Dante Claiming His Secret Love-Child(27)

Which he was. Absolutely. How could he have ever doubted it?

"Dante?"

This had been the best week of his life. He was happy. Such a simple  word, especially from a man who'd never thought much about his feelings,  but-

"Dante!"

He blinked, looked down into Gabriella's smiling face. "What?" he said, and she gave a soft little laugh.

"We're still dancing."

"And?"

"And," she said, "the music stopped about five minutes ago."

She was right. They were alone on the dance floor, locked in each other's arms, people watching them and smiling.

"Amazing, because I could swear it's still playing."

Gabriella smiled. "Me, too."

Dante grinned, spun her in a circle, then dipped her back over his arm.

"You are doido," she said, laughing.

"Doido for you," he told her, dancing her to their table, snatching up  her pashmina shawl, then waltzing her out the door. His driver spotted  them almost instantly, rolled out of the No Parking zone where he'd been  waiting and pulled to the curb. Dante signaled him to stay put, opened  the passenger door himself and handed Gabriella inside. "Let's go home,"  he said. The driver nodded, closed the privacy partition and headed  uptown as Gabriella snuggled into the curve of Dante's arm.

"Did you have a good time?" he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Mmmm. A wonderful time." She smiled. "We'll try salsa next."

Dante gave a mock groan. "You just want to see me make a jerk of myself on the dance floor."

"Stop fishing for compliments, senhor. You're a fine dancer."

"Salsa means moving parts of the human body never meant to be moved."

A playful glint came into her eyes. "Ah, but I have seen you move those parts exceedingly well."

Dante drew her onto his lap. "But not on a dance floor," he said, his voice suddenly husky.

Gabriella threaded her hands into his hair and drew his face to hers.

"Perhaps we should test those moves when we get home," she whispered.

What a good thing a privacy petition was, Dante thought, and then he stopped thinking about anything but the woman in his arms.

Saturday morning, early, a courier delivered a package.

Dante insisted Gabriella watch as he opened it.

It was a long length of woven fabric with an adjustable closure. "It's a  baby sling," he said, as he draped it over his shoulder and arm, then  snugged Daniel securely within its soft folds. "I researched it online.  Seems lots of tribal people have carried babies this way for centuries.  It gives the babies a real sense of security. What do you think?"

"I think it's a great idea," she said, but what she really thought was that she was living a miracle.

The man who'd been one of New York's wildest bachelors, who had not even  suspected he had a son less than two weeks ago, had become the world's  most amazing father.

"You mean it?" He grinned as Daniel cooed. "Daniel, my man, what do you think?"

The baby laughed. So did Gabriella. Dante looked at her and smiled.

"I guess the vote's unanimous."

It was. She and her son both adored this man-but she couldn't tell him  that. Not until he said the words she longed to hear. Instead she kissed  the baby, rose on her toes and kissed her lover, too.

"Unanimous," she said brightly.

"Okay. Let's take it for a trial run. How's a trip to the Bronx Zoo sound?"

It sounded perfect, she told him. Dante smiled, handed Daniel to her and put aside the baby sling.

"Let me just check my e-mail. I haven't looked at it all week and  Monday, much as I hate to do it, I'm going to have to go to work."                       
       
           



       

Her face fell; he loved the fact that it did. She didn't want him to  leave. Hell, he didn't want it, either, but life had to return to normal  sometime.

"Five minutes," he said softly, kissing her. "Not a second more, I promise."

But he was in his study longer than that and when he came out, she knew something had happened.

"Dante? Is everything all right?"

He assured her that it was.

It was not. His expression was closed; he was unusually silent during the drive to the zoo.

Preoccupied, but by what?

Dante carried the baby in the sling as they made their way from exhibit  to exhibit. He spoke to him the way he always did, as if the little guy  understood every word he said about the seals and the monkeys and the  giraffes.

But his behavior was subdued.

It was unsettling.

Eventually they took a break. Daniel had fallen asleep; Dante stood  staring off into the distance, one hand curved around the baby, the  other tucked in the pocket of his leather windbreaker.

He was quiet, his eyes impossible to read.

Gabriella felt her throat constrict.

Something was happening. What? It was as if the Dante who had gone into  his study this morning had emerged a different person. He had changed.  Everything had changed. She could feel it.

What if he'd decided he'd had enough? The zoo was filled with families. Was it a graphic lesson in what his life had become?

She and the baby were both novelties. It was a crude way to put it but  it was accurate. He'd never had a son before, and he'd never had a woman  live with him, either. He'd made it sound like something wonderful when  he'd told her that, but viewed with clinical detachment, it simply  meant this experience was new for him.

Ocean kayaking had once been new to him, and back-country skiing and  probably a dozen other things. Oh, she knew he cared far more for the  baby than for any of that, but still, "newness" intrigued him.

It wasn't that he was self-indulgent. Or perhaps he was, just a little.  It made him seem larger than life. It was one of his charms.

It also meant he was the kind of man who grew bored easily.

He'd told her that himself, just yesterday, though not in those exact  words, when he'd gotten a call telling him some much-coveted kind of  automobile was for sale somewhere out of state. His excitement had been  palpable; he'd whooped with glee, caught her up in his arms and kissed  her, and when she'd laughed and said only a man could get so worked up  over a car, he'd tried to explain how it was, that he loved fast cars,  that he'd been hunting after this one for a long time.

And that was when he'd mentioned kayaking and skiing and all the rest,  how he'd loved them and more or less still did but how cars like this  one had supplanted his interest in other things.

Daniel had awakened just then, fussing for his dinner, so the  conversation had ended before she could ask him the reason. Not that she  had to ask.

She knew the reason.

Tides changed but the ocean was still the ocean. Snowfall changed, but a  mountain was still a mountain. Not so with automobiles. They were  always different. When you grew bored with one kind, there was always  another to pursue.

Was she his latest acquisition? Even more vital, was Daniel? Would her  son learn to love his father only to have Dante turn into a stranger?

The thought terrified her.

Dante felt the warm weight of his sleeping son pressed against his chest.

He curved his hand over the child's bottom. He loved holding his son.  The baby was so small, so trusting. He'd never imagined being a father  could make a man's heart swell with pride and joy.

The zoo was full of families. Mothers, fathers, babies, kids of all ages. And them. He. Gabriella.

Daniel. They were a family, too.

It was wonderful.

It was scary as hell.

And it had made him finally face the truth. Well, this-and the e-mail  messages he'd found in his in-box. It was all he could think about. What  was happening to Rafe …

What he was finally ready to admit was happening to him.

Had already happened to him.

Dear God, how could a man fall so hard, so fast? How could he have been  blind to it? Gabriella had to feel the same way. She had to, because if  she didn't …

He had to be alone with her. Take her in his arms. Tell her. Tell her-

"Gaby," he said abruptly, turning toward her, looking at the woman who  held his life in her hands, "I know there's lots more to see, but-"

"Dante." Her eyes met his. "Please," she said in an unsteady whisper, "I would like to go home."

Mrs. Janiseck was off on Saturdays. So was Stacia.

As soon as they were alone, Dante cleared his throat. "Gabriella. We have to talk."                       
       
           



       

Her heart fell. "All right," she said tonelessly.

He flashed a quick smile. "I'll, ah, I'll put Daniel to bed. Why don't you, ah, why don't you start supper?"

She nodded, went into the kitchen. Actually, there was little to do.  Mrs. Janiseck did almost all the cooking. Cold roast chicken and a green  salad, prepared yesterday. There it was, on the top shelf in the  fridge. Lovely to have it waiting, but somehow-and Gabriella knew how  ridiculous the thought was-somehow, it made her feel even more a guest  in Dante's life. Yes, of course, a woman to whom he had a permanent  commitment would have a housekeeper and cook. Dante's income, his  lifestyle, meant the woman to whom he had such a permanent commitment  would have a staff to help run her home. But a woman to whom he had …