Dante Claiming His Secret Love-Child(17)

At this point he honestly didn't know.

The only certainty was that yesterday's brilliant plan was clearly today's potential disaster.

Either he'd been manipulated big-time or he'd lost his sanity. However  he looked at it, the truth was that he didn't have any idea how he could  have thought bringing her and the kid home with him would be a good  idea.

How could it be?

The only positive thing was that nobody knew about this mess. And he had  to keep it that way until it was resolved. Not easy, considering the  presence of the woman and child sleeping in the guest suite, but if he  moved fast, he could do it. Nobody even knew he was back. His office  didn't expect him for a couple more days. Neither did his brothers. He'd  given his housekeeper a few days off because he hadn't known exactly  how long he'd be gone; he'd told his driver the same thing. The night  doorman had been on duty, ditto the concierge, but why would anybody  question them?

At least he had some breathing room.

As for why he'd acted so foolishly … he had no ready answer. Maybe he'd  been punchy from lack of sleep. From all the flying back and forth. From  the shock of seeing Gabriella again. From looking at a baby and being  told it was his.

Dante slugged down more of the coffee and shuddered. It was cold, oily  and acrid but he drank it with grim determination. He'd brewed the pot  hours ago, knowing he needed the jolt, trying to come up with a plan.  Gabriella, thanks for small favors, was still sleeping. She and the  baby. At least, he assumed they were because there hadn't been a sound  from the guest suite. He'd taken her there as soon as they'd stepped  from his private elevator and there hadn't been a whisper from it since.

Not that they'd exchanged so much as a word during the flight home.

"There's a small room in the rear of the plane, senhor," the attendant  had told him in hushed terms when she saw Gabriella board with a  swaddled infant in her arms. "The lady might find it more comfortable."

That was where Gabriella had spent the entire flight, curled up on a  sofa in that room, the kid asleep in a contraption that looked more like  the kind of pack frame he'd used hiking in Alaska than a thing meant  for carrying a kid but, hey, what did he know about babies?

Nada, he thought grimly, niente, zip. He didn't have one fact in his  head about babies beyond that they were small. And that was how he'd  always liked it. He'd never been one of those guys who got off thinking  about someday having children. Truth was, he always had to fake it when  somebody showed him baby pictures. You had to say something, he  understood that, and his standard response was "Cute," accompanied by a  big smile, the same as he'd done that day in the lobby.

Was it his fault children, especially babies, looked pretty much alike?  Or that they didn't much interest him at this point in his life?  Someday, maybe, but surely not yet.

Which led to the distinct possibility that he might have moved too  quickly in this entire situation, and yes, that was absolutely the word  for it even though he knew better than to use it again with Gabriella.                       
       
           



       

Simply put, he'd made an enormous mistake.

The plan he'd started with-sitting down with Sam Cohen, arranging for  paternity tests and, if they panned out, establishing the necessary  trust funds-had been the right one. So what if the bank had sold Viera y  Filho to Ferrantes? A ranch, as Sam had so reasonably pointed out, was  just a ranch. He could have found another place for Gabriella, left her  there while he flew home and arranged all the rest. She'd have been safe  from Ferrantes, safe from poverty …

And five thousand miles from him.

A muscle knotted in his jaw.

A little distance between them would have had nothing to do with his Doing The Right Thing.

There was no reason for her to be here where he could see her face.  Smell the unique delicacy of her perfume. Know that she'd spent the  night just down the hall from his bedroom …

"Dammit," he muttered, and strode from the terrace into the living room.

That was precisely the kind of crap that had brought him to this point.  How could a man cling to reason when a woman who had once shared his bed  sighed as he kissed her? How could he think straight when she returned  his kisses as if she'd been aching for them? That had always been one of  the things that had gotten to him about her, the way she'd made him  feel as if he was the only man who'd ever mattered. That he was  important to her.

That she'd been becoming important to him.

Dante snorted as he dumped the rest of the coffee into the kitchen sink.

Why think about all this stuff again, especially since it was  ridiculous? She was beautiful and bright; they'd had fun together and  she was amazing in bed. End of story.

That she could still affect him, still push the right buttons, was not good. Dante narrowed his eyes.

Responding to his kisses even as she faced him with apparent defiance,  holding herself aloof even as she trembled in his arms, insisting she  wanted nothing from him after saying her son was his …

Just look where that had landed him.

He'd left here a couple of days ago to deal with a problem of his  father's. Instead, he'd found himself facing a problem of his own-a  potentially life-changing problem he had to confront head-on. He dealt  with problems every day of his life. It was how he'd helped make  Orsini's into a world-class investment firm that remained respected and  rock solid even in the current economic nightmare.

He'd aced Financial Analysis 101. So, how come he'd made such a muck-up of Real-Life Analysis, Grade School Level?

It was time to start making some intelligent moves, starting with  settling Gabriella and the kid elsewhere. The real estate agent who'd  got him this place understood his tastes, his needs; the guy's firm was a  high-end operation that understood the importance of discretion. That  would be step one. Find her a place to live. Someplace within hailing  distance but not where anyone would stumble over her.

He thought about that for a moment. To someone not familiar with the  circumstances, a set-up like that would look as if he were trying to  deny the ramifications of the situation.

Ridiculous.

He was just doing what he should have done in the first place. Behaving  intelligently. Sam Cohen would surely agree. Not that he'd involve him  until he had the move in motion, otherwise he'd have to admit Sam had an  ass for a client.

Dante smiled thinly. He'd call Sam later today, set up an appointment,  arrange for the necessary tests, for temporary financial support,  long-term if that proved necessary because hadn't he finally faced the  fact that anything was possible?

For no discernible reason, an image of Gabriella flashed before him.

Her wide eyes. Her lovely mouth. Her smile. And, though it wasn't  something one could see, her honesty all the time they'd been together,  starting the first time he'd phoned.

"It's Dante Orsini," he'd said, and then, because the need to see her  had been near all consuming, he'd skipped the niceties and gone straight  to the point. "I'll be there at eight, to take you to dinner."

"Did I miss something?" she'd said, with a little laugh. "When, exactly, did you ask me out?"

"I didn't," he'd replied bluntly. "Why would I ask you for something we both want?"

He'd heard the catch of her breath. And then she'd said, "Yes." Just  that one word, that "yes," delivered in such a low, sexy voice that it  had filled him with heat.

She was into honesty from the small things to the big ones. She'd told  him she was a Jets fan when he said he was into the Giants. He'd  mentioned his preference for the Giants to an endless stream of women  and every last one had quickly said wasn't that nice because she loved  them, too, and that included the ones who probably couldn't tell a  football from a volley ball.                       
       
           



       

She ate with gusto, packing away a loaded-with-everything hot dog at a  Yankees game, warning him she knew no bounds when it came to lobster and  proving it by finishing every bite at The Boathouse, ending with butter  on her chin that he'd just had to kiss away.

She was upfront about everything.

Especially in bed.

Her passion, her arousal, her eagerness when he touched her, when he  tasted her breasts, when he put his mouth on that perfect bud between  her thighs, all of it so real, so sweet, so amazing it shook his world.

And when she responded, when she caressed him, put her hands and mouth on him …

"Dammit," he growled.

None of that meant he should believe this child was his without proof, he thought coldly.

First things first. Shower. Phone that real estate agent. And then tap  politely at Gabriella's door, tell her he'd been thinking things over  and that he'd come up with a workable plan.