by Day Leclaire
Draco didn’t bother to deny it. “Yeah.”
“Well, okay then. That brings us to my second question. What happens to the girl once I track her down?”
Hell. “Either I put a wedding ring on her finger or she’s going to wish we’d never met.”
“Huh. Sounds to me like you’re tempted to do both.”
“That’s a distinct possibility,” Draco growled.
“I’ll have her for you within the week,” Juice promised. “But if you don’t mind me saying, I suggest you seriously consider pursuing option one, rather than option two.”
Draco glared down at the phone. “And why is that?”
“Because you and I would have to have a serious conversation if you decide on option two. And trust me, you don’t want that to happen.”
With that, the phone went dead. Draco closed his eyes and swore again, more virulently this time. He’d never hurt Shayla, not when he was honor-bound to protect her. She was his mate. He was worried. Concerned. He needed to find her, discover why she’d stood him up. Was it because of her grandmother? Because he was a Dante? Or something else, something worse? Until he found her, he’d never know.
But all the while, Lazz’s question ran through his mind like a broken recording. How do you know she didn’t seduce you as part of her grandmother’s plan? Draco shook his head. No. It couldn’t have been a setup. She didn’t know who he was when they’d met. The others, sure. But not him. His name hadn’t been on the list. She’d been patently shocked when he told her he was a Dante.
Still . . . What if he was wrong? What if history was repeating itself and he’d once again fallen for a clever con?
Damn it to hell!
Draco’s palm throbbed and he rubbed it with his thumb. He’d thought The Inferno had forged a permanent connection between them. Now he wondered. Maybe it had worked, but only on him. Maybe his Inferno connector was on the fritz. Maybe he’d be the first to find his soul mate, only to discover she didn’t feel the same way.
Perfect. Draco Dante, the only member of his entire family to screw up The Inferno. Porca vacca! He really was trouble.
Chapter Four
Nine months later . . .
Draco had lost Shayla in the fading glory of summer and found her again in the burgeoning promise of a fertile spring. But he did find her, though it had taken Juice far longer than the week he’d anticipated. How ironic it was here, hiding out in her family home, where he’d started his search.
The Charleston house stood at the end of a long drive, an ancient antebellum mansion best seen from a kind distance. The closer Draco came, the more apparent the ravages of time, despite the flowering trees and perennials that attempted to disguise the slow decline into rot. The mansion stood exposed, shimmering through the humidity beneath a merciless and unforgiving sun. He didn’t understand it. The handful of diamonds Shayla had shown him could have more than transformed the place. So, why hadn’t they put the money the Dantes had paid for them to good use?
An ancient housekeeper opened the door and shuffled him along to a shabby parlor, where he was formally announced. Leticia Charleston responded by leveling a glare at the housekeeper, no doubt because she’d had the effrontery to permit a Dante across her precious threshold. Caving to the inevitable, Leticia waved Draco toward a high-backed chair decorated in faded damask. He ignored the invitation to sit.
“As I’ve informed you each time you’ve phoned, Mr. Dante, Shayla is not here.”
As badly as he wanted to call her a liar, his family continued to do business with the woman, though now they were locked in fierce negotiations to purchase the mines, rather than to lease them. Ticking her off was not in Dantes’ best interest. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the most charming of Primo’s grandchildren. That honor went to his cousin, Marco.
Worse, after so many months of searching, Draco’s temper was worn to a small, jagged nub. The least wrong word caused him to shoot first, talk later. Unfortunately, once the hapless transgressor went down in flames it didn’t leave a lot of room for discussion. And as appealing as the image of Shayla’s grandmother being turned to a pile of ash was, he needed to try for a more diplomatic approach.
“She’s here,” he nearly growled.
So much for diplomacy.
Leticia lifted a perfectly drawn eyebrow a shade darker than her perfectly styled, deep gold hair. Now he could tell where her funds had been channeled. For a woman in her early seventies, she looked spectacular on the outside, even if the inner corrosion ran strong and deep. It would seem the decayed exterior of the house reflected the personality of its mistress.
“Are you calling me a liar?” she demanded.
He glared at her, dragon to dragon. “I believe if you’ll take a look in one of those half-dozen bedrooms upstairs, you’ll find your missing granddaughter.” He shot a grim look around the cavernous room. “Considering the size of this place I can understand you accidentally misplacing her. But if you need me to help look . . . ?” He lifted his own eyebrow, one as black as soot.
Affront draped like a filmy curtain across Letitia’s expression. “A half-dozen? I’ll have you know there are a full dozen bedrooms upstairs, none of which contain my granddaughter. Shayla is not some princess I’m keeping locked away in a tower, despite what you clearly believe. And you are most certainly not a prince, but some ill-mannered creature possessing not an ounce of civilized behavior.” Leticia shot to her feet and gestured toward the door leading to the hallway, and the way out. “Now, if you don’t mind?”
“Here’s the problem.” He planted his feet firmly atop a handmade Tabriz carpet that still carried a whiff of lost elegance. Then he folded his arms across his chest. “I do mind. I mind very much.”
Leticia stuck out a chin identical to her granddaughter’s, fire burning in eyes as blue as Shayla’s were black. Her only show of nerves was the way she gripped a ring dangling from a gold chain strung around her neck. Based on the glitter of diamonds, he suspected she clutched her wedding ring, though why she wore it around her neck instead of on her finger he couldn’t begin to guess. Maybe widows in the South did it that way.
“She’s not here,” Leticia informed him. As though aware she’d exposed her anxiety, she tucked her ring away beneath her elegant silk blouse.
Draco met her, chin for jaw, putting a spark of fire in his own hazel-gold eyes. “Yes, she is.”
He didn’t know who would have caved first if a voice hadn’t interrupted the standoff. “Grandmother? I need your opinion.” The sound of her came like a sip of water to a parched and desperate desert. Painfully slow footsteps crossed the cypress floorboards of the foyer, heading straight for the parlor and sounding like the ring of destiny. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”
Leticia fell back into her chair with a word that had Draco’s brows shooting skyward, while her expression soured, threatening to destroy all the hard work of her plastic surgeon. “Why, it’s a miracle. My beloved granddaughter has appeared out of thin air after all these long months.” She bit off each word as if it was acid in her mouth and drummed her synthetic nails against the armrest of her chair. “Hallelujah and kill the fatted calf.”
Draco spared her a sardonic look before turning. “Hello, Shayla.”
He heard the sharp catch of her breath the instant she realized who he was. “Draco.”
His name escaped on a current of emotions, only a few of which he could identify. Disbelief. Wonder. An underscoring of pain. He could understand the disbelief since she’d run so long and hard to escape him. But the other two left him bewildered.
She stood a few steps inside the parlor, as though poised to vanish as unexpectedly as she’d appeared. She held two small, crocheted blankets clutched to her chest, one a bright and cheerful yellow, the other a tumble of rainbow colors. She looked different than he remembered. Softer. More country casual than city chic. Sweet and oh, so not-so innocent.
Maybe it was her hair, which she wore pulled back fro
m her face and fastened with two clips so it sheeted down her back in an inky waterfall. Or maybe it was her dress, at least what he could see of it around the blankets she held. A simple ivory, the pleats at the neckline flowed downward, long and loose, to her calves.
None of the differences mattered. All that mattered was the hard, joyous thrum of The Inferno and the relentless kick of desire, the intensity building to a fever pitch now that he finally stood face-to-face with her. He’d have snatched her in his arms, except for one small detail.
In the past months he’d come to the conclusion Lazz was right. His Inferno mate had screwed him over—literally and figuratively—no doubt at the behest of her grandmother.
“Hello, Shayla.” He wanted to say so many things to her. So many things he planned to get off his chest once he found her. But standing there, staring at her, he couldn’t think of one damn word of his entire speech. “It’s been a while.”
“I guess you’re here to talk to my grandmother about the purchase contracts.” She took a swift step backward. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“I’m not here to see your grandmother.” He approached, not the least surprised by the alarm building in her dark gaze. It had been a long, difficult chase, but she’d just been trapped and he didn’t intend to release her anytime soon. “I’m here to talk to you.”
“This really isn’t a good time,” she began, taking another swift step backward.
She clutched the blankets in a white-knuckle grip, holding them almost protectively against her chest. It was her profound nervousness, bordering on fear, that finally gave her away. He looked at her this time. Really looked. And then it was his turn for his breath to hitch. His turn to stare in stunned disbelief.
“You’re pregnant.” The words escaped, part statement, part accusation.
From behind him, he heard Leticia moan. “Shayla, you’re pregnant? Why didn’t you tell your poor, dear grandmamma?”
Shayla’s confused gaze darted from him to her grandmother and back again. “Yes, I’m pregnant. I guess that means there’s cause for celebration all around. I understand you’re married, Draco. Congratulations.”
Married? “Who the hell told you that?” he snarled, though he could guess.
“My grandmother.”
He suspected that if she’d thought first, she might not have given him an honest answer. “Did she?”
Naturally, the old woman continued to brazen it out. “That’s what I heard.” She rolled her eyes. “But what do I know? You Dantes breed like rabbits. With so many to choose from, it’s possible I got the name of the groom wrong.”
“That tears it.” He shot her a blistering glare that had her shrinking back against the cushions of her chair. “I don’t care if this is your house, I want you out of this room right now.”
“Well, I never!” Leticia said, playing the affronted grand dame to the hilt.
“Then it’s about time you did,” Draco shot back. He stabbed a finger in the direction of the door. “Excuse us. Please.” He nearly choked on that final word, before switching his attention to Shayla. She’d run if given half the chance, though considering the extent of her pregnancy he had a reasonable shot at catching her this time round. And it wouldn’t take nine months, either. “Shayla and I have a lot to talk about.”
Leticia didn’t want to leave, he could see the resistance in every line of her whip-thin body. “Very well, I’ll go.” Her eyes narrowed on Draco, the soft baby blues bright with malice. “But I’ll be back.”
“Yeah, that’s what all villains say,” he muttered.
Shayla must have heard because she glanced out the window, biting her lip. He wondered if it was to hold back laughter or to keep herself from tearing him a new one. The door closed behind Leticia, just shy of a slam, leaving them in murky silence. Draco didn’t hesitate. Most of his questions could be answered with one easy move.
Before she realized his intent, he swept her into his arms and kissed her. It was a hard, ruthless kiss, one that gave no quarter, but demanded a response, a definitive answer to months’ worth of questions. He put every bit of the loss and hunger, anger and pain, hope and despair into that melding of lips.
He felt her resistance, her initial panic. Her hands pressed against his chest, attempting to hold him at bay. And then it all changed. A soft moan caught in her throat, a moan of intense longing and desire. Where before her hands pushed, now they lifted and tangled in his hair. Tugged to bring him closer. Her lips parted and she deepened the kiss, easing it from hard to generous, ruthless to eager, filling it with a joyful welcome.
She felt good in his arms. Right. Her scent swirled around him, a uniquely familiar one he connected with on some deep, primal level. And her taste . . . Her sweet taste and fervent touch caused The Inferno to burn with a blistering intensity. She was his. Had been his from the moment they touched.
A soft kick impacted against his abdomen, coming from the tight mound of Shayla’s belly. He broke off the embrace and took a swift step back, staring in shock. “Are you all right? The baby? I think I hurt it.”
“Not at all.” She smiled, a soft, radiant smile that knocked first at his heart, then at his legs, threatening to send him straight to his knees. “He or she must have felt left out and given you a little kick to say hello.”
Draco closed his eyes in relief. Great. Great way to start, Dante. He hesitated, not quite certain how to go from there. He wasn’t accustomed to being indecisive and it irritated him. Okay, fine. The hell with starting out by getting his feet wet. He’d just dive right in.
Dragging in a deep breath, he pinned Shayla with his gaze. “Is the baby mine?”
“Are you married?” she countered. “You never actually said. Earlier, I mean.”
“No. I’m not married.”
“Engaged?” she persisted.
He ran a hand through his hair, reaching deep for the patience he’d lost eight-plus endless months ago. “I’m not married. Not engaged. Not seeing anyone. Not interested in seeing anyone,” he asserted. “With one exception. You.”
An emotion swept across her elegant features, so fast he couldn’t quite identify it. Hurt, maybe? “Then why have you waited so long to come and see me?”
Okay, definitely hurt. He approached, deliberately stepping into a bright patch of sunlight. It cut hot and sharp across his face, giving her a clear view of both his expression and his eyes. “Let me make this crystal clear. I have been searching for you since the moment you disappeared. When you didn’t show up for dinner, I stopped by the Mark—which incidentally had never heard of you. Next, I called your grandmother—who professed ignorance. I won’t bother to comment on that.”
This time Shayla allowed the smallest of smiles to curve her mouth before bringing it under swift control. “Since I was on a plane, technically she didn’t know my precise location.”
“If you say so.” They’d discuss her departure from San Francisco soon enough. Guaranteed, it would be long and unpleasant. But it would happen. “My third call was to Juice.”
Her brow wrinkled in bewilderment. “Who or what is Juice?”
“He worked for my brother, Luc’s security firm years ago. After the business closed down, Dantes hired him. Let’s just say he’s an expert at finding what’s lost and recovering it.”
Shayla stilled. “You asked him to recover me?” she asked.
“Hell, yes, I asked him to recover you!”
She crossed to a window seat overlooking the expansive grounds at the rear of the mansion. Taking a seat, her restless hands folded and refolded the blankets she held. They were handmade baby blankets Draco now realized. “He must not be very good at his job if it took him all this time to find me.”
Not quite knowing what to do with himself, Draco paced in front of her. “Maybe if you hadn’t spent most of that time trying to dodge me, he’d have had an easier time of it.”
“I wasn’t dodging you,” she corrected. “I had a job that involved extensive
travel.”
“Yeah, right.” He didn’t bother to conceal his skepticism. “Regardless, Juice tracked you all over Europe. Maybe if your employer, Algier, weren’t such a recluse who keeps his schedule top secret, I would have managed to catch you. I almost pulled it off in Copenhagen.” Disgust ripped through his voice. “We probably passed each other at the airport. After that, you fell off the grid.”
“I came home,” she said simply.
“That was three months ago.” Three months. Three impossibly long months and she’d been here all along. Son of a— “I’ve called your grandmother weekly since you left me high and dry in San Francisco, asking whether you’d been in touch. She categorically denied being in contact with you.”
Shayla lifted a shoulder in a shrug that caused her dress to swirl across the surface of her rounded belly. More than anything he wanted to touch her burgeoning flesh, to feel again the impatient kick of the baby tucked safe within her womb. “I asked her not to.”
“Got it.” A wintry bitterness descended. More and more it would seem Lazz was right. “Was seducing me part of your grandmother’s plan in order to gather inside information on the Dantes?”
She froze. “Is that what you think?”
His temper escaped his grasp. “What the hell am I supposed to think, Shayla? We spent one incredible night together. You acted as though it meant as much to you as it did to me. But it was all a lie, wasn’t it? You made a date with me, planning all the while to stand me up. You left without a word of explanation, not so much as a note or phone call. Then you went abroad with Derek Algier. Personally, I think you were running like you had the devil at your heels.” He allowed nine months of fury to underscore his words. “And you would have been right. I was behind you almost every step of the way, hell-bound to find you.”
Other than a telltale trace of color sweeping across her cheekbones, she remained remarkably composed. “If you found out I worked for Derek, then you must know I wasn’t running from you.”
“I think your job turned out to be a very convenient way of avoiding me.” He cut her off before she could slam him with a heated reply. “And if it wasn’t, why else would you keep running?” He tried to keep the bite out of the question and failed miserably. “Why else would you have kept your pregnancy a secret?”