Dante's Wedding Deception

by Day Leclaire

  “Thank you for such an incredible day,” she told him.

  She lifted her mouth to his in order to sample the sweetest of all the desserts. This put the final touch on their time together. This made it perfect. His reaction to her was instantaneous. He tugged her close, wrapping his arms around her with a power and strength that reminded her of their night together. He’d put those skillful hands on her the previous evening, used that strength and power—and gentleness—to drive her insane with desire.

  She caught his lower lip between her teeth and tugged. With a groan, he opened to her and she slid into rich, lush warmth. Drowned in it. Drowned in him. “Please, Nicolò,” she whispered against his mouth. “After all the new, I need something old. Not too old,” she hastened to add. “Just a little old. A slight bit repetitive.”

  “One night old?” he suggested with a soft chuckle.

  “Yeah. That should do it.”

  Without a word, he turned her toward the cabana and they walked hand-in-hand into the dusky interior. One by one, clothes were discarded, creating a pathway of color from doorway to bedroom. There was a different quality to their lovemaking this time. Less desperation. No, she decided with a muffled groan. She still felt desperate, in the best possible way. But there was less uncertainty. She had a better idea what to do and how to do it. And she put that knowledge to work.

  Where before he’d taken charge, had guided the pace and rhythm, this time she took the lead. With each stroking caress, her confidence grew, as did her creativity. And then intent dissolved in the face of helpless passion. There was no follower or leader, just the two of them, lost in one another, drowning in glorious sensation. Reveling in touch and possession.

  She took him in, hard and deep, moved with him, seeking that moment, that sweet, sweet moment when the melding would come, when two were mated into one. At last it hit, an uncontrollable rolling that crashed over her and sent her up and over. And as she tumbled, helpless beneath the hugeness of it, she realized she’d just experienced something else new, new and infinitely precious.

  She’d just discovered how to love.

  Seven

  Nicolò and Kiley ended up spending five more delicious days and nights on Deseos; bright, shiny moments she treasured and held close to her heart. Although their original plan had been to duplicate the dates they’d enjoyed leading up to their island marriage—dates she still couldn’t recall—she much preferred Nicolò’s change of plan. Instead of repeating the old, he’d filled their time together with an endless tumble of new sensations, memories she’d always treasure.

  Finally the time came for their return to San Francisco and she packed away the memories with as much care as their various purchases. On the return trip, she and Nicolò curled up together, laughing softly over various highlights of their trip while exchanging deep, leisurely kisses.

  Once they landed, they grabbed a cab that let them off in front of Nicolò’s house. He carried the luggage they’d acquired on Deseos onto the broad, wraparound porch and stacked them to one side of the door before turning to address Kiley.

  “My grandparents dropped Brutus off first thing this morning, which means he’s going to need a walk. He has a fenced run out back, but it doesn’t give him the amount of exercise he requires.” He shot her a warning look. “You might want to stand back. Chances are, he’ll be a bit exuberant.”

  Kiley decided to opt for the smarter course and wait on the sidewalk while Nicolò dealt with the massive animal. The instant he inserted the key in the lock she could feel the initial rumblings of the earthquake that signaled the dog’s approach. To her amusement instead of greeting Nicolò with their usual bonding ritual, Brutus shot past him and headed straight for her. Between his massive jaws he carried a much abused tennis ball.

  Kiley greeted the dog with a thorough scratch behind his ears and picked up the ball he dropped at her feet. “You want to play catch?” she asked.

  Brutus spun around, barking in excitement. Then to Kiley’s horror, he bounded into the street. Behind her, she heard Nicolò’s shout of warning, a mirror to her own panicked cry. She saw the dog hesitate in confusion, then crouch down in his sphinxlike pose, holding perfectly still.

  After that, events seemed to unravel in slow motion. Kiley swung her head to the left and saw a massive SUV heading for the motionless dog. Without a moment’s hesitation, she charged toward the road, running on sheer instinct. Pelting toward Brutus, she grabbed for his collar. But even as she did so, she knew she’d reached him too late. She was nowhere near strong enough to drag the dog clear of danger before the SUV hit them.

  She didn’t see the vehicle’s final approach, only heard the harsh blare of horn and the sickening squeal of brakes. She acted without thought, throwing herself across Brutus in a ridiculous attempt to protect him, not that she covered more than half the animal. Then she braced herself for the inevitable impact she knew would follow.

  The horn and brakes continued their endless scream of warning and for a brief instant, something flashed through her mind. A memory. A memory that caused such pain and panic that every part of her cringed from it. In that split second of time she wasn’t outside Nicolò’s house, but found herself in the middle of a different street, where something bright yellow with blue fenders came barreling toward her. Before she could fully grasp the memory, it slipped away, along with all the foggy wisps of that other time and place, of that other Kiley.

  The squeal of brakes seemed to last forever before the SUV slid to a stop mere inches from where Kiley had her head buried in Brutus’s thick coat. The vehicle came so close she could feel the heat pouring off the engine hovering inches above her ear, and smell the distinctive oil and radiator stench that clogged her lungs and made it impossible to breath.

  She vaguely heard the driver shout in a bizarre combination of anger and concern. Vaguely heard Nicolò’s response before the driver took off with another punch of the car horn that left her trembling in reaction. Vaguely heard Brutus’s whimper, as well as Nicolò’s voice coming from somewhere above her.

  She couldn’t move. Couldn’t process thought or any of the reassurances Nicolò offered in that soft, gentle tone. She didn’t even think she could feel, until Brutus washed the tears from her face and Nicolò lifted her from her prone position. Then she felt far, far too much. With a wordless cry, she dissolved against her husband, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Easy, sweetheart. You’re okay. You’re fine now.”

  “Bru-Brutus?” Her teeth were chattering so hard she could barely get the word out.

  “He’s fine.” A snap of his fingers had the dog scurrying onto the porch, his tail between his legs. Nicolò followed, carrying her as though she were made of the most fragile porcelain. “What the hell were you thinking, running into the street after him like that?” He sounded angry, but even in her current state she understood the anger came from fear.

  She sagged against him. “Wasn’t thinking. Not even a little. I just—just reacted.”

  “That’s obvious. Did you really believe you could protect Brutus by throwing yourself between him and a two-and-a-half ton SUV?”

  She forced out a watery grin. “Haven’t you figured it out, yet? I’m indestructible.”

  “Don’t joke,” he said, his voice tight and ragged. “You could have been killed. Again.”

  “But I wasn’t. Again.”

  She pressed her mouth to his neck, inhaling the crisp, masculine scent of him. It stirred the oddest sensation, making her dizzy with need. How was that possible after what she’d just been through?

  Nicolò put Kiley down long enough to toss their bags through the door before slamming it closed behind them. Then he picked her up again, intent on taking her to the bedroom. He managed a single step before sagging onto the floor in a jumble of arms, legs, luggage and dog.

  “Aw, hell.” He wrapped her up tight. Too tight. But he couldn’t seem to control his response. “Damn it, Kiley. I thought I’d lost you.”


  “I’m sorry.” Her words tumbled out, nearly incoherent. “I just reacted. All I could think about was saving Brutus. I’m fine. We’re both fine now.”

  “That’s twice.” He lowered his head and inhaled her, her scent, her touch, her taste. He snatched a half-dozen urgent kisses. “Twice I’ve watched you come within an inch of dying. And both times I wasn’t able to get to you before—”

  “I’m okay. I’m safe.” She caught hold of Brutus’s collar and tugged the dog into their circle. “And so is Brutus.”

  It was time to face facts, he realized. He didn’t know the woman he’d met that day at Le Premier. But whoever she was, she bore no relationship to the Kiley he held in his arms. That woman, the one prior to the accident, wouldn’t have risked her perfectly manicured pinky to save his dog. That woman wouldn’t have relished the scent of a simple sprig of honeysuckle, or reveled in the experience of holding a sleeping baby in her arms. That version of Kiley was gone, with luck permanently, and he could only thank God for it.

  “Brutus, backyard,” he ordered. As much as he adored his dog, right now he needed his wife.

  No. Not his wife.

  At least…not yet.

  He cupped her face and covered her mouth in another kiss, only this one held a far different quality. Where before he’d been reassuring himself that he’d reached her in time and she hadn’t been harmed, this kiss was life-affirming. Fate had been kind to them both, had protected her not once, but twice. He’d see to it there wasn’t a third incident. No matter what it took, he’d protect her from her own impulsiveness.

  At the touch of his mouth, she opened to him, welcomed him home. Gave to him. He could feel his self-control slip as he lost himself in his desperate need for her.

  “Now. I want you right here and right now.”

  She eased back and he snatched her into his arms again, unwilling to release her. “Wait,” she said. Her laugh bubbled with happiness and desire and the sheer exhilaration of life. “I’m not going anywhere. You can have me wherever. Whenever. However.”

  “Here. Now. Naked.”

  Her laughter faded while her eyes heated. “In that case…”

  Again she eased back and this time he let her go. Gripping the bottom of her shirt, she yanked it over her head and off. He didn’t wait for her to remove her bra. His patience only stretched so far—no more than a few short seconds. With a flick of his fingers, he had the scrap of silk and lace open and swept aside.

  She settled back onto his lap, back where she belonged, her legs cinching his waist. She started on the buttons of his shirt, but he didn’t have the patience for that, either. In one button-spewing move, he shredded his shirt from stem to stern. Anything, if it meant having those clever hands of hers on his skin.

  Heaven help him, but she was beautiful. Soft and tender and utterly edible. He cupped her, gathered the slight weight of her in his palms. She tilted her head back with a groan, giving him total access to the elegant length of her throat and curve of her shoulders, long silken sweeps of skin that begged to be tasted and caressed. He gave her his full attention, finding every sensitive hollow and curve. And still it wasn’t enough.

  He tore at the snap and zip to her jeans, dragging them down her hips to reveal the flower-shaped birthmark stamped there, and off the pert curve of her backside. She wriggled clear of his lap just long enough for him to strip her. When he finished, she lay panting on the parquet floor, her skin sun-kissed gold against the dark wood, her hair full of red-hot flames. He ripped open his own jeans and took her hard and fast, sinking deep inside her in one powerful thrust while her cry of ecstasy echoed through the foyer.

  He’d almost lost her. He might never have been able to hold her again. Kiss her. Make love to her. The mere thought left him crazed, gripped by a frenzy unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. He’d never been this desperate to have a woman. Never been so insane with desire that he hadn’t cared about the where and when.

  Until Kiley.

  “Don’t stop,” she ordered. She clung to him, arms and legs wrapped tight around him, pulling him in until they were one flesh moving in unison. “Don’t ever let go of me.”

  “Never. I swear I’m going to lock you away where no one can ever hurt you again.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but instead arched upward, a keening cry ripped from her throat. She surrendered utterly to his possession, giving everything she had and holding nothing back. No hesitation, no subterfuge. Every stray thought and feeling there for him to see, his to accept or reject, more open and honest and giving than he believed it possible for a woman to be.

  Her eyes turned a blinding shade of green, burning with an emotion so powerful and all-consuming it hurt to look at her. And as he took her, as he sent her slamming into an endless climax, he realized it was love he saw in her eyes. A soul-deep commitment. And with that knowledge he went over the edge with her, lost to a moment that never should have happened.

  It was a long time before he could move again. When he did, he realized that nothing had changed. He had committed a crime beyond redemption and Kiley—He closed his eyes, utterly destroyed. Kiley had fallen in love with him. Gently, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to their bedroom. And all the while, two questions tormented him.

  What the hell had he done…and how could he fix it?

  Kiley awoke the next morning, deliciously sore, yet thoroughly refreshed. On the pillow beside her, she found a businesslike note from Nicolò warning that he’d be at the office all day. Beneath the first note was a second, and there was nothing businesslike at all about this one. The few short sentences left her in no doubt of Nicolò’s feelings about the night before and caused a blush of delight to warm her cheeks.

  She grinned like a loon over the second note, while fighting a wave of disappointment over the first. Well, what did she expect? Because of her accident, he’d been forced to take countless days off. He must have mountains of work piled up as a result.

  Bouncing out of bed, she spent the morning on domestic chores, unpacking their bags and washing clothes. As the clock edged toward noon she decided to surprise her husband for lunch. During their time together she’d gotten a fair idea of his tastes and made up her mind to create a silly meal loaded with his favorites, everything from chicken Marsala to panzanella, pistachios to bitter chocolate, all easily available with just a few quick phone calls.

  The instant the various treats arrived, she loaded them into a basket she found in a cupboard above the refrigerator and decorated it with a sprig of honeysuckle she found growing along the backyard fence. She liked to think Nicolò had started the hedge from a cutting he’d taken from his grandfather’s garden, a tribute to that long-ago encounter with his first flower…and first bee sting.

  Next, she called for a cab, relieved to discover the driver knew just where to find Dantes’ corporate headquarters. The cabbie dropped her off in front of an impressively large office building and she entered through the revolving doors. Once inside she stumbled to a halt, staring in awe at the spectacular three-story glass foyer. She took her time, admiring everything from the elegant decor to the dance of sunlight off the sheets of tinted windows, to the impressive glass sculpture of dancing flames that hung above the receptionist’s desk.

  She’d just started toward the desk when an elderly man with a thick thatch of snowy hair approached. “Please, excuse me,” he said, his deep voice carrying the lilting cadence of a Mediterranean heritage. “Are you Kiley O’Dell?”

  She smiled warmly. “Actually, it’s Kiley Dante.”

  “Yes, of course.” He gazed at her with assessing gold eyes, eyes that cut straight through all pretense and yet held an unmistakable glint of kindness. “I believe, my dear, it is past time we met. I am Primo Dante.”

  Her smile grew and she regarded him in genuine delight. “You’re Nicolò’s grandfather. He told me all about you and how you helped raise him and his brothers.”

  “Nic
olò, Severo and the twins. Yes, Nonna and I took them in after the death of our son, Dominic, and his wife, Laura.” He took her hand in his and leaned in to kiss first one of her cheeks, then the other. “You are on your way to visit Nicolò?”

  She indicated the basket she carried. “I thought he’d enjoy some lunch.”

  Primo’s gnarled fingers brushed the honeysuckle blossom decorating the handle. “And what have you brought him?” He listened intently while she listed the eclectic jumble of flavors. “It would seem you know my grandson’s tastes quite well. And for yourself? Have you put nothing of your own in here? Or is all this for Nicolò’s benefit alone?”

  She looked momentarily abashed. “Tapioca pudding,” she admitted. She couldn’t help laughing at herself. “Who’d have figured I’d develop such a taste for it?”

  He chuckled. “You may find it interesting to discover what things appeal when you permit yourself to give them a try without a history to influence your choices.”

  “Or what things no longer appeal?” she asked.

  His gaze grew even more shrewd. “Excellent observation.” He gestured toward the bank of elevators toward the rear of the foyer. “Shall I escort you?”

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

  Primo used a key to access a private car. “You are recovered from your accident?” he asked politely.

  “Physically, yes.” A slight frown tugged at her brow as they entered the elevator. “I still haven’t regained my memory. Although…”

  “Although?”

  She hesitated, for some reason tempted to confess something to Primo that she hadn’t even told her husband. “I might have remembered something yesterday.” She detailed her near-miss from the day before. “Right before I thought the SUV would hit us I had a flash of memory.”