That he was Sam’s father.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHAT COULD BE more wonderful than lying in the curve of your lover’s arm on a white sand beach under the hot Caribbean sun?
Tally turned her head and put her mouth lightly against Dante’s bronzed skin, savoring the exciting taste of salt and man.
How she adored him!
Her Dante was everything a man should be. Strong. Tender. Giving. Demanding. Fiercely passionate, incredibly gentle. She loved him, loved him, loved him…
And it killed her that she’d lied to him.
That she was still lying to him, because she’d yet to tell him the truth about Sam.
Soon, she thought, as she closed her eyes and burrowed closer to his warm, hard body. She’d confess everything to him this evening, after dinner, when they were both tucking Sam in for the night. Or tomorrow morning, at breakfast. And if the time didn’t seem right then, she’d wait just another few hours. Another few days…
Tally swallowed hard. Liar, she thought, liar, liar, liar!
She wouldn’t tell him tonight, or tomorrow. Or ever, at the rate she was going. She wanted to. Wanted to say, Dante, I’ve done an awful thing. I lied to you about Sam. About being with someone else. Sam is your child. Ever since we met, there’s only been you.
The problem was, she could see beyond that.
She had let him think she’d been unfaithful.
She had denied him knowledge of his own child.
Who could predict how he’d react?
Some days, she was sure he would understand. Others, she was afraid he wouldn’t. She’d thought it would be so easy to admit everything once they were here, on this beautiful island in the midst of a sea as clear as fine green glass, tucked away from the world in a magnificent house on its own long, pristine, private beach. Just the three of them: she and Dante and Samantha. No housekeeper. No maid. No nanny or chauffeur. Just she and the man she loved and her little girl.
Their little girl.
Except, Dante didn’t know that yet because she was a coward, because she was terrified of what he’d say, what he’d do when he knew she’d deceived him in the worst way possible—
“Bellissima, what’s wrong?” Tally’s eyes flew open as Dante brushed his lips over hers. “You were whimpering in your sleep, cara. Were you having a bad dream?”
“I…I…Yes. Something like that.”
Smiling, he kissed her again. “You’ve been in the sun too long. That’s the problem.”
Now. Tell him now!
“Dante.”
“Hmm?” He bent to her and kissed her again, parting her lips and slowly slipping the tip of his tongue into her mouth. “You taste delicious.”
So did he. Oh, so did—
“Dante.” Her breath caught. His mouth was at her throat, her breast, nipping lightly at the rapidly beading tip through the thin cotton of her bikini top. “Dante…”
“I’ll bet you taste even more delicious here,” he whispered as he slid his hands behind her, undid the top, his eyes shining brightest silver as he exposed her breasts. “Let me see if I’m right.”
Tally cried out, arching against him as he drew her nipple into the wet heat of his mouth; even as he began easing her bikini bottom down her thighs, she felt it starting to happen, the shimmering heat building inside her, the hot rush of desire as he stroked her dampening curls, put his mouth to her until she was begging him, pleading with him, to take her.
Slowly, so slowly that she thought it might never end, prayed it might never end, he entered her. Filled her, stretched her, moved deep inside her while he whispered to her in Sicilian, words she didn’t know but somehow understood, and she thought, I love you, Dante. I’ve always loved you. Only you.
And shattered like crystal in his arms.