That was precisely the kind of crap that had brought him to this point. How could a man cling to reason when a woman who had once shared his bed sighed as he kissed her? How could he think straight when she returned his kisses as if she’d been aching for them? That had always been one of the things that had gotten to him about her, the way she’d made him feel as if he was the only man who’d ever mattered. That he was important to her.
That she’d been becoming important to him.
Dante snorted as he dumped the rest of the coffee into the kitchen sink.
Why think about all this stuff again, especially since it was ridiculous? She was beautiful and bright; they’d had fun together and she was amazing in bed. End of story.
That she could still affect him, still push the right buttons, was not good. Dante narrowed his eyes.
Responding to his kisses even as she faced him with apparent defiance, holding herself aloof even as she trembled in his arms, insisting she wanted nothing from him after saying her son was his…
Just look where that had landed him.
He’d left here a couple of days ago to deal with a problem of his father’s. Instead, he’d found himself facing a problem of his own—a potentially life-changing problem he had to confront head-on. He dealt with problems every day of his life. It was how he’d helped make Orsini’s into a world-class investment firm that remained respected and rock solid even in the current economic nightmare.
He’d aced Financial Analysis 101. So, how come he’d made such a muck-up of Real-Life Analysis, Grade School Level?
It was time to start making some intelligent moves, starting with settling Gabriella and the kid elsewhere. The real estate agent who’d got him this place understood his tastes, his needs; the guy’s firm was a high-end operation that understood the importance of discretion. That would be step one. Find her a place to live. Someplace within hailing distance but not where anyone would stumble over her.
He thought about that for a moment. To someone not familiar with the circumstances, a set-up like that would look as if he were trying to deny the ramifications of the situation.
Ridiculous.
He was just doing what he should have done in the first place. Behaving intelligently. Sam Cohen would surely agree. Not that he’d involve him until he had the move in motion, otherwise he’d have to admit Sam had an ass for a client.
Dante smiled thinly. He’d call Sam later today, set up an appointment, arrange for the necessary tests, for temporary financial support, long-term if that proved necessary because hadn’t he finally faced the fact that anything was possible?
For no discernible reason, an image of Gabriella flashed before him.
Her wide eyes. Her lovely mouth. Her smile. And, though it wasn’t something one could see, her honesty all the time they’d been together, starting the first time he’d phoned.
“It’s Dante Orsini,” he’d said, and then, because the need to see her had been near all consuming, he’d skipped the niceties and gone straight to the point. “I’ll be there at eight, to take you to dinner.”
“Did I miss something?” she’d said, with a little laugh. “When, exactly, did you ask me out?”
“I didn’t,” he’d replied bluntly. “Why would I ask you for something we both want?”
He’d heard the catch of her breath. And then she’d said, “Yes.” Just that one word, that “yes,” delivered in such a low, sexy voice that it had filled him with heat.
She was into honesty from the small things to the big ones. She’d told him she was a Jets fan when he said he was into the Giants. He’d mentioned his preference for the Giants to an endless stream of women and every last one had quickly said wasn’t that nice because she loved them, too, and that included the ones who probably couldn’t tell a football from a volley ball.
She ate with gusto, packing away a loaded-with-everything hot dog at a Yankees game, warning him she knew no bounds when it came to lobster and proving it by finishing every bite at The Boathouse, ending with butter on her chin that he’d just had to kiss away.
She was upfront about everything.
Especially in bed.
Her passion, her arousal, her eagerness when he touched her, when he tasted her breasts, when he put his mouth on that perfect bud between her thighs, all of it so real, so sweet, so amazing it shook his world.
And when she responded, when she caressed him, put her hands and mouth on him…
“Dammit,” he growled.
None of that meant he should believe this child was his without proof, he thought coldly.
First things first. Shower. Phone that real estate agent. And then tap politely at Gabriella’s door, tell her he’d been thinking things over and that he’d come up with a workable plan.