Dante Claiming His Secret Love-Child(16)

"Damn you, Dante," she said in a shaky whisper, "damn you, damn you, damn-"

He kissed her.

Kissed her hard, with anger, forcing her lips to part to the thrust of  his tongue, and when she cried out against his mouth he groaned, his  kiss gentled and he gathered her against him, ignoring the way her hands  rose to flatten against his chest and push him away. He kept kissing  her, slanting his mouth over hers again and again as if he would consume  her sweet taste, and at last she gave that little moan of surrender he  had always loved, rose to him, wound her arms around his neck and kissed  him back.

But her acquiescence didn't last. A heartbeat later she tore her mouth from his.

"Please. If you ever cared for me, let me go."

He didn't want to. He wanted to hold her forever, which was crazy. He  was here for the child, not for any other reason. So he took a steadying  breath, dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back.

"Tell me about Ferrantes."

Her eyes flashed.

"No," he said quickly, "I don't mean-Tell me what's happening. De Souza says he's bought this place. Has he contacted you?"

Gabriella shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Sim. He was here this morning." She touched the tip of her tongue to  her lips. "He gave me-he gave me an … an-I do not know what you call it. A  decision I must make."

"An ultimatum?"

"Yes. Either he gets what he wants," she said, so softly Dante had to  bend his head to hear her, "or he will sell Viera y Filho to the rancher  who owns the adjoining 50,000 hectares."

Dante nodded. "And what he wants," he said tonelessly, "is you."

She looked up, eyes bright with determination. "I told him what he could do with his ultimatum. And he told me-"

"He told you … ?"

She shrugged, turned away, began taking books from the shelves. "He said  it was my choice, that I could do as he demanded or I had until this  evening to leave this place."

A string of Sicilian profanities, learned on the streets of his childhood, fell from Dante's lips.

"He can't do that."

Gabriella swung toward him. "Of course he can!"

She was right. Ferrantes could do any damned thing he wanted, or so it seemed.                       
       
           



       

"But where will you go?"

Another shrug, her face once more averted. "Yara can take us in for a few weeks."

"Yara. The guard dog?"

"She is a good woman. She all but raised me."

"She has a house you can share?"

Gabriella thought of Yara's house. Small. Very small. Smaller still,  these last months since Yara's daughter, son-in-law and their three  small children had come to live with her and her husband.

"Yes."

It was the least certain "yes" Dante had ever heard. He stepped in front  of Gabriella, took a book from her hands, set it aside and clasped her  shoulders.

"To hell with that."

Her eyes, filled with defiance, met his.

"I will do what I must."

"There's no room at Yara's for you and the baby," he said flatly, "is there?"

"I will do what I must," she said again.

He nodded. She would. She had done what she had to do all these months,  returning to Brazil to have her child, living out here in the middle of  nowhere with nothing but the barren land for company.

"Is your clothing packed?"

Her eyebrows rose. "Why?"

"Dammit, just answer the question. I can hire someone to pack this stuff, whatever you don't want to leave behind."

"I am perfectly capable of doing it myself."

He took a deep breath. "I'm taking you with me. To New York."

She stared at him as if he'd lost his sanity. "Why would you do that? Why would I permit you to do that?"

"Because I say so."

She looked up into his eyes. He meant every word; she knew it. The blood  of his ancestors flowed within him. He was a man who would not tolerate  any obstacles once he had decided he wanted something.

There had been times he'd been like that in bed.

The tender Dante, the sweet lover she'd adored, would vanish. His  lovemaking would turn hot and hungry. He'd clasp her wrists, hold her  arms above her head, say things, tell her things while he was deep  inside her, while his body moved within hers, and at those moments she  would come and come and come …

"I do not take orders from you," she said, forcing the unwelcome memories away.

A muscle knotted in his jaw. "Listen to me, I can't leave you here  alone, and I can't stay with you. You must come with me. You and the  baby."

"The baby." Her voice broke. "The baby you still think does not belong to you."

He knew what she wanted him to say, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. "There's no other solution."

She shook her head. "It is all happening too fast," she whispered. "Much, much too fast. I need time to think. To plan."

She was right about everything happening fast. He'd come back to Brazil  to make careful arrangements. Give her the fazenda, arrange for  paternity tests, set up funds for her and the child, do all the right  things but do them logically and slowly.

Taking her with him flew in the face of all that.

His plan had turned into no plan at all, certainly not one Sam or any other good attorney would advise, much less approve.

And yet, what else could he do? Leave her to the not so tender mercies of Ferrantes?

"It is quick," he said, because what good would it be to lie? He framed  her face with his hands and slowly raised it to his. "We'll work out the  details later. And it will all work out. You'll see."

She hesitated. He could almost see her weighing his words.

"Dante," she said, "I do not think-"

"Good," he said softly. "Don't think. Just trust me. Say you'll come with me."

She wanted to trust him. At least, her heart did. Her head said  something else … but then he bent to her and kissed her and, like a fool,  she agreed.





CHAPTER EIGHT




DANTE stood on the wraparound terrace of his two-story Central Park West penthouse, a cup of rapidly cooling coffee in his hand.

Was it possible he'd been away from New York for only two days?

It felt more like weeks.

Either autumn had suddenly overtaken the park or he simply hadn't  noticed it, now that the leaves of the maples, oaks and sycamores far  below were turning rich shades of crimson, brown and gold. Up here the  mums and asters and who-knew-what-else his sister Isabella had planted  in big redwood tubs had burst into vivid bloom.

Izzy would be thrilled.

She'd planted them last spring. Even when she was a kid, she'd loved to dig around in the dirt.

Cesare would spend hours in the fenced-in yard behind the house in the  Village, planting, then feeding and watering his annual crop of  tomatoes. Izzy would accompany him, down on all fours tending the  scraggly daisies that seemed the only flowers hardy enough to survive  the Manhattan air. Now, all grown up, she'd taken one look at Dante's  terrace after he'd bought the penthouse, gotten a dreamy look and said  she could just imagine how perfect some plantings would be here, and  here, and here … .                       
       
           



       

So he'd let her poke and plant, he'd teased her like crazy and the  result had been a summer of roses and daffs and other stuff, and now  here came autumn.

His first reaction, seeing the blaze of color this morning, was to grab  the phone, call her and say, "Hey, Iz, so maybe playing in the dirt  isn't such a bad thing."

"It's called gardening, you idiot," Iz would say, and laugh.

Except, he couldn't tell her.

She'd want to come by, and how could he let that happen because if she  did stop over, if any of his family did, how in hell would he explain  the woman and baby living in the guest suite?

Would he say, "Hi, good to see you and by the way, this is Gabriella-no,  I don't think I ever introduced you to her before, Mama, and oh, by the  way, this is her baby who might, emphasis on the 'might,' also be mine  and yeah, that 'might' is important because somehow or other, I blew  straight past the whole DNA/blood-test/paternity-test thing … "

Right. That would work out just fine. His mother would pass out, his  sisters would shriek, his brothers would tell him he was an idiot, and  his father would laugh and say that obviously, the trip to Brazil had  not taught him anything about negotiating.

Dante took a long breath.

Maybe the problem was he'd come up against someone who was a hell of a lot better at negotiating than he'd ever been.

He raised the coffee cup and drank. Maybe caffeine would help. God knew,  something had to. What in hell had he been thinking yesterday? Better  still, had he really convinced Gabriella to come north … or had she played  her role so well that she'd convinced him to ask her to do it?