure among the big potted plants in the lobby.
Sam herself, a bundle of energy with big green eyes and a toothy grin, started and ended his days with sloppy kisses.
Amazing, all of it.
But most amazing was his Tally, who fell asleep in his arms each night and awoke in them each morning. She was the most incredible woman he’d ever known, and he wasn’t the only one who thought so.
His architect told him she had the best eye for detail he’d ever seen. His contractor said she made suggestions that were as innovative as they were practical. Even his P.A., a woman who had seen everything and was surprised by nothing, called her remarkable.
His household staff flat-out adored her.
But not as much as he did.
Dante tucked his hands in his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels. He’d never believed in luck. What you got out of life was in direct proportion to what you put into it, and yet he knew it was luck, good fortune, whatever you wanted to call it, that had given him this second chance with Tally.
He’d lost her through his own callous behavior. He understood that now. He’d treated her like a possession, taking her from the shelf when he wanted to show her off, returning her when he’d finished. It was how he’d always treated his lovers. Kept them at a distance, bought them elaborate gifts, and politely eliminated them from his life when he got bored.
Dante’s jaw clenched.
But Tally had never behaved like his other lovers. She’d kept herself at a distance. That was why she’d refused his elaborate gifts and left behind the ones he’d insisted she accept. And she had never bored him. Never. Not for a moment, in bed or out.
At some point, he’d realized it. And it had shaken him to the core. He’d reacted by pushing her away because he hadn’t been ready to admit what she had come to mean to him. As recently as a few weeks ago, he’d still been lying to himself about his feelings for her.
That whole thing about wanting to sleep with her to get revenge, get her out of his system…
Sheer, unadulterated idiocy.
It had always been easier to pretend she was just another woman passing through his life than admit his Tally was special. That what he felt for her was special. That what he felt for her was—that it was—
“Dante?”
He swung around, saw her in the doorway and felt his heart swell. And when she smiled, he thought it might burst.
“I knocked,” she said, with a little smile, “but you didn’t—”
Dante held out his arms. She went into them and he held her close.
“You look beautiful,” he said softly.
She leaned back in his embrace. “Not too dressed up?”
He shook his head. “Perfect.”
That was the only word to describe her in a softly clinging silk dress and matching jacket in a color he’d have called green but he suspected women gave a more complex name. Her shoes were wispy things, all straps and slender heels, the kind that made a man imagine his woman wearing them with whatever was under the dress and nothing else.
Dante had a pretty good idea of what was under that dress. He’d bought Tally a drawer full of wispy lingerie from The Silk Butterfly, a shop he’d passed on Fifth Avenue.
“Hand-sewn lace,” she’d said, her cheeks taking on a light blush. “I’ll feel naked under my clothes.” And he’d taken her in his arms and shown her just how exciting that would be for them both.
“I know tonight’s important to you.”
“You’re what’s important to me.”
“Yes, but tonight—the Children’s Fund dinner…”
“Tally. We don’t have to go. I told you that. We can have a quiet dinner at that little place on the corner and—”
“No. No, I don’t want you to change anything because of me. Everyone you know will be there.”
“Everyone we know. And they’ll see how happy we are to be together again.”
She nodded, but her eyes were clouded. “There’ll be questions.”
Dante raised one eyebrow. “No one will dare to ask questions of me.” That made her laugh, just as he’d hoped it would. He took her hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. “I missed you.”
“You saw me an hour ago,” she said with another little laugh.
“And that’s far too long to be without you.” He drew her closer. “It’s going to cost you a kiss.”
“Dante. Someone will see.”
“I don’t care.”
“But—”
“If I don’t get a kiss from you this very minute,” he said dramatically, “my death will be on your hands.”
She laughed again. He loved the sound of her laugh, the way her lips curved into an eminently kissable bow. He loved everything about her.
The truth was, he loved—he loved—
Dante bent his head and kissed her.
THEY ARRIVED a few minutes late and found five of their dinner companions already at the table. A well-known real estate agent and his third trophy wife. Dennis and Eve. A used-car salesman turned self-help guru, whose latest feel-good book had just gone into its fifth printing.
Tally remembered them all.
And, clearly, they remembered her. She could almost hear their jaws hit the table when they saw her.
Dante had his arm firmly around her waist.
“Good evening,” he said pl
easantly. “Tally, I think you know everyone here, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said brightly, “of course. How are you, Lila? Donald? Eve and Dennis, how good to see you again. And Mark. Your newest book just came out, didn’t it? I hope it’s doing well?”
Dante pulled out her chair, whispered, “Good girl,” as she slipped into it. He sat down beside her, took her hand and held it in his, right on the tabletop where everyone could see. Five pairs of eyes took in the sight. Then someone said, “Well, I see we’re going to have chicken for the main course. Surprise, surprise.”
Everyone laughed, and that broke the ice.
People began chatting. Wasn’t the weather particularly cold for December? Was snow in the forecast again? Wasn’t the ballroom handsomely decorated?
I might just get through this, Tally thought…
“DanteDarling,” a woman screeched.
And Tally looked up, inhaled a cloud of obscenely expensive perfume, saw Charlotte LeBlanc swoop down to plant a kiss on Dante’s mouth even as he jerked back in his chair, saw the woman’s hate-filled gaze fix on her before she switched it to a big, artificial smile…
And knew, instinctively, that Charlotte LeBlanc had, probably until very recently, been Dante’s mistress.
“Taylor,” Charlotte said. “What a surprise!”
“Yes,” Tally said, “yes, I—I suppose it is.”
“A wonderful surprise,” Dante said, squeezing Tally’s hand, but he was looking at Charlotte, his eyes cold with warning, and any doubts Tally might have had about her lover’s relationship with the LeBlanc woman vanished.
Conversation swirled around her, the polite stuff people discussed when they were casual acquaintances. Eve talked about her new hair stylist. Dennis said he was buying a new yacht. The self-help guru was also buying one. The real estate agent was too busy eating his shrimp cocktail to say anything. His trophy wife was silent, too, perhaps because her face was frozen in Botoxed bliss.
And suddenly, in a lull in the chatter, Charlotte leaned over, her breasts almost spilling from her neckline, and laid a taloned hand on Tally’s arm.
“Taylor,” she cooed, “you must tell us all where you’ve been the last few years.”
“She’s been in New England,” Dante said smoothly. “Building a successful business.”
“New England. How quaint.” Her smile glittered with malice. “And are you here on business?”
“Taylor’s working on a project of mine.”
“How nice.” Her head swiveled toward Dante. “And you, DanteDarling. Are you and I still on for Christmas in Aspen?”
Dante’s eyes went black. “No,” he said coldly, “we are not. I told you that weeks ago,”
“Oh, but everyone knows how you tend to change your mind, DanteDarling. How fickle you are, well, not about business but about, you know, other things.”
There was no mistaking what “things” she meant. Heads swiveled from Charlotte to Tally to Dante, who snarled a word no one had to speak Sicilian to comprehend.
Charlotte turned red. Everyone else gasped. And Tally pushed her chair back from the table.
“Tally! Damn it, Tally…”
Luck was with her. The band was playing and the dance floor was crowded with couples. Tally wove through the mob, pulled open the door to the ladies’ room and slammed it behind her. A sob burst from her throat.
How could she have been so stupid? He’d been with that woman. With Charlotte. He’d been with God only knew how many women these last three years. She’d dreamed of him, yearned for him, wanted only him despite all the lies she’d told herself, but Dante…
“Tally!”
His fist slammed against the door.
“Tally! Open this door or I’m coming in.”
One of the stall doors swung open. A woman stepped out and stared at her.
“Tally, do you hear me? Open this goddamned door!”
Tally went to the sink, splashed cold water on her face. She would have ignored the hammering on the door but the woman who’d come out of the stall was looking at her as if she’d somehow wandered into the sort of situation that ended in bloodshed.
There was nothing for it but to square her shoulders and walk out of the ladies’ room, straight into a muscled wall of male fury.
“Dante,” she said quietly, “please, step aside.”
He answered by clasping her shoulders and hauling her to her toes.
“If I’d known that bitch would be at our table,” he demanded, “do you really think I’d have brought you here tonight?”
“It doesn’t matter. Step aside, please.”
“Of course it matters! Damn it, she means nothing to me!”
“Dante. Get out of my—”
“Are you deaf?” His hands bit hard into her flesh as he lowered his face to hers. “She doesn’t matter.”
“She matters enough so you were going to take her to Aspen.”
“She suggested it. I said no. In fact, I never saw her after that evening. We were finished and she knew it.”
Tally looked into his eyes. They were the color of smoke, and without warning, the pain inside her burst free.
“You slept with her,” she whispered.
His mouth twisted. “Tally. Bellissima…”
“You should have told me. So I—I could have been prepared to see the way she looked at you. To know you’d been with her, made love to her—”
“It was sex,” he said roughly. “Only sex. Never anything more.”
She stared into his eyes again. And what is it with me? she longed to say, but her heart knew better than to ask.
“How many were there?” Her voice trembled and she hated herself for it. She’d known a man virile as Dante wouldn’t live like a monk but to see the proof for herself… “How many women after me?”
His grasp on her tightened. “What does it matter? All the years we were apart, I never stopped thinking of you. I hated you for leaving me, Tally—and hated myself for not being able to get over you.”
Tally looked away from him, certain that her heart was going to break. If he couldn’t get over her, how could he have betrayed her with other women? In the endless years since leaving him, she had never even thought of anyone else. She had never betrayed him…
But she had.
Running away had been a kind of betrayal. Even the cold, cleverly worded note she’d left had been a betrayal.
And then there was the cruelest betrayal of all. She’d told him she’d cheated on him with another man, that she’d given birth to that man’s child.
“Tally.” His voice was thick with anguish. “There’s never been anyone but you. You must believe me!”
Slowly she lifted her eyes to his. “What I believe,” she whispered, “is that we’ve both been fools.”
He nodded. She could see color returning to his face.
“Yes. We have been, but we won’t be any longer.” He framed her face with his hands and raised it to his. “I’m not going to lose you again, inamorata. I won’t let it happen.”
Tears gathered on Tally’s lashes. Gently Dante kissed them away. Then he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
“Let’s go home.”
She smiled. “Yes. Let’s go home.”
He led her past the curious little group that had been watching them, out of the hotel and into his waiting limousine. Part of him wanted to go back to the ballroom, put his hands around Charlotte’s throat and make her pay for what she’d done.
But he was every bit as guilty.
Not for having slept with Charlotte. Tally had been out of his life then. Not even for having not told her about Charlotte. He was a man, not a saint. What man would deliberately tell the woman he cared for that he’d slept with someone else, even if he’d been absolutely free to do so at the time?
He pressed a kiss to Tally’s hair as she sat curled against him, her head on his shoulder.
His guilt was over what he’d done three years ago
.
He’d let Tally slip away. And he should have gone after her. Should have faced what she meant to him because the truth was he didn’t just care for her, he—he—
“Dante?”
Dante cleared his throat. “Yes, cara?”
“I’m sorry.”
“No! It wasn’t your fault.”
“Not about tonight. I’m…I’m sorry for…for—” She took a deep breath and sat up straight, her eyes locked to his. “We need to talk. But not here. Someplace…someplace where we can be alone.”
Suddenly he knew that was what he wanted, too. A quiet place where they could be alone. Where they could talk—and he could finally confront what was in his heart.
“I have an idea,” he said slowly. “Christmas is next week. What if we spend it alone? Just the three of us. You and me and Samantha. We’ll go somewhere warm, where we can lie in the sun in each other’s arms, where Sam can run around to her heart’s content. Would you like that?”
“A place where we can talk,” Tally said softly.
Talk about what had really made her run away, she thought as Dante drew her against him, because tonight, she’d finally faced the truth.
No matter what happened, she had to tell Dante that she loved him.
That there’d never been another man.
That he was Sam’s father.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHAT COULD BE more wonderful than lying in the curve of your lover’s arm on a white sand beach under the hot Caribbean sun?
Tally turned her head and put her mouth lightly against Dante’s bronzed skin, savoring the exciting taste of salt and man.
How she adored him!
Her Dante was everything a man should be. Strong. Tender. Giving. Demanding. Fiercely passionate, incredibly gentle. She loved him, loved him, loved him…
And it killed her that she’d lied to him.
That she was still lying to him, because she’d yet to tell him the truth about Sam.
Soon, she thought, as she closed her eyes and burrowed closer to his warm, hard body. She’d confess everything to him this evening, after dinner, when they were both tucking Sam in for the night. Or tomorrow morning, at breakfast. And if the time didn’t seem right then, she’d wait just another few hours. Another few days…
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