Dante regarded her. She was priceless. She couldn’t even be bothered to act contrite, now that she was sure that they had at least one D’Aquanni falling for their plan. His mouth quirked. ‘Oh, I think I have an idea.’
Immediately she felt deflated and humbled. Seeing his brother there must have been a shock to him, although, since he’d known of the relationship, slightly less than hers. Something niggled at her then but she couldn’t hold on to it, still too stunned. ‘Of course you do; I’m sorry.’
‘That’s three “I’m sorry”s—how many more do you think will make up for the chaos you’ve brought into my life?’ And the chaos you’re no doubt still planning on bringing into our lives …
Alicia stood as tall as she could. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. There. Believe me, I’m truly sorry I ever believed you to be the father, that I went all the way to your offices, to your villa …’ She had become more and more worked up with her words, the shock wearing off and felt herself starting to dissolve. She stepped back and away, her throat thick with tears. She just had to get away from him—now. ‘Just … I’m sorry, OK? I’ll get a bus home, you can go back to Italy on your plane and forget we ever met. Forget about the money. Melanie and I will look after ourselves.’ After all, we’ve been doing it all our lives …
Dante had to fight the urge to roll his eyes and say, Oh, please. Now she was going to the other extreme and starting to seriously overact.
Alicia couldn’t think clearly, she was too consumed with the shock after shock, too used to thinking of herself and Melanie as a self-contained unit. Her head was churning so much that she couldn’t process the information calmly, see the way forward. To see that they did have another person who had pledged to help—Paolo. She just needed to get away from Dante right now, her emotions were raw and too near the surface. He was too … too much.
She turned and started to walk away, the car park in front of her a blur through her swimming eyes. God. She hadn’t cried in years, despite some of the scenes she’d witnessed in Africa, and here she was, blubbing every two minutes. And fainting like some wan heroine from a bad costume drama.
A hard hand caught her arm, swinging her back. All she could see was a huge, dark blurry shape. She couldn’t speak. The next thing she knew, she was wrapped in arms so strong and so comforting that she would have believed it if she’d been told at that moment that she was in heaven. She cried for what seemed like an aeon. For herself. For Melanie.
And for accusing this man wrongly, for not being able to say sorry with any grace because he was causing all manner of scary feelings in her belly. The tears came until her eyes were dry and her throat was raw.
* * *
Despite his best intentions, Dante had reacted on pure impulse and an instinct so strong that he’d had no alternative but to let it run through him. He knew her tears were part of the act—knew it. But something in her body as she’d turned away had made him pull her back, unable to let her walk away.
He’d never held a crying woman in his arms before.
Physical desire.
That was all it was. He couldn’t fathom it, couldn’t rationalize it—it just was. Something about this woman was calling to him on a base level and he knew he had to see it through to its conclusion. No matter what it took. With customary ruthlessness that made him feel on safer ground, he started to formulate a plan of sorts. It would placate Paolo, who was proving to be dismayingly, resolutely obstinate in his support of Melanie, and it would mean he could keep an eye on Alicia and her sister. And he would get her into his bed to sate this burning fire.
Her body had finally stopped its uncontrollable shaking. He could feel her take a deep breath against his chest, and her soft breasts rise and swell against his belly. His groin tightened, the blood rushed south. He was making the right decision. He pulled away, tipping her head back to face him with one hand, almost hoping for a second that she’d have turned into some kind of hag in the interim, like in a cartoon.
But no … she looked exquisite. Her eyes were huge, the colour of crushed dark velvet and dewed with moisture, her mouth a quivering invitation, the tracks of tears on her cheeks an enticement to drop his head, kiss them away.
He saw something in her eyes then, a vulnerability that she hadn’t displayed before … because she’d been too busy being brave. The thought sneaked in and stunned him with its rogue audacity for a second. For that second, before his cynical brain could kick into gear again, he was caught by something else.
With his thumb he gently touched the healing cut on her cheek. She flinched ever so slightly and then shock slammed into him. Everything jumped back into sharp focus.
What was he doing? Thinking?
He was no better than his poor duped brother at that moment. He felt the need to pull back. Retreat. He was fast heading into uncharted waters and didn’t like it. The woman and her sister were consummate actresses and manipulators—nothing had changed that fact—and yet here he was, letting himself be swayed by a few crocodile tears.
‘Let’s get you home.’ He put her away from him and made a quick curt call on his mobile. Within seconds the sleek black car that had taken them from the plane to the hospital s
lid to a silent halt beside them. Alicia trembled slightly and felt an awful shiver of foreboding skate down her spine when she saw how Dante’s face had turned back into a mask of cool indifference. For one moment there, she could have sworn she’d seen something else, something far more human.
He stopped her just before she got into the car. She looked up warily.
‘Just for the record, don’t let Paolo’s fervent avowal to marry Melanie and look after her lull you into complacency that your plan has worked. I’m still under no illusions that Paolo is about as likely to be the father as myself.’
Alicia’s jaw clenched hard and before she could articulate a word she was being unceremoniously handed into the back of the car, one thought in her head: he’s not human at all; he’s cold and cruel …
CHAPTER FIVE
‘HAVE you seen it?’
‘I’m looking at it right now.’ Dante was grim. With one hand he held his mobile to his ear, with the other he held open the front of the tabloid. Breakfast sat uneaten at his hotel room table. It was the following morning and he was still here in England. That uncomfortable fact was not lost on Dante. He flicked the paper again to see the picture more clearly and stretched long legs out.
His assistant sounded mildly exasperated, and only the fact that they went back so far gave him the audacity to say, ‘Well? Care to tell me what it’s about?’
‘Not particularly, Alex.’ Because, in truth, he still wasn’t even sure himself what had happened.