Dante Claiming His Secret Love-Child(13)

He stepped back.

What the hell had he been thinking?

The fact of it was, he hadn't been thinking.

He had to get out of here. Talk to his lawyer. His brothers. Arrange for  tests and if the tests came up positive, figure out how to handle all  of this.

He went out of the house without so much as a backward look.

One thing was certain, he told himself as he drove away.

This time, he would not turn around and go back. He was done with Gabriella. With Brazil.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing here for him.

All he could think of was getting home.

To hell with waiting for morning, he thought grimly as he strode into  the lobby of his hotel. It was very late and the concierge was dozing  behind his desk, but who gave a damn?

Dante woke him. Told him he wanted to rent a plane and a pilot. The  concierge yawned. Dante spoke sharply. Pulled out his checkbook, said he  wanted that plane, wanted it now.

A couple of calls, and it was done.                       
       
           



       

He was airborne an hour later. The plane was handsome, the pilot was  efficient, the sky was shot through with moonlight and stars.

And Dante … Dante was in a mess.

He was a man who had never shirked responsibility. Wasn't that how he'd  ended up in Bonito in the first place? Because Cesare had somehow  transferred responsibility for righting some longago wrong to him? Yes,  Cesare had gotten the details wrong. There was no dying man, no  successful ranch about to be dropped into the hands of a son incapable  of running it. There was, instead, a ranch he'd somehow ended up owning.

Like it or not, the fazenda was his, not his father's.

A muscle knotted in his jaw.

And there was more.

There was a woman, alone and penniless. A baby she said was his.

Dante groaned and closed his eyes.

A mess, indeed.

What he'd said was true. He always used a condom even though, okay,  there'd been times with Gabriella-and only with Gabriella-that he'd  wanted to make love without that thin layer of latex sheathing him. The  need to feel the slide of his erect penis against the warm silk walls of  her had driven him half-crazy. He'd wanted to know that nothing,  absolutely nothing separated him from her, that she was his in a way  he'd never wanted another woman to be his.

"Dammit," he growled, shifting his weight in the leather seat.

Thinking X-rated thoughts gave a man's body a predictable reaction. And turning himself on was not what this was all about.

Besides, he would never have done such a stupid thing as have unprotected sex.

He enjoyed risk. Back-country skiing with the ever-present danger of  avalanche. White-water kayaking. Skydiving. Letting his money and his  reputation ride on financial deals that made other men blanch. He was  into all that.

But sex without protection? That wasn't risk, it was suicide unless you  were ready to marry, settle down, have kids. He wasn't. For all he knew,  he would never be ready. He knew what women were like. They schemed.  They plotted. They wanted wealthy husbands and they weren't above doing  whatever it took to get them.

So, no sex without protection.

Still, accidents happened.

If you didn't leave a woman's body quickly enough, after you ejaculated,  if you didn't get out and get that rubber off, there could be a  problem. He'd always done it right. That one explosive moment, the sense  of welcome release and then a kiss, because he knew after-play was  important to a woman, a light caress, and he withdrew, headed for the  John, took care of things. No wham, bam, thank you, ma'am, but no  lingering so long that a rubber could leak, either.

Except … except, toward the end of things with Gabriella, he hadn't always followed those rules.

There'd been times the thought of withdrawing from all that heat, that  sweet warmth, had seemed impossible. Times he'd stayed deep inside her,  holding her, kissing her, not wanting to leave her even after he'd come.

How protective was a condom then?

Not very, he thought glumly. And whose fault was that, if not his own?

And, damn, even now, his body stirred at the memory.

Okay. Enough of that. The sex had been fantastic. The truth was, he'd  never had better sex before or since, but that had nothing to do with  this situation. And, yeah, it was a situation, even if she found the  word offensive. And the only way to deal with it was head-on.

He took out his phone, flipped it open. Brought up his contact list.  Paused, his finger above his attorney's name. Thought about the tests  the guy would recommend, the time they'd take to run.

Thought about Gabriella, alone with a baby in that big, falling-down house and Ferrantes salivating all over her.

Dante muttered a couple of ripe obscenities, put the phone away, rose to  his feet and walked to the front of the plane. The flight attendant  looked up as he made his way past her, gave him a surprised smile.

"Ah, senhor, you wish something? You had only to press the call button."

He ignored her, rapped sharply on the cockpit door, then opened it.

"Captain."

The pilot and copilot turned and looked at him. He saw confusion, then  concern on their faces and silently called himself a fool. One did not  enter an airplane cockpit, even on a chartered plane, so precipitously  in today's world. That he had done so only gave proof to what he already  knew: he had not settled things in Brazil, and until he did, he would  not be in any condition to move on with his own life.

"Captain," he said quickly, offering what he hoped was a reassuring  smile, "forgive me for intruding but I wish to change our destination."

His words only made the men look more alarmed.

"I wish to return to Bonito," he said, even more quickly. "My apologies  for the inconvenience and, of course, I will pay for the flight as  arranged, plus an additional amount for the change in plans."                       
       
           



       

The pilot got straight to the point.

"Because?" he said, and waited.

What was the answer that would be best understood? "A woman," Dante said briskly.

The pilot and copilot both grinned. "Ah. In that case … no problema, Senhor Orsini. We will be back on the ground in no time."

Dante nodded. "Excellent."

And it was excellent. He'd return to Brazil, do everything that had to  be done. He'd promised Gabriella the deed to the fazenda and she could  have it. As for the rest … DNA tests. Blood tests.

Sure, but who was he kidding? The child was his. The blue eyes. The dark  hair. Besides, he knew Gabriella. She wouldn't lie to him. There wasn't  a deceitful bone in her body.

Her lush, beautiful body-And what did that matter?

She was out of his life. That was what he'd wanted the night he broke up  with her; it was what he wanted now. But he'd do the right thing. Give  her the ranch. Set up a trust fund for the kid.

Another for her. And that would be the end of it.

The absolute, complete end.

Then he'd get on with his life.





CHAPTER SEVEN




HE DIDN'T go to the fazenda or the hotel.

What would be the point?

He didn't need to see Gabriella and he certainly didn't need a room. His  stay in Bonito would be brief, a couple of hours at most. All he had to  do was meet with de Souza, set things up, then turn around and head  home.

He arranged for the pilot and plane to remain on call, phoned to arrange  for another rental vehicle, then phoned the advogado, who sounded  astonished to hear that he was in Bonito.

"I thought you had returned to New York, Senhor Orsini."

"You thought wrong. I wish to see you this morning, senhor."

De Souza hesitated. "That is not much notice. Let me put you through to my secretary. She can check my appointment schedule-"

"I'll be at your office in half an hour," Dante said, and ended the call.

He grabbed a cup of coffee on his way to the car rental counter. His  stomach growled as he sipped the hot liquid, reminding him that he  hadn't eaten in a while. First things first. The meeting with the  lawyer. Get the legal details out of the way. Then there'd be time for  everything else.

For getting his life on track.

De Souza sprang to his feet when Dante stepped into his office. Did the  senhor want anything to drink? Coffee? Water? It was early but perhaps a  capirihana? Dante thanked him, said he wanted nothing and wondered at  the drops of sweat on the lawyer's shiny brow. It was a hot day but not  in here; if anything, the AC was set to an uncomfortable low. When he  shook de Souza's extended hand, it was like shaking hands with a chunk  of ice.

The man was nervous, but why?

"Sit down, please, Senhor Orsini. This is an unexpected pleasure, but I  am afraid my time is limited. Had you called last evening-"

"My time is limited, as well," Dante said briskly. He took the chair in  front of the lawyer's desk and opened the black leather briefcase he'd  brought with him. "So let's get straight to business. I want the deed to  Viera y Filho transferred to Senhorita Reyes immediately. What will you  require from me?"