Dante Claiming His Secret Love-Child

Yes, he had. Sometimes, she’d done it for him. They’d both liked that. She could remember, with heart-stopping clarity, the silk-over-steel feel of him against her palms. The feel of his hand in her hair, cupping the back of her head as she bent to him.

“Gabriella.” His voice was frigid. “Did you hear what I said? You know damned well that I always used protection.”

This was more than denial. He was accusing her of lying. She wanted to ball up her fist and hit him. What kind of woman did he think she was? Did he think she would make up a story such as this?

“What I know,” she said, “is that I became pregnant despite your ‘protection.’”

His mouth thinned. “If a condom had failed, I’d have known it.”

Oh, how she wanted to slap that superior-to-thou expression off his face!

“Of course,” she said with a bitter smile. “You are, after all, the man who knows everything.”

“I know that it would be difficult for anyone to see how I could have impregnated you.”

He sounded as if he were describing a laboratory experiment instead of the coming together of a man and a woman. Didn’t he remember how sex had been between them? She did. She could remember it all. Dante, between her thighs. His mouth drinking from hers. The feel of him, slowly entering her. The scent of his skin, the essence of their shared passion….

Deus, what was the matter with her? Why had she told him Daniel was his? This discussion was without purpose. The only interest he would possibly have in her baby was in convincing himself the baby was not his.

And that was fine, she thought, and moved briskly to the door, wrapped her hand around the knob and yanked it open.

“We are done here, Dante.”

“Done?” He laughed. “We haven’t even started. I want answers.”

“You have your answer. You asked whose child Daniel was. I told you. You denied it. We have nothing more to say to each other.”

He reached out his hand, slapped the door closed and stepped closer to her. He could feel his adrenaline pumping. Did she really think she could toss him out? Never mind that he owned this house. How about the bombshell she’d just dropped on him? Telling him the kid upstairs was his….

You asked, a sly voice inside him whispered.

Yes. He’d asked. And she’d answered. He had every right to follow up with questions—or did she assume he’d accept her fantastic claim just because she’d made it?

A man only did something that stupid once in a lifetime. He’d done a lot of growing up since the incident with Teresa D’Angelo.

“Let’s assume the kid is mine.”

Bile rose in her throat. “Go away,” she said, her voice shaking. “Forget this conversation ever took place.”

“Which is it? Are you claiming he’s mine or that he isn’t?”

It was too late to lie. “He is yours,” she said wearily, “but only by biological accident.”

“Did you know you were pregnant with the kid the night we broke up?”

“I told you,” she said, her eyes suspiciously bright, “he has a name. Daniel.”

“Fine. Great. Did you know you were carrying Daniel when we broke up?”

“The night you said I’d worn out my welcome, you mean?”

“Dammit, answer the question. Did you know?”

“What if I did?”

“Didn’t it occur to you to tell me?”

Her eyes brightened with anger. “When? Before the earrings or after?”

He felt his face heat. She made it sound as if he’d been trying to buy her off, as if this whole damned thing was his fault.

“I gave you a gift because I…I wanted you to know you’d meant something to me.”

Her hand flew through the air, connected, hard, with his cheek. He caught her wrist, dragged her arm behind her back. He knew he wasn’t being gentle. She winced, rose to her toes but he didn’t give a damn.

“Do not,” he snarled, “do not, whatever you do, try to make it my fault you didn’t inform me of this—of this situation!”

“Is that what it was?” Her voice shook. “Because I’d describe it differently. I was pregnant. Pregnant with your child. And you were dumping me and tossing me a…a bauble when all I’d ever wanted from you was…was—” She tried to jerk away but his hand only tightened on her.

“Let go of me, Dante. Do us both a favor and just go away.”

She was trembling.

She had trembled that night, too. He had noticed it but he’d told himself it meant nothing, that she’d get over it. She was an adult; she was a model, dammit. She’d dated a lot of men.