Dante: Claiming His Secret Love-Child

by Sandra Marton

  She looked in the mirror.

  Not great but it would have to do.

  Dante’s soft terry robe hung, as it always had, behind the door. She put it on over the T-shirt, paused in the bedroom to get a pair of panties and set out in search of her baby.

  The enormous two-story penthouse was quiet. What time was it? It was light outside, but barely. Was it night or was it day? Amazing, how she’d lost track of the hours.

  She went down the wide, curved staircase, a cautious hand on the carved banister. Her legs had gone from feeling like undercooked spaghetti to spaghetti al dente. A good sign, surely…

  Was that a sound? A voice? She paused at the foot of the stairs.

  Yes. There was bright light at the end of the wide corridor she knew led to Dante’s big, if rarely used, showplace of a kitchen. Slowly she made her way there, her bare feet soundless against the cool marble floor—and stopped at the entrance, eyes widening.

  The voice she’d heard was Dante’s. Barefoot the same as she, wearing jeans and a T-shirt that clung to his muscled torso, he sat in a high-backed swivel stool at the granite counter, Daniel in the curve of his arm.

  The baby was staring up at him and sucking contentedly at a bottle of formula.

  The two of them looked as if they’d been doing this kind of thing forever.

  “Hey, buddy,” Dante said, “you’re doing a great job. That’s the way. Drink it all down. I know it isn’t what you’re used to but it’s good for you just the same. It’ll put hair on your chest, you’ll see.”

  Gabriella’s eyes filled with tears. She leaned back against the wall, determined not to let Dante see her until she got herself under control. Seeing her lover—her once-upon-a-time lover—and her son like this was almost more than she could bear.

  And yet she knew better than to read anything into the scene.

  Dante was an intelligent, capable man. Faced with a problem, he would always attempt to solve it: she was sick; the baby needed to be cared for; he’d taken charge. He was good at that. Still, it was hard to see the two of them together without feeling almost indescribable joy.

  “Okay, pal. What happens next?”

  The baby gave an enormous burp. Dante laughed. “Well, that answers that question.” Another huge burp. Dante grinned. “That good, huh? Hey, I’m a steak-and-potatoes guy myself but whatever floats your boat works for me. So, okay. Your belly’s full. You don’t look the least bit sleepy. You need a trip to the john? I’ll bet you do. Well, let’s give it a try—”

  Gabriella took a breath and stepped briskly into the kitchen. Dante turned toward her, eyebrows lifting.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.” She smiled. “Thank you for feeding the baby.”

  “Nothing to it,” he said with just a touch of macho pride. “The doctor recommended this brand of formula and I had the pharmacy send up a case.” He frowned. “But what are you doing out of bed? You were supposed to ring the bell if you needed me.”

  She held out her arms for the baby, who gave her a loopy grin.

  “I know. But I thought a little exercise might do me good.” The baby kicked its arms and legs. Gabriella smiled as she reached for him. “Besides,” she said softly, “I missed you.”

  Fool that he was, Dante at first thought she was talking to him. She wasn’t, of course, she was talking to Daniel. He realized it just in time to stop from saying that he had missed her, too.

  But, dammit, he had.

  It was a long time since she’d been here.

  He’d always loved it when she’d stayed the night. It hadn’t happened often. She’d almost always refused to do it and he—well, he’d never been big on having women spend the night in his bed. It led to too many expectations.

  But he’d loved having Gabriella stay here. Being able to reach for her, not just during the dark hours of night but in that quiet time just before dawn. Seeing her, first thing in the morning, looking the way she looked now, warm and tousled, wrapped in his robe, her hair brushed into a cloud of gold and chestnut, no makeup, no what Falco had dubbed the “Five A.M. face” women obviously put on while a guy was still sleeping.

  The fact was, it was more than a year and he’d never had another woman here overnight. He hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t wanted anybody else in his bed or in his life for more than an evening.

  Hell, he thought, and cleared his throat.

  “Okay,” he said brightly. “It’s bathroom time. Hand the kid over.”

  Gabriella laughed. “He can’t do ‘bathroom time.’ He’s only a baby.”

  Dante gave her a look, then lifted the baby from her arms.

  “She thinks I don’t know that,” he said to Daniel, who stared at him with solemnity. “Should we show her how wrong she is?”

  “Dante, honestly—”

  “She likes that word,” he told the baby. “That word, ‘honestly.’ What she means when she says it is, ‘Honestly, you men. You think you know everything.’” While he spoke, he was moving out of the kitchen, down the hall, to the stairs, the baby now making happy sounds, little trills of laughter. “Can you do the stairs?”

  It took Gabriella a second to realize he meant her.

  “Yes. Of course I can. But what…”

  “No. Come to think of it, I don’t trust you on the stairs. Not yet. So, you stay right there. I’ll come back for you.”

  “Dante. Honestly—”

  “Two ‘honestlys’ in one conversation.” Dante shook his head, turned back to her and brushed his mouth lightly over hers. “Amazing.”

  She couldn’t help laughing, even though she didn’t want to. “No. I mean, honestly—”

  He kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers, the baby between them cooing at this new, delightful game. When he drew back, he ran his hand along her cheek.

  “That’s the penalty,” he said softly. “A kiss, each time you use that word. Now, stay put. Okay?”

  She nodded. It was all she could manage.

  He went up the stairs quickly, came down just as quickly but without the baby. She waited for a wail of protest and heard, instead, her son’s contented gurgles.

  Dante swept her into his arms. It felt—it felt wonderful. Hours ago he’d carried her up these same steps but she’d been too sick to enjoy it. Now she was aware of everything it entailed. The steady beat of his heart. The solid feel of his chest. The light pressure of his hand at the side of her breast. The clean, soap-and-water scent of his skin and hair.

  The sweet pull of desire in her breasts and belly.

  “You’ve lost weight.”

  His voice was gruff. She nodded.

  “Maybe a little.”

  “What for? You were perfect, just the way you were.”

  Perfect. The word seemed to shimmer with light.

  “I…it wasn’t deliberate. I…I had a lot of things to do, when I got back to the fazenda.”

  “The baby.” His tone grew even more gruff. “I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”

  She thought of telling him that she had not been entirely alone, that her brother had been there for her, at least at the beginning. But that would only lead to questions. Dante didn’t know anything about her brother; they’d always kept their talk impersonal. Intimate, yes. Dante had whispered things to her in bed. Things that had made her tremble with desire. With need. With…with what she felt for him.

  “Here we go,” he said, as he carried her through a door, not to his room but to one just across from it.

  Gabriella’s mouth fell open.

  This was a baby’s room.

  Not in decor. The walls were cream; there were white-and-black vertical blinds at the windows, a black-and-white Scandinavian area rug underfoot. But it was furnished for a small child.

  Winnie the Pooh smiled from atop a bird’s-eye maple dresser, side by side with a baby monitor. A teddy bear with button eyes sat in the seat of a baby swing. A changing table stood against one wall, a big maple rocker again
st another. Facing her was surely the most beautiful crib in the whole world, also made of maple, fitted with sheets patterned with kittens and puppies. A mobile of rocket ships and suited spacemen amid stars, moons and planets hung over it.

  Her son lay on his back in the crib, arms and legs going like mad, eyes fixed to the mobile, his face a portrait of delight.

  “I didn’t know what you’d like,” Dante said. “So I just ordered some stuff.”

  She looked up at him. His mouth was a whisper away. Say something, her brain shrieked, but she couldn’t come up with a single word.

  Dante cleared his throat.

  “Look, there’s no problem with sending it all back. You know, if it’s not what you wanted—”

  “Oh, Dante! It’s wonderful!”

  His face cleared. “You think?”

  “It’s just that—” she hesitated “—we can’t impose on you this way. I mean, I know how busy you are. Orsini Investments. Your family. The last thing you need is…is someone from the past cluttering up your life, your home—”

  He silenced her the only way he could.

  He kissed her. And kissed her. And when she kissed him back and sighed his name in the way that had always sent spirals of desire straight down to his toes, he knew that everything he had done—bringing her here, sweeping aside his plans to find her an apartment and instead settling her into his home, was right.

  The idea had come to him while the doctor was with her. Gabriella was sick; she had the baby to care for. No way could he let her be on her own just yet. She’d simply have to stay with him for a couple of days. Just a temporary arrangement, of course, but even so, the baby would need things…

  Except that now, looking down at the woman in his arms, he knew those were all pathetic rationalizations.

  “I want you here,” he said softly, when he finally ended the kiss. “Here. With me. You and the boy—you and Daniel belong here.”

  “Dante.” Her voice shook. “Please. Don’t say that and not mean it.”

  “We’ll take things one step at a time.”

  It wasn’t quite the answer her heart wanted but it was an honest answer. How could she fault him for that? she thought, and she nodded and said, very softly, “Okay.”

  He leaned his forehead against hers. “Starting with that bathroom stuff you were positive I couldn’t handle.”

  She smiled into his eyes. “Somehow, I can’t picture you changing a diaper.”

  “Who says? Put your money where your mouth is.”

  Her smile became a grin. “A buck says you can’t.”

  “You’re on.”

  She lost the bet.

  Dante could do everything. Run a powerful corporation? Sure. Make every man in a room defer to him? That, too. Be the man all the women in the world wanted? Easy.

  She’d known all that from experience.

  What she’d never known until now was that he could diaper a baby as if he’d done it all his life. Take care of her. Brew her a cup of tea. Stand over her until she gave up and downed another couple of Tylenol. Whip up a meal—though as he pointed out, heating a can of chicken broth for her, taking a steak from the freezer and broiling it for himself wasn’t exactly gourmet cooking. But it was much, much more than she’d ever seen him do in the past. Back then he’d been a whiz at making restaurant reservations and, once or twice, phoning down for Chinese take-out.

  Dante Orsini, doing kitchen duty?

  Never…until tonight.

  Hours later she and Daniel were both yawning. Dante offered to give the baby a bottle but she said no, she’d nurse him. “Are you sure?” Dante said and she nodded and decided that telling him she really had to do it, that her breasts would be swollen and heavy unless she did, was more than she wanted to discuss. It was too private, too intimate…

  Too much.

  She nursed Daniel, sitting in the beautiful rocking chair in his room while Dante cleaned up the kitchen. When she was done, they bathed the baby together. Dante said he felt too clumsy to do it, but he took over halfway through, laughing when Daniel splashed water all over him, wrapping the baby in a big bath towel, then diapering him and dressing him in a blue onesie.

  Dante lowered him gently into his crib. Gabriella kissed her son’s head. Dante stroked his dark hair.

  “Good night, pal,” he said softly.

  Out in the hall, for the first time all day, they were alone. The penthouse seemed wrapped in silence. Their eyes met. She felt the heat rise in her face. He took a step toward her. She took a quick step back.

  “No. We can’t.” Her voice was breathless. “It would—it would only complicate things.”

  He nodded. Hadn’t he already reached that same conclusion?

  It was her turn to nod. “So…so, good night.”

  “Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered. And then he reached for her and she went into his arms.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SHE went into his arms as if she had never left them.

  A dozen thoughts raced through his head.

  He wanted to tell her how he had missed her. How it felt to hold her again. But the need to kiss her, taste her, the need to possess her, make her his again had a hot urgency that drove away reason.

  It was the same for her.

  He could tell by the little sounds she made, the way she clung to his neck. By the motion of her body against his; that long, elegant body he had, yes, never forgotten.

  And her mouth.

  Sweet. Soft. Giving. A man could lose himself, just taking her mouth again and again, but it wasn’t enough, not now, not after all these endless months. He drew her away from the door, backed her against the wall, tore open her robe and swept his hands over her silken skin. Her hands were on him, too, at his jeans, undoing the closure, unzipping him, and he groaned as she closed her hand around him and said his name in a broken whisper that almost drove him to his knees.

  “Yes,” he said, “yes, sweetheart.”

  He hooked his fingers in her panties. Eased them down. He knelt; she put a hand on his head to steady herself as she stepped free of the scrap of silk. He clasped her ankle. Rose to his feet, his hand moving up and up her leg. His touch was warm and possessive and it made her tremble.

  “Open for me,” he said in a strangled voice, and when she did, he put his hand between her thighs.

  A cry burst from her throat. She was wet and hot for him, only for him, and he couldn’t wait. Not anymore. He had wanted this without knowing it, waited for this for more than a year, and if he didn’t have her now, he’d be lost forever.

  He reversed their positions so that the wall was at his back. And as she sobbed his name, he lifted her, brought her down onto his rigid length. Her arms tightened around his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist. She buried her face against his throat and he could feel the heat of her breath, hear her breathy moans of ecstasy.

  Too fast, his fevered brain told him, dammit, too fast….

  She cried out. Sank her teeth into his flesh. And as she convulsed around him, Dante drove deep, rode her even harder, and flew off the edge of the world.

  They stayed that way for long minutes, breathing hard, letting the aftermath of their passion ease. Then Gabriella gave a soft laugh. He remembered that laugh, low and delicious and earthy.

  “What?” he said, his lips curving in a smile against her forehead.

  “All those years of yoga that I took…” Another husky laugh. “Turns out they were worth it.”

  He grinned, let her down slowly. She looked up at him and she was so beautiful…the tightness in his chest almost overwhelmed him.

  “Gabriella.”

  “Mmm?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said quietly, “just…” He bent his head and kissed her. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her to his bed. She lay with her head on his shoulder, her hand playing with the dark curls on his chest.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Gently he stroked a tous
led mass of golden curls from her cheek.

  “That I’ve missed you.”

  She turned her face, pressed a kiss to his skin. “Me, too.”

  In truth he was thinking far more than that. He was thinking that a man went through life certain he knew what he needed to be happy. Success in his work. The love of his family. Friends who stood by him. Things that seemed simple and attainable.

  It wasn’t enough.

  He needed this.

  Gabriella, in his arms. Winding her arms around his neck as he gathered her closer, returning his kisses as if nothing in the world mattered but him.

  He gathered her closer. How had he lived without her?

  Without warning, a thought raced through him like a gust of cold air. This could be dangerous. There was so much to discuss, to work through. But then Gabriella sighed, kissed his throat and he knew that nothing mattered but her.

  The swift tide of desire rose inside him again.

  Kissing her, he rolled her onto her back, caught her hands in his and laced their fingers together. He drew back a little, just far enough to see her.

  She was exquisite.

  Her hair was a tangled mass of gleaming golds, her eyes were wide and luminous, her lips were softly swollen from his kisses. Everything had happened so quickly that she was still wearing his robe and, under it, his T-shirt. He bent his head, kissed her throat, the pulse racing wildly in its hollow. His tongue dipped into her mouth, capturing the honeyed sweetness he had never forgotten.

  “Gabriella.”

  His voice was thick, his breathing ragged. He ached, not only to make love to her again but to see all of her. Gently he eased the robe from her shoulders and slid his hands under the hem of the shirt. Her skin felt like silk; the scent of her arousal made his blood pound even harder.