Dante Claiming His Secret Love-Child

It led to too many expectations.

But he’d loved having Gabriella stay here. Being able to reach for her, not just during the dark hours of night but in that quiet time just before dawn. Seeing her, first thing in the morning, looking the way she looked now, warm and tousled, wrapped in his robe, her hair brushed into a cloud of gold and chestnut, no makeup, no what Falco had dubbed the “Five A.M. face” women obviously put on while a guy was still sleeping.

The fact was, it was more than a year and he’d never had another woman here overnight. He hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t wanted anybody else in his bed or in his life for more than an evening.

Hell, he thought, and cleared his throat.

“Okay,” he said brightly. “It’s bathroom time. Hand the kid over.”

Gabriella laughed. “He can’t do ‘bathroom time.’ He’s only a baby.”

Dante gave her a look, then lifted the baby from her arms.

“She thinks I don’t know that,” he said to Daniel, who stared at him with solemnity. “Should we show her how wrong she is?”

“Dante, honestly—”

“She likes that word,” he told the baby. “That word, ‘honestly.’ What she means when she says it is, ‘Honestly, you men. You think you know everything.’” While he spoke, he was moving out of the kitchen, down the hall, to the stairs, the baby now making happy sounds, little trills of laughter. “Can you do the stairs?”

It took Gabriella a second to realize he meant her.

“Yes. Of course I can. But what…”

“No. Come to think of it, I don’t trust you on the stairs. Not yet. So, you stay right there. I’ll come back for you.”

“Dante. Honestly—”

“Two ‘honestlys’ in one conversation.” Dante shook his head, turned back to her and brushed his mouth lightly over hers. “Amazing.”

She couldn’t help laughing, even though she didn’t want to. “No. I mean, honestly—”

He kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers, the baby between them cooing at this new, delightful game. When he drew back, he ran his hand along her cheek.

“That’s the penalty,” he said softly. “A kiss, each time you use that word. Now, stay put. Okay?”

She nodded. It was all she could manage.

He went up the stairs quickly, came down just as quickly but without the baby. She waited for a wail of protest and heard, instead, her son’s contented gurgles.

Dante swept her into his arms. It felt—it felt wonderful. Hours ago he’d carried her up these same steps but she’d been too sick to enjoy it. Now she was aware of everything it entailed. The steady beat of his heart. The solid feel of his chest. The light pressure of his hand at the side of her breast. The clean, soap-and-water scent of his skin and hair.

The sweet pull of desire in her breasts and belly.

“You’ve lost weight.”

His voice was gruff. She nodded.

“Maybe a little.”

“What for? You were perfect, just the way you were.”

Perfect. The word seemed to shimmer with light.

“I…it wasn’t deliberate. I…I had a lot of things to do, when I got back to the fazenda.”

“The baby.” His tone grew even more gruff. “I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”

She thought of telling him that she had not been entirely alone, that her brother had been there for her, at least at the beginning. But that would only lead to questions. Dante didn’t know anything about her brother; they’d always kept their talk impersonal. Intimate, yes. Dante had whispered things to her in bed. Things that had made her tremble with desire. With need.

With…with what she felt for him.

“Here we go,” he said, as he carried her through a door, not to his room but to one just across from it.

Gabriella’s mouth fell open.

This was a baby’s room.

Not in decor. The walls were cream; there were white-and-black vertical blinds at the windows, a black-and-white Scandinavian area rug underfoot. But it was furnished for a small child.

Winnie the Pooh smiled from atop a bird’s-eye maple dresser, side by side with a baby monitor.

A teddy bear with button eyes sat in the seat of a baby swing. A changing table stood against one wall, a big maple rocker against another. Facing her was surely the most beautiful crib in the whole world, also made of maple, fitted with sheets patterned with kittens and puppies. A mobile of rocket ships and suited spacemen amid stars, moons and planets hung over it.

Her son lay on his back in the crib, arms and legs going like mad, eyes fixed to the mobile, his face a portrait of delight.