And yet last night the frequency with which he’d wanted her had shocked her.
She had wanted him, too, each time. And that had shocked her, as well, that her need for him had seemed insatiable, her desire for him endless. But then, it had always been that way with him.
She’d always wanted him; even these past endless months, unable to imagine feeling a need for sex ever again, even then, if she were honest, there’d been nights she’d dreamed of Dante. Hot dreams. Dreams from which she’d awakened empty and shaken, an ache low in her belly, her breasts full and sore…
Her breasts, full and sore…
Deus! The baby! She shot a look at the baby monitor, but it showed only an empty crib. Quickly she rose from the bed. Dante’s robe, the one she’d worn yesterday, was neatly draped over the back of a chair. She yanked it on, hurried to Daniel’s room…
And saw Dante by the window, holding his son in his arms.
He smiled when he saw her. “Good morning, sweetheart.”
“I overslept. I don’t know how. The baby—”
“He’s fine.” He looked down. “Aren’t you, buddy?”
Daniel offered an enormous grin. Dante did the same.
“See? He’s great.”
“He must be starving…”
“Well, we were starting to think we’d have to wake you. I mean, a snack’s a snack but when a guy wants his breakfast…”
“What snack?”
“He woke up at five.”
“You mean, I slept through it?”
Dante smiled. “Yeah,” he said huskily. “Imagine that.”
She blushed, tore her eyes from his and looked at the clock. Jack and Jill were going up the hill, carrying a huge wristwatch instead of a pail of water. Her mouth fell open.
“Ten?” she said, bewildered. “It’s ten in the morning?”
“It’s okay. I gave him a bottle at six.” Dante gave a modest shrug but it was impossible not to notice the self-satisfied smile on his face. “I diapered him, too.” He shuddered. “It was, uh, an interesting experience.”
She really tried not to laugh but a giggle escaped, and then another, and finally she was guffawing at the thought of her sophisticated, urbane lover changing a diaper full of poo.
Her lover, she thought, and her laughter faded. Dante was her lover again, her foolish heart was in his hands.
“Hey,” he said softly, “honey, what is it?”
“Nothing,” she said, and forced a smile. “Here. Give me the baby. I’ll feed him.”
Daniel went into her arms. She sat down in the rocker, started to open her robe…and hesitated.
“May I stay?”
Dante’s voice was low and soft. No, Gabriella thought, no, he could not stay. Every act of intimacy would be that much more difficult to forget after this time together ended. This was temporary. Dante might want her in his bed but the rest—permanency, fatherhood…
“Gaby? Sweetheart, if you want me to leave—”
“No,” she said, in rushed whisper. “Please. Don’t go. Stay with us.”
The look that swept across his face made her want to weep with happiness. He kissed her upturned face, then sat down on the floor, cross-legged. She opened her robe. The baby turned his head, latched hungrily on to her nipple. She smiled at her son, then at her lover.
And knew that this time, when Dante left her, there would be nothing left of her heart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IF THERE was one thing all the Orsini brothers knew, it was that no one walked a straight path through life.
There were sideroads and missteps, deep currents that threatened to suck a man under, chasms that might take a lifetime to bridge.
All the Orsinis had experienced those things.
It was how Rafe had ended up in the Army, Nick in the Marines, Falco in Special Forces. It was how Dante had found himself in the far reaches of Alaska, doing dangerous work in the oil fields. It was, in the end, how all four of them had returned to New York, taking one hell of a deep brotherly breath and invested everything—Nick’s and Rafe’s savings, Falco’s poker winnings and Dante’s fat oil field paychecks—in what had eventually become one of the most successful private investment firms in the world.
Chasms. Deep currents. Put bluntly, jumping in with your eyes closed.
That was what Dante was thinking Monday morning, as he shaved.
He’d done that this weekend. Bringing Gabriella and Daniel to New York was one thing.
Moving them into his life was another. And, yeah, he had done that, changing a guest room into a nursery, moving Gabriella from the guest suite into the master suite. She’d protested, come up with all kinds of reasons it was a mistake, and maybe because a tiny piece of him worried she might be right, he’d swept her into his arms, kissed her concerns away and switched her clothes, her makeup, all her stuff, from her room to his.