Dante Claiming His Secret Love-Child(21)

"Okay, pal. What happens next?"

The baby gave an enormous burp. Dante laughed. "Well, that answers that  question." Another huge burp. Dante grinned. "That good, huh? Hey, I'm a  steak-and-potatoes guy myself but whatever floats your boat works for  me. So, okay. Your belly's full. You don't look the least bit sleepy.  You need a trip to the john? I'll bet you do. Well, let's give it a  try-"                       
       
           



       

Gabriella took a breath and stepped briskly into the kitchen. Dante turned toward her, eyebrows lifting.

"Hey."

"Hey, yourself." She smiled. "Thank you for feeding the baby."

"Nothing to it," he said with just a touch of macho pride. "The doctor  recommended this brand of formula and I had the pharmacy send up a  case." He frowned. "But what are you doing out of bed? You were supposed  to ring the bell if you needed me."

She held out her arms for the baby, who gave her a loopy grin.

"I know. But I thought a little exercise might do me good." The baby kicked its arms and legs.

Gabriella smiled as she reached for him. "Besides," she said softly, "I missed you."

Fool that he was, Dante at first thought she was talking to him. She  wasn't, of course, she was talking to Daniel. He realized it just in  time to stop from saying that he had missed her, too.

But, dammit, he had.

It was a long time since she'd been here.

He'd always loved it when she'd stayed the night. It hadn't happened  often. She'd almost always refused to do it and he-well, he'd never been  big on having women spend the night in his bed.

It led to too many expectations.

But he'd loved having Gabriella stay here. Being able to reach for her,  not just during the dark hours of night but in that quiet time just  before dawn. Seeing her, first thing in the morning, looking the way she  looked now, warm and tousled, wrapped in his robe, her hair brushed  into a cloud of gold and chestnut, no makeup, no what Falco had dubbed  the "Five A.M. face" women obviously put on while a guy was still  sleeping.

The fact was, it was more than a year and he'd never had another woman  here overnight. He hadn't wanted to, hadn't wanted anybody else in his  bed or in his life for more than an evening.

Hell, he thought, and cleared his throat.

"Okay," he said brightly. "It's bathroom time. Hand the kid over."

Gabriella laughed. "He can't do 'bathroom time.' He's only a baby."

Dante gave her a look, then lifted the baby from her arms.

"She thinks I don't know that," he said to Daniel, who stared at him with solemnity. "Should we show her how wrong she is?"

"Dante, honestly-"

"She likes that word," he told the baby. "That word, 'honestly.' What  she means when she says it is, 'Honestly, you men. You think you know  everything.'" While he spoke, he was moving out of the kitchen, down the  hall, to the stairs, the baby now making happy sounds, little trills of  laughter. "Can you do the stairs?"

It took Gabriella a second to realize he meant her.

"Yes. Of course I can. But what … "

"No. Come to think of it, I don't trust you on the stairs. Not yet. So, you stay right there. I'll come back for you."

"Dante. Honestly-"

"Two 'honestlys' in one conversation." Dante shook his head, turned back  to her and brushed his mouth lightly over hers. "Amazing."

She couldn't help laughing, even though she didn't want to. "No. I mean, honestly-"

He kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers, the baby between them  cooing at this new, delightful game. When he drew back, he ran his hand  along her cheek.

"That's the penalty," he said softly. "A kiss, each time you use that word. Now, stay put. Okay?"

She nodded. It was all she could manage.

He went up the stairs quickly, came down just as quickly but without the  baby. She waited for a wail of protest and heard, instead, her son's  contented gurgles.

Dante swept her into his arms. It felt-it felt wonderful. Hours ago he'd  carried her up these same steps but she'd been too sick to enjoy it.  Now she was aware of everything it entailed. The steady beat of his  heart. The solid feel of his chest. The light pressure of his hand at  the side of her breast. The clean, soap-and-water scent of his skin and  hair.

The sweet pull of desire in her breasts and belly.

"You've lost weight."

His voice was gruff. She nodded.

"Maybe a little."

"What for? You were perfect, just the way you were."

Perfect. The word seemed to shimmer with light.

"I … it wasn't deliberate. I … I had a lot of things to do, when I got back to the fazenda."

"The baby." His tone grew even more gruff. "I'm sorry you had to go through that alone."

She thought of telling him that she had not been entirely alone, that  her brother had been there for her, at least at the beginning. But that  would only lead to questions. Dante didn't know anything about her  brother; they'd always kept their talk impersonal. Intimate, yes. Dante  had whispered things to her in bed. Things that had made her tremble  with desire. With need.                       
       
           



       

With … with what she felt for him.

"Here we go," he said, as he carried her through a door, not to his room but to one just across from it.

Gabriella's mouth fell open.

This was a baby's room.

Not in decor. The walls were cream; there were white-and-black vertical  blinds at the windows, a black-and-white Scandinavian area rug  underfoot. But it was furnished for a small child.

Winnie the Pooh smiled from atop a bird's-eye maple dresser, side by side with a baby monitor.

A teddy bear with button eyes sat in the seat of a baby swing. A  changing table stood against one wall, a big maple rocker against  another. Facing her was surely the most beautiful crib in the whole  world, also made of maple, fitted with sheets patterned with kittens and  puppies. A mobile of rocket ships and suited spacemen amid stars, moons  and planets hung over it.

Her son lay on his back in the crib, arms and legs going like mad, eyes fixed to the mobile, his face a portrait of delight.

"I didn't know what you'd like," Dante said. "So I just ordered some stuff."

She looked up at him. His mouth was a whisper away. Say something, her  brain shrieked, but she couldn't come up with a single word.

Dante cleared his throat.

"Look, there's no problem with sending it all back. You know, if it's not what you wanted-"

"Oh, Dante! It's wonderful!"

His face cleared. "You think?"

"It's just that-" she hesitated "-we can't impose on you this way. I  mean, I know how busy you are. Orsini Investments. Your family. The last  thing you need is … is someone from the past cluttering up your life,  your home-"

He silenced her the only way he could.

He kissed her. And kissed her. And when she kissed him back and sighed  his name in the way that had always sent spirals of desire straight down  to his toes, he knew that everything he had done-bringing her here,  sweeping aside his plans to find her an apartment and instead settling  her into his home, was right.

The idea had come to him while the doctor was with her. Gabriella was  sick; she had the baby to care for. No way could he let her be on her  own just yet. She'd simply have to stay with him for a couple of days.  Just a temporary arrangement, of course, but even so, the baby would  need things …

Except that now, looking down at the woman in his arms, he knew those were all pathetic rationalizations.

"I want you here," he said softly, when he finally ended the kiss. "Here. With me. You and the boy-you and Daniel belong here."

"Dante." Her voice shook. "Please. Don't say that and not mean it."

"We'll take things one step at a time."

It wasn't quite the answer her heart wanted but it was an honest answer.  How could she fault him for that? she thought, and she nodded and said,  very softly, "Okay." He leaned his forehead against hers. "Starting  with that bathroom stuff you were positive I couldn't handle."

She smiled into his eyes. "Somehow, I can't picture you changing a diaper."

"Who says? Put your money where your mouth is."

Her smile became a grin. "A buck says you can't."

"You're on."

She lost the bet.

Dante could do everything. Run a powerful corporation? Sure. Make every  man in a room defer to him? That, too. Be the man all the women in the  world wanted? Easy.

She'd known all that from experience.

What she'd never known until now was that he could diaper a baby as if he'd done it all his life.

Take care of her. Brew her a cup of tea. Stand over her until she gave  up and downed another couple of Tylenol. Whip up a meal-though as he  pointed out, heating a can of chicken broth for her, taking a steak from  the freezer and broiling it for himself wasn't exactly gourmet cooking.