He felt better already.
Showered, shaved, dressed in faded jeans and a navy T-shirt, Dante headed for the kitchen.
He'd lost track not only of days but of hours. All that going back and forth had confused his internal clock. Was it time for breakfast? Lunch? Dinner? He didn't know and didn't much care.
He was hungry, was all he knew; his stomach was growling. He'd had a sandwich on the plane but that seemed a long time ago. Gabriella hadn't eaten at all. During the flight, the attendant had said she'd checked and both Gabriella and the baby were sleeping. He'd thought about going back there, just to see how things were, but if Gabriella was asleep …
Okay. So maybe the truth was, he hadn't been ready to talk to her. Not then.
But he was ready now.
So, he'd cook something for the two of them.
He frowned as he opened the fridge. The shelves were pretty empty except for the requisite things. Eggs. Bread. Butter. A container of light cream that passed the sniff test. An unopened quart of milk. There was a wedge of cheddar in the cheese keeper on the door. He wasn't the world's best cook but he could put together a cheese omelet, make some toast, a pot of coffee.
As for the baby …
What did babies that small eat? Formula? Little jars of vile-looking, strange-colored food? Not that it would be his problem. Gabriella had filled a big carry-on with what she'd called baby stuff. She surely had food for the kid inside it.
He took out the eggs, the milk, the butter, the cheese-
And hesitated.
Come to think of it, how come it was so quiet? He'd been up and pacing around for hours. He figured Gabriella was exhausted, but still, what about the kid? When his sister Anna was a baby, she'd cried nonstop.
For no good reason the skin on the back of his neck prickled. He shut the refrigerator door and headed up the stairs.
Nothing. No sounds at all drifting down the wide hall.
He paused at the guest suite. "Gabriella?" He moved closer to the door. Tapped at it.
"Gabriella?" No answer. "Gabriella," he said loudly, and then he said to hell with it, turned the knob and stepped inside.
The curtains in the sitting room were drawn. Beyond, the bedroom door stood open. He walked toward it.
The baby lay on the bed, surrounded by pillows. He was on his belly, his rump up in the air, head to the side and part of his fist jammed into his mouth. He was sound asleep and … Dante frowned.
Hell. The kid was that all-purpose word. Cute. A clichι but accurate. The kid was so small, the bed so big …
Dante cleared his throat. He hadn't come up here to look at babies, he'd come to check on Gabriella. Obviously, she was in the bathroom.
Oh, hell.
The bathroom door was shut but the sound of someone being sick traveled straight through it.
"Gabriella?" he said, hurrying to the door. "Are you sick?"
"Dante." Her voice was weak. Frighteningly weak. "Don't come in. I have a bug. The flu-"
He could almost feel the blood draining from his face. He wasn't good at this, either. Somebody throwing up …
Gabriella groaned. Retched. He didn't think, didn't hesitate; he flung the door open and stepped into the room. His Gabriella was hunched over the toilet, her hair streaming down her back, her body trembling. He cursed, ran to her and clasped her shoulders from behind.
"Sweetheart. Why didn't you ask me to help you? I'll get a doctor-"
"Go away. I don't need-"
She retched again. His hands tightened on her. He could feel her shaking; she was wearing a nightgown and she was soaked straight through with sweat. His heart turned over.
"Gaby. Honey, what can I do to help?"
What could he do? If she hadn't felt as if she were dying, Gabriella would have laughed. What he could do was disappear. This was not what a woman wanted, to have a man see her like this.
Sweaty, disheveled-and throwing up everything, starting at her toes.
Pain fisted in her belly and she bent over and gave herself up to the spasm. By the time it ended, she was swaying on her feet. Dante cursed softly, drew her gently back against him. Go away, she thought desperately, just go away.
But his body felt so good against hers. Strong. Hard. Comforting. Shivering, icy cold, she let his warmth seep into her.
"Gaby?"
His voice was filled with alarm. She wanted to reassure him that she'd be okay, that she'd come down with whatever had sickened Yara the week before, but it happened again, the wave of agonizing nausea, and she gagged, leaned forward and vomited.
When she straightened up this time, she knew the spasms were over.
"I'm okay now," she said weakly.
She reached out to flush the toilet but Dante did it instead. She felt her face fill with heat. Deus, the embarrassment of it! That he should see her like this, desperate and all but helpless when she prided herself on her independence, when it was, she knew, one of the things that had drawn him to her.
Not that she cared about that anymore; it didn't matter if he was drawn to her or not. Still, it was-it was-
"Here," he said gently.
He brought a cup of water to her lips. She wanted to tell him she didn't need his help, but that would have been a lie. Instead, she sipped the cool liquid, rinsed her mouth, spat it out. She did it twice and then he eased her onto the closed toilet and washed her face with a soft, damp washcloth.
"Better?"
She nodded. "Yes. Thank you. But really, you can go now. I'll be-"
"Do not," he said quietly, "tell me what I can do, Gabriella." He bent, lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. "I know exactly what I can do. What I'm going to do. And it starts with putting you to bed and calling the doctor, whether you like it or not."
"No. I do not need-"
She followed his gaze to the bed, sighing with relief when she saw that Daniel had slept through it all.
Dante headed for the door.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Don't worry. I'll come back for the baby after I get you settled."
"But-"
Arguing was pointless. She knew that. Once Dante made up his mind to do something, nothing would deter him. She had no choice but to loop her arms around his neck and give in as he carried her down the corridor. When he shouldered open a door and she saw that he had brought her to his bedroom, sick as she was it sent a little thrill of recognition through her. She had not been here in a very, very long time but it looked the same. Big, masculine. A perfect reflection of the man who had once been her lover.
He carried her to the bed. His bed. As he eased her back against the pillows, she thought of how many times he had done that in the months they'd been together.
"Dante. Wait … "
Too late. He was gone, returning seconds later with Daniel in his arms. Her heart skipped a beat.
Her son, in his father's powerful arms. The sight made her throat tighten. He gave Daniel to her while he arranged a pair of big, upholstered chairs so they faced each other, their soft, high arms forming the walls of an improvised crib. Then he took the still-sleeping baby from her, laid him gently in the improvised crib and covered him with a cashmere throw.
"Okay?" he said softly, looking at her.
Gabriella smiled. "Perfect. Thank you."
He nodded. His gaze swept over her; his dark eyebrows drew together. "You're soaked."
She looked down at herself. Her cotton nightgown, plastered to her skin with sweat, She flushed, slipped under the duvet and drew it to her chin. The bed smelled of Dante: masculine, clean … wonderful. She looked up, ready to tell him she couldn't stay here but he was gone again.
Of course. She felt her color deepen. He had done all she could possibly expect and more, held her while she was violently ill, taken care of the baby …
"Sit up."
She raised her head in surprise. His voice was gentle; he had a bowl of water, a towel and one of his T-shirts in his hands.
"Dante. Really-"
"Gabriella," he said softly, "really. Just relax, sweetheart, and let me take care of you."
No, she thought, no, she could not do that. Not even for these precious moments. She could not permit herself to fall under his spell again; it would break her, if she did. He was kind, he was generous, he was the most gorgeous man she had ever known, but there could never be more to it than that.
The cloth stroked lightly over her face. It felt wonderful. His nearness to her felt wonderful.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and gave in. Let him bathe her face, her throat. Let him push aside the straps of her damp nightgown, run the warm cloth lightly over her shoulders, her arms …
The upper slope of her breasts.