âGabriella.â His voice was soft but his eyes were ice. âWhatâs it going to be? Do we do this my wayâor the hard way?â
He watched her face, saw the play of emotions across it. She was shivering. From the cool of the night or from anger? He didnât give a damn. And if it was all he could do to keep from hauling her into his arms again and kissing her until she sighed his name and trembled not with cold or rage but with need, what did that proveâexcept that she was a woman, an incredibly beautiful woman, heâd never stopped wanting? And, damnit, what did that have to do with anything?
âFor the last time,â he said sharply. âIs Daniel mine?â
Perhaps it was exhaustion. Perhaps it was acceptance of the inevitable. Or perhaps, Gabriella thought, perhaps it was hearing her sonâs name on the lips of the man who had planted his seed deep in her womb thirteen long months ago.
Whatever the reason, she knew it was time to stop fighting.
âYes,â she said wearily. âHe is. So what?â
Of all the nightâs questions, that was the only one that mattered. And Dante knew, in that instant, his world would never be the same again.
DANTE Orsini was in the prime of his life.
He was rich, powerful and as ruggedly good-looking as a man could hope to be. He worked hard, played hard, and on those rare nights he went to bed alone, he slept soundly until morning.
But not tonight.
Tonight he was dreaming.
In his dream he walked slowly along a narrow road. It led to a house. He could hardly see it because of the heavy mist that hung over everything, but it was there.
His footsteps slowed.
It was the last place on earth he wanted to be. A house in the suburbs. A station wagon in the driveway. A dog. A cat. Two-point-five kids.
And a wife. One woman, the same woman, foreverâ¦
Dante sprang up in bed, gasping for air. A shudder racked his big, leanly muscled body. He slept naked, kept the windows open even now, in early autumn. Still, his skin was slick with sweat.
A dream. Thatâs all it was. A nightmare.
The oysters last night, maybe. Or that brandy right before bedtime. Orâ¦he shuddered again. Or just another resurfacing of that long-ago memory of what had happened when he was just eighteen, stupid and in love.
In what heâd thought was love.
Heâd gone steady with Teresa DâAngelo for three months before heâd so much as touched her. When he finally did, one touch led to another and another and anotherâ¦.
Christmas Eve, heâd given her a gold locket.
Sheâd given him news that almost brought him to his knees.
âIâm pregnant, Dante,â sheâd whispered tearfully.
Heâd been stunned. He was a kid, yeah, but heâd still known enough to use condoms. But he loved her. And sheâd wept in his arms and said heâd ruined her life, that he had to marry her.
He would have.
He would have Done The Right Thing.
But fate, luck, whatever you wanted to call it, intervened. His brothers noticed how withdrawn heâd become. They sat him down, saw to it that he had enough beer to loosen him up a little and then Nicolo asked him, point-blank, what was going on.
Dante told them about his girl.
And the three of them, Nicolo and Raffaele and Falco, looked at each other, looked at him and said, was he out of his freaking mind? If heâd used protection, how could she have gotten knocked up?
She had to be lying.
He went after Falco because heâd said it first. When Rafe and Nick repeated it, he went after them, too. Falco grabbed him in an arm lock.
âI love her, dammit,â Dante said. âYou hear me? I love her and she loves me.â
âShe loves your money, dude,â Nicolo had said, and for the first time in days Dante had laughed.
âWhat money?â
Falco let go of him. And Rafe pointed out that the girl didnât know he wasnât loaded. That even way back then, all four Orsini brothers had thumbed their noses at their old manâs money and power and everything that went with it.
âAsk around,â Falco, the oldest of them, said bluntly. âFind out how many other guys sheâs been with.â
Dante lunged for him again. Nick and Rafe held him back.
âUse your head,â Nick snapped, ânot that divining rod in your pants.â
Rafe nodded in agreement. âAnd tell her you want a paternity test.â
âShe wouldnât lie to me,â Dante protested. âShe loves me.â
âTell her you want the damned test,â Rafe growled. âOr weâll tell her for you.â
He knew Rafe meant it. So, with a dozen apologies, heâd suggested the test.
Teresaâs tears had given way to fury. Sheâd called him every name in the book and heâd never heard from her again. Yeah, sheâd broken his heart but sheâd also taught him a lesson that still came back to haunt him when he least expected it.
Like that ridiculous dream.
Dante took a couple of deep breaths, sank back against the pillows and folded his arms behind his head.
Marriage? A wife? Kids? No way. After years of trying to decide what to do with his life, of coming close to losing it a couple of times in places no sane man should have been, heâd finally sorted things out. Now he had everything a man could possibly want: this penthouse, with the morning sun pouring through the skylight above his bed. A cherry-red Ferrari. A private jet.