Say it with Diamonds...this Christmas (Mills & Boon M&B) (Mills & Boon Special Releases)

by Miranda Lee

  But if there were, would he have kissed her? Would he have said he wanted to make love to her? Would he look at her as he had last night, as if he could almost feel her in his arms, hear her moans, because she would moan if he touched her, and—what was wrong with her today? She couldn’t live here and imagine these things.

  “Tally?”

  “Yes?”

  “You seem … distracted.”

  Heat rushed to her face. “No, not at all.” Quickly, to cover her embarrassment, she added, “You said you’re flying to Philadelphia?”

  “And that my P.A., Joan, will show you around. She took care of furnishing your office. If it doesn’t please you, tell her to make whatever changes you wish. Joan’s also the one who scheduled your appointments, so if you have any questions—”

  “Ask Joan.”

  Dante nodded and walked around the table to where she sat.

  “She’s organized meetings for you with half a dozen prospective assistants.”

  He was leaning over her; his scent drifted to her. Soap, water and pure, sexy essence of Dante. That was how she’d always thought of the smell of his skin. She’d never forgotten it or the memories it evoked.

  His taste on her tongue. The feel of him, under her hands.

  “I’m right,” he said softly.

  Tally looked up. His face was close to hers, his eyes a deep, cool gray.

  “Something’s definitely distracting you, cara. What could it be?”

  “Nothing. I’m just—I’m concentrating on what you said. My office. Appointments with possible assistants. What else?”

  “Did Mrs. Tipton tell you that she and Ellen will be happy to look after Sam, until you’ve hired a nanny?”

  He leaned closer. All she had to do was turn her head an inch and her lips would brush his jaw.

  “She told me. That’s very—” she cleared her throat “—that’s very kind of them. I’ll contact an agency first thing and—”

  “Joan’s already taken care of it. A highly recommended agency is sending over half a dozen women for you to interview. They all have impeccable credentials, but again, if you’re not satisfied, all you need do is inform Joan.”

  His shoulder brushed hers. Was it her imagination, or could she feel the heat of him through all the layers of clothing separating them?

  “Tally? Is that acceptable?”

  His eyes were on hers. The color had gone from gray to silver. Silver that somehow burned like flame.

  “It’s—it’s fine.”

  “Because,” he said, his voice suddenly low and husky, “because, cara, we can always alter the arrangement we made.”

  He wasn’t talking about the office or her appointments, and they both knew it.

  “No,” she said, “we can’t. I want things exactly as we agreed.”

  “Are you certain?”

  The only thing she was certain of was that she had to get herself under control because she couldn’t do this. Think about him making love to her, want him making love to her …

  She took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “In that case, there’s nothing left to do this morning.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “Except this,” he said softly, and brushed his mouth over hers.

  “No,” she said, hating the soft, breathless quality of her voice.

  “You’re starting a new career and I’m flying to an important meeting. It’s just a kiss for luck. Surely, I’m allowed that?”

  “Dante. We can’t—”

  “We aren’t.”

  He put his hand under her chin, lifted her face and claimed her mouth with his. And she—she let it happen. Let him slide the tip of his tongue between her lips, let him thrust his fingers into her hair, let him deepen the kiss until she was dizzy with wanting him….

  Dante let go of her, straightened and took a sleek black leather briefcase from the sideboard.

  And then he was gone.

  TALLY’S DAY WAS LONG, exhausting—and wonderful.

  Her office was a huge, light-filled room, handsomely furnished and perfectly equipped. Selecting an assistant was difficult only because all the candidates Dante’s P.A. had chosen were outstanding.

  It would have been equally tough to choose one of the nannies but a middle-aged woman with a soft Scottish lilt made things easier when she spotted Sam’s photo on Tally’s desk and crooned, “Och, the sweet little lamb!”

  There was nothing difficult in deciding that Dante’s P.A. was the eighth wonder of the world. Joan was fiftyish, elegant, and as warm as she was efficient.

  “Just let me know what you need,” she said, “and it’s as good as yours.”

  At lunchtime, Tally dashed to Fifth Avenue and did the sort of lightning-fast shopping trip she used to do in the past. Within an hour, she’d bought several trousers, skirts, blazers, cashmere sweaters and a couple of pairs of shoes.

  At four, she met with Dante’s architect, who showed her the interior changes he was going to make in the new offices. At five, she met with one of her old contacts at the design center. At six, she dismissed Dante’s driver and headed for the subway.

  Dante would not kiss her anymore, and she would not accept any more favors from him. She was working with him. It was only right that they maintain appropriate behavior.

  There was a delay on the subway line. A quarter of an hour passed before the train came and after that, it sat between stations for five endless minutes. When she reached her stop, she went half a block out of her way to buy a chocolate Santa for Sam.

  She’d called to talk with her baby half a dozen times and the last time, she’d promised to bring a special treat.

  By the time she reached Dante’s apartment building, Tally was feeling wonderful. She was back in the city she loved, involved in a major project, and she’d made peace with the problem of dealing with Dante.

  All she had to do was make sure he understood the parameters of their relationship, and—

  “Where have you been?”

  Dante stood in the entrance to the building, blocking her way. His voice was rough, his face white with unconcealed anger.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Mouth set, he clasped her arm and marched her past the doorman to the penthouse elevator.

  “I asked you a question. Where the hell were you? You should have been here an hour ago.”

  She swung toward him, her temper rising to match his as he pushed her, unceremoniously, into the car.

  “I should have been here an hour ago?” Tally slapped her hands on her hips. “Are you out of your mind? I don’t have to answer to you!”

  “You left the office at six. An hour late.”

  “How nice. You have people spying on me.”

  “And turned down the use of my car.”

  “Is your driver a paid informer?”

  “And where did you go for lunch? I phoned and you hadn’t told Joan or your new assistant where you’d be.”

  Tally was trembling with anger. “Where I went and why I went there is none of your business. Unless—” The color drained from her face. “Ohmygod, is it Sam? Is my baby ill?”

  “No!” Dante stepped in front of her as the car doors opened on his penthouse. “Listen to me. Samantha’s fine. This has nothing to do with her.”

  Sweet relief flooded through her, but it didn’t last. She’d accepted a job from this man and moved into his guest suite. If he thought that made her his property, he was wrong.

  “Then, get out of my way,” she said coldly. “I don’t answer to you.”

  “You damned well will,” he said grimly, his hand closing like a steel band around her wrist. “This is New York, not a blip on the map in Vermont. Anything might happen to you on these streets.”

  “What a short memory you have, Russo!” Tally jerked free of his hand. “I know all about New York. I lived here for five years!”

  She had. He knew that. She’d traveled the city’s streets, ridden its subways, lived in an apartment alone. Of
course he knew that … but things had changed.

  He told her so, and she looked at him as if he’d gone crazy.

  “Nothing’s changed. The city’s the same. So am I.”

  “You’re not.” His mouth twisted and the ugly suspicions he’d tried to deny while he’d paced the floor and wondered where she was, burst from his lips. “You slept with another man while you belonged to me. How do I know you’re not seeing him again?”

  Tally’s eyes went flat. “You don’t,” she said coldly, and brushed past him.

  Dante let her go. He had to; he was still rational enough to know that if he went after her now, it was a sure bet he’d do something he’d regret.

  So he turned his back, strode along the marble floor to the library, flung open the liquor cabinet and poured himself a stiff shot of bourbon. And began pacing again, back and forth on the antique silk carpet before the fireplace, while the hours ticked away.

  She’d all but called him crazy.

  Hell, maybe she was right.

  How come he hadn’t thought about this before? All the plans he’d made to bring Tally back to New York and it had never occurred to him that he might be pushing her straight into the arms of her old lover.

  The man who’d made her pregnant.

  If he wasn’t crazy, he was just plain stupid, because the idea hadn’t even popped into his head until he’d been at lunch in Philadelphia after a morning of meetings. Somewhere between the salad course and the entrée, he’d suddenly realized he wanted to hear Tally’s voice. He’d excused himself, left the table and phoned.

  But she wasn’t at her office, and Joan had no idea where she’d gone. He’d started to call her on her cell phone, only to realize that he didn’t have the number.

  He’d gone back to the table. Shoved the grilled shrimps and vegetables back and forth on his plate. Said “yes” and “no” and “how interesting” when it seemed fitting.

  And all the while, he’d been thinking, Where is she? Where did she go?

  That was when he’d first realized that bringing her back to the city might have been a mistake. That even now, while he pretended to pay attention to the details of a billion-dollar deal, Tally might be lying in the arms of the man she’d left him for. She’d slept with the man only once, she’d said, but Tally wasn’t like that.

  She wouldn’t be anybody’s one-night stand.

  Had she lied about that? Had the bastard been her lover for weeks? For months? Did she want to go back to him now?

  Why would she, when he’d abandoned her when she was pregnant?

  He had abandoned her, hadn’t he? Because if he hadn’t, if something, who the hell knew what, had kept Tally and the SOB apart and that something no longer stood between them—

  You are losing your mind, Dante had told himself.

  The warning hadn’t helped.

  Everyone ordered coffee. He lifted his cup, frowned, put it down untouched. He was sorry, he said; he had to leave. And he walked away from three men who stared at him as if they agreed with the silent assessment he’d made of his sanity.

  He’d flown back to New York, angry at himself, furious at Tally because it was her fault, all of this, his rage, his distrust, his inability to do anything except think about her. If only she’d never run from him …

  Her fault. Entirely.

  At home, he’d paced the floor, planning how he’d tell her that if she thought she was going to live with him and take someone else for a lover, she was wrong.

  He’d kill the other man before he let that happen.

  Then he’d told himself that she wasn’t living with him, not in any real sense. Besides, maybe she hadn’t gone back to the other man. Maybe she’d told him the truth, that she’d only been with that faceless stranger the one time.

  One time had been enough.

  The son of a bitch had planted a seed in her womb. He’d given her a child he hadn’t helped support, a child who was solely Tally’s responsibility. A child who by all rights should have belonged to—should have belonged to—

  The clock on the mantel had struck the hour. Seven o’clock. Seven at night, and where the hell was she?

  Carlo had no idea. Ms. Sommers had sent his car away. Joan, reached at home, didn’t know a thing, either.

  And Dante, fueled with a rage he didn’t understand, had lost control. He’d paced some more, snarled at his housekeeper when she came in to ask what time he wanted dinner served and, when he was alone again, punched his fist into the wall with such force he was surprised he hadn’t put a hole in it.

  He went down to the lobby, about to head into the street to find Tally—though he had no idea where in hell he’d start—and saw her come sauntering toward the door, with a smile for the doorman and a blank look for him.

  He’d wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled.

  He’d wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her.

  In the end, because he knew doing either would be a mistake, he’d launched into a tirade that settled nothing except to prove, once again, he was an idiot where she was concerned.

  Dante looked at the clock on the mantel. The hours had raced by. It was two in the morning; the city below was as quiet as it would ever be.

  Two in the morning, and he was still ticking like a time bomb while Tally undoubtedly slept peacefully two floors above him.

  He tilted the glass to his lips and drained it of bourbon.

  Did she get a kick out of this? Out of making him behave this way? Surely, she knew she had this effect on him.

  She did it deliberately.

  That was why he’d decided to end their affair three years ago. He hadn’t been bored. Who could be bored by a woman who could discuss the stock market and football statistics without missing a beat?

  A muscle knotted in his jaw.

  He could afford a little honesty now, couldn’t he? Admit to himself that the reason he’d wanted to end things was because he’d sensed his feelings for her were becoming uncontrollable?

  That night she’d asked him to stay, and he almost had. Other nights when she hadn’t asked, when he’d had to force himself from her bed because the thought of leaving her had been agony.

  Oh, yes.

  Tally was manipulating him. Toying with him and the self-discipline on which he prided himself. The self-discipline that had made him a success.

  And he didn’t like it, not one bit.

  Dante’s eyes narrowed. But he knew what to do about it. How to regain that control. Of himself. Of the situation.

  Of Tally.

  Back to Plan A. He would take her to bed.

  He had perfect control there. Holding back, not just physically but emotionally. Exulting in what happened between them, feeling it as a hot rush of pleasure so intense he’d never known it with another woman and yet, keeping a little piece of himself from her.

  Emotions were not things to put on exhibit. Control was a man’s sole protection against a hostile world.

  Control, goddamn it, Dante thought.

  His hands knotted into fists. Anger burned like a fire in his belly. Anger, and something far more primitive.

  Tally was asleep, satisfied she’d made a fool of him again, and he was here, wide awake, trapped like an insect in a web of rage.

  “Enough,” he growled.

  Dante flung open the library door and headed for the stairs.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MOONLIGHT SPILLED from a sky bright with stars and lay like fine French lace across the floor of Tally’s bedroom.

  Some other time, she’d have noticed and admired it.

  Not tonight.

  Instead, she sat curled in a window seat, her back to the night, focused only on the turmoil inside her, anger and pain warring for control of her heart.

  She hated Dante, hated the things he’d accused her of. How could he think her capable of being a cheat and a liar?

  Maybe because you told him you slept with another man while he was still your lover, a
voice inside her whispered contemptuously.

  Yes. All right, but what else could she have done? She’d wanted to protect herself and Sam. Now she knew she’d done the right thing. Dante had shown a side of himself she’d never imagined.

  She’d always believed he was a man who suppressed his emotions.

  Tonight, he’d been a man out of control, capable of anything.

  Tally shivered and drew the silk robe more closely around herself. The night seemed endless, especially without Sam in the next room. The baby had dozed off in her play crib in the little room next to the housekeeper’s.

  “Let her stay the night, Ms. Sommers,” Mrs. Tipton had said. “Why wake her from a sound sleep?”

  Now Tally was glad she’d left Sam where she was. Her little girl needed the rest. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

  She and Sam were going home to Shelby.

  She’d scrub floors for a living, move into a furnished flat above a storefront on Main Street if she had to. Better that, better to raise her daughter in poverty, than to raise her here.

  Tally rose to her feet and paced the bedroom, the details of her confrontation with Dante as alive as if they’d happened minutes instead of hours ago.

  What gave him the right to ask where she’d been? To accuse her of sneaking off to be with Samantha’s father? She’d come within a breath of laughing in his face at that, except it really wasn’t funny.

  Okay. She’d made a mistake, accepting this job. Well, a mistake could be remedied. And maybe some good had come of it. At least now she knew exactly what she felt for Dante Russo.

  She despised him.

  Tally paused, wrapped her arms around herself and drew a shuddering breath. She had to do something or go crazy. She’d pack. Yes. That was an excellent idea. She’d pack now. That way, come morning, all she’d have to do was take Sam and get the hell out of this snake pit.

  Ellen had hung all her clothes in the closet, including the things Saks had delivered this afternoon. Tally dumped her old stuff in her suitcase and ignored the rest. Let Dante give it away. Let him burn it, for all she gave a damn.

  She didn’t want anything his money had bought.