Dante Claiming His Secret Love-Child(19)

His hand slowed. His breath quickened. So did hers. Her eyes flew open.  Her lover's face was all harsh planes and angles, his pale-blue eyes  blazed with flame.

"Gaby," he said hoarsely.

He had never called her that until today. There was something incredibly  intimate in it. And when his hand paused, cupped her breast, she cried  out at the pleasure of his touch. She was going to die from this. From  wanting him. Needing him. Aching for him.

He said her name again, brushed his thumb across her nipple, erect under the nightgown. He bent toward her, closer and closer-

A thin wail broke the silence. It was Daniel. Her son's cry grew stronger.

"The baby," she whispered.

Dante drew back. His hand fell away from her; he was all business now.

"Lift your arms," he said briskly, and when she did, he pulled the  nightgown over her head, his gaze never dropping below her arms and  face, and replaced the gown with the T-shirt. By the time she'd finished  easing it down her body under cover of the duvet, he was leaning over  her with the baby in his arms.

She reached for her son. Daniel was kicking and crying as if he had not  nursed at her breasts only three hours ago. She smiled at her little  boy, tugged down the loose neckline of the T-shirt and brought him to  her breast. She did it without thinking; she had nursed him from the day  of his birth, completely unselfconsciously …

But not in front of the man who had given her baby to her.

Dante made a soft sound. A groan. She looked up. His gaze was fixed on  the baby, on his small hand against her breast, his small mouth at her  nipple. A sensation so powerful it made her tremble swept through her.  She whispered Dante's name. His eyes met hers; he groaned again, bent to  her, cupped her face and took her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss.

And then he was gone.





CHAPTER NINE


THE baby nursed until Gabriella was certain she could almost feel his  little tummy rounding under her hand. She shifted him to her shoulder,  gently patted his back and was rewarded with a contented burp.

"That's my boy," she said softly. He gave her a happy grin and she  laughed and played a round of I-See with him, forgetting everything for a  few happy minutes. Her aching head and bones, her unsettled stomach …

Her unsettled life.

Daniel seemed to sense her change in mood. His dark, winged brows drew  together. His sculpted lips turned down. His features were such a  perfect duplication of Dante's …

Gabriella swallowed hard. "It's all right, bebι," she crooned. "Mama  loves you. She'll always love you." She touched the tip of her finger to  his nose. "We'll be fine, you and I. Just wait and see."

The baby's expression softened. He smiled. Yawned. Yawned again, and  Gabriella scooted down in the big bed, holding him securely in the curve  of her arm. In a few seconds he was fast asleep.

The flight, the change in routine, had tired him.

She looked at the thick, dark lashes that lay against his cheeks, noting  again that he was the very image of his father. When her boy grew up,  he and Dante would be mirror images.

Mirror images no one would see.

Dante had made it sound as if she and Daniel were to be part of his  life, but she knew better. It wasn't that he'd lied but that he'd spoken  under stress. He was, at heart, a decent man and he'd reacted with  gallantry to her circumstances.

Reality had come after they'd boarded the plane. It had not been  difficult to see. He had become distant. When the flight attendant  suggested she and Daniel might be more comfortable in the small private  room at the rear, Dante had said that was an excellent idea. It was, in a  way. It had meant she could nurse the baby, change him, rock him to  sleep in her arms without any distractions, but still …

Foolishly enough, she'd thought Dante might at least spend some time  with her and the baby, but he had not entered the little room, not even  once. It wasn't as if he'd forgotten their presence.

He'd sent the attendant to her, several times.

Was everything all right? the woman had inquired politely. Did the  senhorita need anything? If so, she had only to press the call button.

What Gabriella needed could not be gotten by pressing the call button.  She hadn't said that, of course, she'd simply smiled politely and said  she would be sure to do that. Then she'd fed the baby, put him into a  fresh diaper, curled up on the sofa with him and fallen into a deep,  dreamless sleep.                       
       
           



       

To her surprise, she'd slept for hours. She knew she was tired but it  was as if only now, miles above the earth and from the fazenda, her mind  and body were ready to admit she was not just tired but exhausted.

So much had happened during the past months! She had first tended to her  father, then to her brother. Her father, true to form, had seemed to  expect everything she'd done for him until his last breath; her brother,  also true to form, had worried she was doing too much.

"You are with child," he'd said. "You must worry about a new life, Gabriella, not a worn-out one like mine."

Remembering those months before Arturo's death was bittersweet. They had  been as close as when they'd been children-but all the while, she'd  known she could not save him.

And she'd been pregnant. An easy pregnancy, thankfully, but still, she  was exhausted all the time, going without sleep, worrying over the  increasing awareness that her father had gambled away everything, that  there was no money left in his accounts or, eventually, in hers. Looking  back, it seemed as if she had done nothing but worry.

Then Dante had appeared.

For a little while, at least, she could lift her head, take a breath,  make plans. Yes, he'd obviously realized what a burden he'd undertaken,  but once she was in New York, things would be better.

She'd lost the fazenda and that broke her heart, but perhaps the cold  truth was that she'd be better off in Manhattan. She knew it better than  she knew Bonito. She had friends in the city, contacts, her old agent.  She could find a small apartment, get some modeling assignments, start  to regain her feet.

She had thought about all those things during the flight, but by the  time the plane landed she was sick. Whatever bug she'd been fighting had  finally won. Everything ached; her belly felt as if someone had jabbed  it with a hot poker.

She hid it from Dante. Not that he'd have abandoned her if he learned  she was ill-she knew that. But the last thing she'd wanted was to be  more of a burden than she already was. She would never have let him know  she was sick if he hadn't stumbled across the information by accident.

But she would get better. She would not overstay her welcome. A few days. A week, at most, and she would move on.

She had to, she thought now, as the baby slept beside her. Oh, yes, she  had to move on. And quickly, before her foolish heart led her into  trouble. Into temptation. Look at what had happened a little while ago.  That kiss. The whisper of Dante's fingers against her breast. She'd felt  her body come alive, reminding her that she was not only a mother, she  was a woman.

Yara had said she would be free of such urges for a very long time but  clearly, her old ama was wrong. Those urges, those needs, were still  there. They were there for Dante, only for Dante.

A light knock sounded at the closed door. Gabriella drew the duvet higher.

"Yes?"

"Is it okay to come in?"

It wasn't, not while her heart was pounding like this.

"Sim. Yes, of course."

Dante had a tray in his hands. There were things arranged on it. A carafe of iced water. A glass.

A teapot, cup and saucer. A box of tissues. And a small brass bell.

"In case you're thirsty," he said briskly, making room on the teak night table. "And a bell, if you should need me."

"A bell," she said, as if she'd never heard the word before. Why wouldn't he look at her?

Moments ago he had kissed her as if he would never get enough of kissing her and now …

"One of my sisters, Anna, brought it back from somewhere. Thailand.  Katmandu. Wherever aging hippies go to die." He did look at her then,  flashed a quick smile. "Not that Anna's an aging anything. I keep  telling her she was born a few decades too late."

"Anna," Gabriella said, and it truly was a word she'd never heard  before. In the months they'd been together, she'd met his brothers once,  purely by chance, but Dante had never talked about his family. Of  course, neither had she. "It's … it's a lovely name."

"Old-fashioned, Anna says, but … "

But what? Dante thought. Why was he talking about his sister? Was it  because it was safer than doing what he really wanted to do, reaching  for Gabriella, drawing her into his arms and kissing her until she  wrapped her arms around his neck and begged him to finish what they had  started a little while ago? No way. She was sick. He couldn't take  advantage of her and besides, it would only complicate things-as if they  weren't complicated enough.