by Day Leclaire
She saw it so clearly, understood it so painfully. “You’re right.” She didn’t want him to be. But he was.
“The past is over.” Draco gathered her into his arms, his voice lowering. “Focus on right here and now. Stefano is safe and sleeping in his crib, dreaming whatever delightful fantasies babies dream. He saw the doctor only yesterday and she said the infection was gone. Let go now. Take time for yourself.”
Time for herself. It sounded wonderful. She released a gusty sigh. “What do you suggest I do with all this time for myself?”
He paused, his gaze filling with unmistakable passion. “Be a wife instead of a mother.”
Chapter Nine
Shayla knew what Draco wanted. If she were honest with herself, she wanted the same thing every bit as much. Unable to resist, she surrendered to her need. Utterly.
He must have read the hunger in her eyes, the acceptance in the sway of her body. Blatant desire burned in his eyes, fast and desperate. She heard the rumble in his throat, low and powerful, and knew when he made love to her this time it would be unlike any other. And she was right.
A quick tug and he had her. A quick rip and he yanked her blouse open and off her shoulders. Shock held her in place while a liquid heat exploded deep in her belly.
“I want you. Not slow, but fast.” He stripped away her bra. “Not gentle, but rough.” Her slacks and panties were hauled down her legs. “And hot. And thorough. And all night long.”
He swept her up and tossed her onto the bed. She bounced once, naked and tousled and more aroused than she could ever remember being. He peeled off his own clothes, shredded them in his haste, tossed them aside. She couldn’t think straight, didn’t want to think. Just feel. Yield. Allow herself to spin helpless and free along whatever path he chose to take them.
He was on top of her before she could draw breath, snatching a kiss full of pent-up fire and demand. His mouth devoured her, but she wanted to be devoured. To be taken. To have his hands on her and his body in her and The Inferno burning, burning, burning until there was nothing left of either of them but the fire.
“Do it now,” she demanded, practically weeping in her desperation to have him. “I’ve waited for you. Waited for nearly a year.”
“Forty-seven weeks and two days.” His eyes glittered down at her like liquid gold. “But not another minute longer.”
She parted her legs for him while he gathered up her hips, lifting, opening. Then he mated their bodies in one swift act. She closed around him, wrapped him up with arms and legs, and moved. Oh, how she moved, catching his rhythm and driving him higher and harder.
The blood pounded from head to heart to the very core of her and she trembled, felt the earthquake grab her. Shake her. Grab at him. The scalding, turbulent pressure building with only one place to go. It sent her rocketing to a shimmering, glittering place where stars exploded and the heavens wept. She bowed back, tight, then tighter, while he took her over and over. And she reached, found that unbelievable delight and seized it, knowing all the while that she’d never, ever be able to find it anyplace else but with this man.
Shayla muffled her shriek against his shoulder, clinging to that moment of wonder with all her strength, while Draco followed her up and over, roaring his pleasure. She glided then, slid into the aftershocks that pulsated through her in a glorious, endless stream. It took long, endless moments before she could gather enough breath to speak. “Now that’s what I call a hallelujah moment,” she informed him in a dreamy voice. “Please tell me you have an entire chorus of them.”
He choked on a laugh. “Oh, yeah. All saved up and ready to go.”
“How soon?”
“Just let me catch my—”
She rolled over on top of him, captured the last of his words with a demanding kiss. She couldn’t seem to help herself. This need, this overpowering want, was still so new to her. She didn’t think she’d ever tire of it. But tonight she’d give it her best effort. She trailed downward, exploring freely, delighted with his response to her efforts. Peering up at him, she grinned.
“I see you have the second chorus ready to sing. Why don’t you hum a few bars and I’ll follow along.”
He glanced down. “That isn’t a chorus, sweetheart. It’s a whole damned symphony. And I plan to have you play every last note.”
And she did.
Draco woke in the dark of night, Shayla held safe and secure within his arms. Great speech, Dante. No question that his darling wife needed to hear every word of it—the importance of letting go. But the time had come to heed his own advice. He’d held on to Shayla for weeks, finding excuse after excuse to keep her caged, even though he’d filled her cage with every manner of temptation.
How could he demand she allow their son to fly when he kept her wings so carefully clipped?
She stirred in his arms, snuggling closer to his warmth, and he gritted his teeth. Just the mere idea of losing her, of having her live apart from him, just about gutted him.
He wanted her. Needed her. Adored her. Would move heaven and earth if it meant giving her happiness. He closed his eyes, feeling the unrelenting pull of The Inferno. The last tiny barrier fell.
He loved her, loved her beyond measure.
And because he loved her, he’d set her free.
Shayla awoke to Stefano’s predawn squall, signaling his need for breakfast. He’d actually lasted an hour longer than usual. Cautiously, she eased from Draco’s embrace, hoping he’d sleep through his son’s impatient cries.
Entering the nursery, she lifted Stefano from his crib and nestled him close. She carried him to the rocking chair and gently rocked while he fed. As always, her gaze traveled around the room and she couldn’t help but smile. Every time she sat here she saw some new bit of whimsy, either something she’d overlooked until then, or some little detail Draco had slipped in without her noticing.
She loved these moments with her son. Sweet, fleeting occasions that would be over before she knew it. It gave her time to think. To quiet her thoughts and slow life’s rhythm. To enjoy the now and simply feel. And while she sat and rocked, she considered what Draco had told her the night before—the importance of letting go.
It had struck a serious nerve with her, not just because of her son but because of herself. Until last night she’d thought if she were released—let go—it meant she’d be free. Back on that fateful night when she met Draco, she believed that if she fulfilled her obligations to her grandmother, she would take the job with Derek and experience that freedom. And yet, all during those first months overseas, Draco consumed her every waking thought. And as soon as something had gone wrong, where had she gone? Back to her roots. Back to her family ties.
“Back home,” she murmured.
She’d never been free of those ties and never would. How foolish to think otherwise. There might be many things about Grandmother Charleston that bothered her. But when push came to shove, that’s the person she’d turned to in her moment of crisis. And she realized something else, as well. It would have been Draco if she hadn’t been told he was already married. Because she was tied to him not just through their child, but with body and heart and soul.
She closed her eyes and faced facts. She didn’t want to be free, not if it meant living without Draco. Oh, she could find a certain level of contentment if she lived in some small, cozy apartment with Stefano. But she wouldn’t be happy. Because the truth was, she loved Draco, loved him beyond measure and for all of time.
She opened her eyes and looked around the nursery he’d created. Thought about all he’d done over the past two months. Her gaze landed on the bare stretch of wall behind the crib and an idea occurred to her. An idea that might express her heart’s desire and prove to Draco she’d only know true freedom if it was in his arms.
“You heard me, Sev. I want the suite for Shayla and the baby.”
“I heard you. I just don’t like what I’m hearing. How long will they be staying at the suite?”
; “I don’t know. As long as it takes.”
“Look, whatever you did, just apologize. It’s not worth having her move out.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Draco snarled. “And before you ask, no, we’re not having marital problems.”
“Sounds like marital problems to me. Wives don’t just up and move out of their home and away from their husband without a damn good reason. And they especially don’t do it a few short weeks after giving birth. The way I see it, you must be the reason.”
Draco gritted his teeth. “Look. I made a promise to her when we married, okay? And I intend to keep it no matter how much I’d rather— No matter how much it—” Hurts. Kills him. Rips him to shreds. He closed his eyes and swore. “Can they use the suite while I find them a suitable house or not?”
Sev’s sigh came long and rough. “Sure. If there’s anything I can do, let me know, will you?”
“You’ll be the first one I call.”
Shayla rested the phone between shoulder and ear while she wrestled a diaper around Stefano’s pumping legs. “Actually, I called to ask for a favor.”
“Anything,” Ariana answered promptly, her voice carrying a hint of her Italian origins. “Name it and it is yours.”
Stefano’s onesie came next, something her son was intent on keeping off his little squirming body at all costs. Shayla smothered a laugh as she struggled to dress her son and speak at the same time. “The mural,” she managed to say. “You painted it, didn’t you? I recognize your style from the Mrs. Pennywinkle books you write and illustrate. It’s absolutely stunning and I can’t thank you enough for all your hard work.”
“It is kind of you to say.” Warmth filled Ariana’s voice. “When I stepped into my grandmother’s shoes, my publisher was not sure readers would enjoy my more whimsical style.”
“Personally, I love it. But, I wonder if I could hire you to add to the mural for me as a wedding gift for Draco. I’d like a final scene painted on the wall behind the crib, a personalized scene. With Stefano arriving so soon after the ceremony I never had the opportunity to give him anything.”
“This mural, it is for love?” Ariana asked.
Shayla lifted her son off the changing table and carried him to the rocking chair. Collapsing into it, she couldn’t help grinning and allowed her happiness to radiate into her voice. “Very much so.”
“Then consider it done. Now tell me what you want.” When Shayla finished describing her idea, Ariana sighed. “I am so sorry, but I am not the one you need for this project.”
Shayla hesitated, fighting to conceal the extent of her disappointment. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. However, I do know someone else who would be the perfect artist. Tell me, have you ever heard of Jacqueline Randell Blackstone?”
“The name sounds familiar . . . .” If only she could remember where she had heard it before.
“Perhaps you would recognize her other name. Jack Rabbitt.”
“Jack Rabbitt?” Shayla flat-out adored her storybooks. And the glass desktop Jacq had painted for her husband, Mathias, one featuring the fairy-tale creatures from her stories, was downright famous. “You know her?”
Ariana laughed. “Know her? She and Mathias will be flying in from Seattle this weekend. They stay with us whenever they visit. We are all the best of friends. I am sure she would be delighted to finish the mural.”
It took Shayla a second to control the wobble in her voice and she hugged Stefano close, drawing comfort from his warm little body. “Thank you, Ariana. It would mean the world to me.”
“My pleasure. After all, we are family, yes?”
“Why, yes.” Now it was her chin wobbling. “Yes, we are.”
And that said it all.
Shayla glanced at her husband and smiled. “So, where are we going?” she asked.
“To Dantes.”
His hands tightened around the steering wheel as he said it and he spared her a swift glance. For some reason that look bothered her. Perhaps it was the tarnish that darkened his hazel-gold eyes. Or the taut set of his mouth and jaw. She couldn’t begin to imagine the problem, just that there clearly was one.
“Oh, okay,” she replied calmly, deciding to hold fire.
Hadn’t she decided to live in the now? To not worry about tomorrow, but focus on today? She spared her husband another swift glance. Unfortunately, now didn’t look all that great.
He parked in the underground garage in a spot with his name stenciled on the wall in front of it. After Draco unbuckled Stefano, they crossed to the elevators. Listening to their footsteps echo against the cement brought back vivid memories of the morning after the Eternity reception when she’d made a similar walk in this exact same garage. It also reminded her of the night they’d spent together—the results of which were in the portable car seat Draco carried. For some reason she found the memory disturbing.
“Why are we here?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“I want to show you something.”
She could tell she wouldn’t get more out of him until he was good and ready. They arrived at the bank of elevators and just like the night of the reception, he ushered her into the car and keyed the panel for the penthouse level. And just like the night of the reception, he escorted her to the suite they’d shared nearly a year before. Only this time he didn’t carry her over the threshold, but their son. How odd to recall that long-ago self and her plans for the future, a future far different from the one fate had determined for her.
“Okay, Draco. Enough with the surprises.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I want to know what’s going on.”
He carefully placed the baby out of harm’s way, then turned to face her. With the windows at his back she didn’t have a hope of reading his expression. “We made a pact before we married. Do you remember?”
She stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
“You asked for your own place as part of our agreement. I’m simply fulfilling the terms of that agreement. You can stay here for the time being while we find you a suitable house or condo. I have the name of a realtor who’d be happy to work with us.” He shot a hand through his hair, the only outward sign that he wasn’t as cool and collected as his voice suggested. “Work with you,” he corrected.
She took a moment to absorb the hit and found she couldn’t. The impact had caught her completely off guard and it hurt. Dear heaven, but it hurt. Anger came to her rescue. “Let me get this straight. You want me to move out? You want me and your son to move out of your home? That’s what you’re telling me?”
“Yes. No!” He swore in Italian, though she could have told him if it was to protect her poor, delicate ears, he failed miserably. She understood every word. “You asked—demanded—to have your own place before you’d agree to marry me. I’m simply giving you what you want.”
If only she could see his eyes, read his expression. Taking matters into her own hands, she circled the couch so the sunlight struck him in profile. “What about what you want, Draco?”
“That doesn’t matter. It isn’t important. You’ll be in the city, nearby. Our son will be where I can see him every day.”
She saw it then. The stoicism. The tamped-down pain. The grit and determination to tough it out. Relief flooded through her. He was honoring his commitment not because he wanted to, but because he’d made a promise. One he took every bit as seriously as their wedding vows.
She smiled, taking a swift, eager step in his direction. “What if I told you I don’t want to move? That I want to stay with you. Would you force us to go?”
His mouth opened and closed and he sucked in air as though he’d just taken a hit to the solar plexus. “Force . . . ?”
Before he could say anything else, his cell phone rang. He glanced at it impatiently before swearing again, this time in English. He connected the call and barked into it, “Damn it, Sev, I’m right in the middle of something vital here—” Dead silence, then, “What? You must be joking.” He fro
ze, his gaze sweeping toward her, pinning her in place. “Are you positive? There’s no mistake? No, I guess there wouldn’t be. Let me get back to you.”
She’d only seen that expression on his face once before, when he’d been talking about the gemologist who’d swindled him. A fierce look, one filled with threat and vengeance and an unholy fury. It had never before been aimed at her. Until now.
“What’s wrong?” she asked uneasily, falling back a step.
He stalked after her. “That was Sev. It would seem that the initial reports about the Charleston mines were inaccurate.”
She stared in confusion. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”
“Your mines, Shayla. Or rather Dante mines now that the final contracts have been signed. They’re played out—still played out. And I just want to know . . .” He took another step in her direction, moving with predatory grace. “Were you in on the scam?”
Shayla paled. “Why are you assuming there’s some sort of scam?”
“Because there aren’t any more diamonds. Just those few Leticia removed and enough others to convince us the mines were viable. The reports claiming otherwise are forgeries. Very clever, very convincing forgeries. But you already know that, don’t you?”
She shook her head. “No. No, I didn’t know that. How can you even think such a thing?”
“I just want to know if it was a setup right from the start.”
Tears glittered in her eyes, turning them to jet. “There was no setup.”
“Really?” He smiled, a humorless flash of teeth that caused her to fall back another pace. “And yet, you ended up in my bed. Played your role brilliantly, I might add. Your shock and outrage when you discovered I was a Dante. Dropping the information you had a meeting with my relatives before rushing off, knowing full well I’d crash the party. The stones hidden in your purse—a purse with a broken catch. The list. All tantalizing tidbits meant for me to find. Meant to whet my appetite.”