Unaccountably, her eyes stung with tears. Angry tears. What else could they be?
Damn Dante Russo to hell! Who had given him permission to have his housekeeper take off her clothes and dress her in this gown that wasn’t hers?
“Well?”
She looked up. Dante was watching her, one dark eyebrow raised.
“Aren’t you going to tell me I’m a monster?”
“Get away from me,” Tally said, her voice trembling.
“After all,” he said, a wry smile curving his lips, “you have every reason to despise me. You pass out, I phone for my doctor.…What woman wouldn’t hate a man under those circumstances?”
“I want my clothes.”
“Why?”
“Dante. You may find this amusing, but I do not. You seem to think you can—you can take control of my life. Well, you can’t. I don’t want your job. I don’t want your guest suite. I don’t want you thinking you can decide what’s best for my baby, I don’t want your housekeeper undressing me, and I certainly do not want your mistress’s cast-offs.”
“Such a long list of don’ts,” he said mildly, tucking his hands into the pockets of what she now realized were soft-looking gray sweatpants. “Unfortunately, not all of them are appropriate.”
“Damn you, I’m not playing games!”
“Let’s go through them one by one, shall we?”
“Let’s not. I told you—”
“I heard you. Now it’s your turn to listen. Number one, I’m not trying to control anything. You agreed to the terms of the job.”
“If by ‘terms,’ you mean me living in your home—”
“Two,” he said, ignoring her protests, “I cannot imagine that thinking it best for you and Sam to be together as soon as possible was a mistake.”
“I was going home to her. Didn’t that occur to you?”
“It did, but I have a private plane. Why would you want to spend hours on the train, only to turn around and make the trip here again when I could arrange to bring her to you tonight?”
“Damn it, who gave you the right to think for me? I was not going to turn around, as you put it, and make the trip here again. I told you, I don’t want your—”
“And, finally,” he said, “finally, cara, you’re wrong about the nightgown.” He took his hands from his pockets, reached out and trailed one finger deliberately across one rose-embroidered strap, hooking the tip under the fabric, lightly tugging at it so that she had no choice but to sit forward. “I bought it for you, along with some other things I thought you might need to help you settle in.” His voice turned silken. “And then there’s that final accusation. That my housekeeper undressed you. She didn’t.”
A rush of color shot into Tally’s face. Dante saw it and smiled.
“Why would I have her do that,” he said softly, “when I’ve undressed you myself hundreds of times in the past?”
“The past is dead, Dante. You had no right—”
“Damn it,” he said sharply, his smile vanishing, “who are you to talk about rights?” His hands cupped her shoulders and he drew her to her feet. “Such self-righteous garbage from a woman who ran like a coward instead of facing a man and telling him she’d cheated on him!”
“I didn’t—”
“What? You didn’t cheat? What do you call becoming involved with another man, if not cheating? Come on, Tally. I’d love to hear you come up with a better word.”
What could she say to that? Nothing, not without admitting the truth. Telling him he’d fathered Sam would open her to his scorn, his anger and, worst of all, to the possibility he’d try and take her daughter from her.
“That’s a fine speech,” she said calmly, even though her heart was racing. “But you’re only making it because I wounded your ego. You were bored. You were going to leave me. Instead, I made the first move. That’s what really bothers you and you know it.”
Was it? She’d just told him exactly what he’d been telling himself for three years, but now he wasn’t sure it was that simple. Had he planned on breaking things off because he was bored, or was there some deeper reason he hadn’t wanted to face?