Dante Claiming His Secret Love-Child(12)

And then one night, alone in her bed because Dante was away on business, it had simply hit her.

Maybe she was pregnant.

She'd thrown on some clothes, rushed to the all-night pharmacy on the  next block, bought a home pregnancy test kit, took it home, peed on the  little stick …

Two hours and six test kits later, she'd slumped to the cold tile  bathroom floor in horror. So, yes, she could see that Dante might react  with shock … .                       
       
           



       

"-be mine, Gabriella?"

She blinked, looked at him. His color was back. So was his arrogance. It  was in his voice, in the way he was looking at her, even in the way he  held himself. Aloof, removed, apart. Once, she'd found that  lord-of-the-universe attitude sexy. Not anymore. She was no longer the  foolish, impressionable woman who'd fallen for the great Dante Orsini.

"Did you hear me? I said, how could the child be mine?"

She felt the throbbing in her temples increase in tempo. The cold  question hurt. She would not let him know that, of course. He had hurt  her enough the night he'd handed her those damnable earrings.

"The usual way," she said with deliberate sarcasm. "Or did you not take Sex Ed 101?"

"This isn't the least bit amusing," he said coldly. "I used condoms. Always."

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.

Hadn't she?

She'd seemed so innocent in his bed. As if everything they did,  everything he did, was new to her. And that night, after he'd told her  it was over, there'd been something in her eyes, a quick flash he'd  chosen not to think about.

It was there now.

Was it a flash of pain?

His throat tightened.

He knew how to soothe that pain. He could gather her in his arms. Hold her against his heart.

Kiss her. Caress her. Tell her that he'd never stopped thinking of her. That he'd missed her. That he still wanted her.

Merda!

What in hell was he thinking? How could she still have this effect on  him? It was why he'd stopped seeing her, not because the affair had gone  on too long but because he'd felt her getting inside him, getting to  him. Well, it wasn't going to happen again, especially now. The last  thing he needed was to react to her, feel that tug of lust low in his  belly that he'd always felt when he was with her.

For all he knew, she was counting on it.

Some tears, a kiss, and he'd bought her the fazenda. Now this fantastic  story, a few tears, another kiss and he would say, sure, the kid was his  and how much would she need to keep it and herself in the style to  which she so obviously wanted to grow accustomed?

Was the boy his? That was the question of the century. If the answer was  yes, he'd do whatever had to be done, but he wasn't about to accept a  woman's word as proof. Been there, done that, he thought grimly, and he  let go of Gabriella's wrist and stepped back.

"I want proof."

"You don't need proof. I want nothing from you."

"Like you didn't want the fazenda when you climbed all over me this morning? Come on, baby.

Let's not play games. I want proof of the kid's-of Daniel's parentage. When was he born?

Where? Is my name on his birth certificate?"

Tears were streaming down her face. If this was a performance, it was a damned good one.

"Get out," she hissed. "Get out of my life! I did not ask you for  anything when I carried my baby. I am not asking you for anything now. I  never wanted anything from you, Dante! Not your money, not your fancy  gifts-"

"But you wanted this," he growled, and he gave up fighting what he  wanted, what he always wanted when he was near her. He swept his arms  around her, bent his head and captured her mouth with his, kissing her  hard, kissing her without mercy, forcing her lips apart, his tongue  penetrating her, demanding the response she had always, always given  him.

But she gave him nothing tonight. She stood motionless within his  embrace. Slowly he raised his head. Her eyes were open, dark and empty  and filled with pain.

"I beg you," she whispered. "If you ever cared for me at all, please, go away."

He stared at her. Of course he had cared for her. The truth was, he'd  cared for her too much. He wanted to tell her that, to kiss her again,  to hold her close and change her unhappy tears to soft, sweet sighs …