Читать книгу Brazilian Nights - Сандра Мартон, Carol Marinelli - Страница 12

GABRIELLA had promised herself she would not tell Dante that her baby was his—but that was when telling him would have meant seeking him out after Daniel’s birth, and what would she have said then?

“Hello, Dante, how have you been and, by the way, here’s your son?”

Logic had kept her from something so foolish. Dante didn’t want her; why would he want to know she’d had his child?

But this—this was different.

Fate, circumstance, whatever, had brought him back into her life. He had seen her little boy, asked her a direct question. How could she lie to him?

Now, waiting for him to react, she realized that she should have lied.

He looked as if he’d been struck dumb.

If this were an old movie, if she was Meg Ryan and he was Tom Hanks, he’d have gone from shock to joy in a heartbeat. But this wasn’t a movie. More to the point, this was Dante Orsini, the man who lost interest in a woman after a couple of months. She’d known his reputation—and she’d wanted him anyway. The part of her that yearned to be a sophisticate had said she could handle an affair like that.

Wrong. Agonizingly wrong. She had not been able to handle it, especially when he’d cut her from his life as if she’d never been part of it. How on earth could she have told him she’d had his child after that?

But she had told him now, only after he’d bullied her into submission.

No, she thought, watching him, no, this was not a movie. It was real life. And Dante’s face said it all.

Shock. Disbelief. Horror. His color had drained away until the same pale-blue eyes she saw in her baby’s face glittered like pools of winter ice in his.

She took a steadying breath. She wasn’t feeling very well. The auction. Ferrantes. Dante turning up and now this. Her head ached. The truth was, everything ached. Maybe she was coming down with something or maybe she was simply reacting to the endless, awful day. Whatever the reason, she wanted Dante out of here. She was not up to trying to explain anything to him or to hearing him deny that Daniel was his.

But, strange as it might seem, she could understand it.

She’d been in denial, too. Complete denial. She hadn’t even admitted the possibility she might be pregnant when she had missed her period. Her cycle had never been regular so she hadn’t thought anything about being late. She had no morning queasiness. No tenderness in her breasts. And then one night, alone in her bed because Dante was away on business, it had simply hit her.

Maybe she was pregnant.

She’d thrown on some clothes, rushed to the all-night pharmacy on the next block, bought a home pregnancy test kit, took it home, peed on the little stick…

Two hours and six test kits later, she’d slumped to the cold tile bathroom floor in horror. So, yes, she could see that Dante might react with shock….

“—be mine, Gabriella?”

She blinked, looked at him. His color was back. So was his arrogance. It was in his voice, in the way he was looking at her, even in the way he held himself. Aloof, removed, apart. Once, she’d found that lord-of-the-universe attitude sexy. Not anymore. She was no longer the foolish, impressionable woman who’d fallen for the great Dante Orsini.

“Did you hear me? I said, how could the child be mine?”

She felt the throbbing in her temples increase in tempo. The cold question hurt. She would not let him know that, of course. He had hurt her enough the night he’d handed her those damnable earrings.

“The usual way,” she said with deliberate sarcasm. “Or did you not take Sex Ed 101?”

“This isn’t the least bit amusing,” he said coldly. “I used condoms. Always.”

Yes, he had. Sometimes, she’d done it for him. They’d both liked that. She could remember, with heart-stopping clarity, the silk-over-steel feel of him against her palms. The feel of his hand in her hair, cupping the back of her head as she bent to him.

“Gabriella.” His voice was frigid. “Did you hear what I said? You know damned well that I always used protection.”

This was more than denial. He was accusing her of lying. She wanted to ball up her fist and hit him. What kind of woman did he think she was? Did he think she would make up a story such as this?

“What I know,” she said, “is that I became pregnant despite your ‘protection.’”

His mouth thinned. “If a condom had failed, I’d have known it.”

Oh, how she wanted to slap that superior-to-thou expression off his face!

“Of course,” she said with a bitter smile. “You are, after all, the man who knows everything.”

“I know that it would be difficult for anyone to see how I could have impregnated you.”

He sounded as if he were describing a laboratory experiment instead of the coming together of a man and a woman. Didn’t he remember how sex had been between them? She did. She could remember it all. Dante, between her thighs. His mouth drinking from hers. The feel of him, slowly entering her. The scent of his skin, the essence of their shared passion….

Deus, what was the matter with her? Why had she told him Daniel was his? This discussion was without purpose. The only interest he would possibly have in her baby was in convincing himself the baby was not his.

And that was fine, she thought, and moved briskly to the door, wrapped her hand around the knob and yanked it open.

“We are done here, Dante.”

“Done?” He laughed. “We haven’t even started. I want answers.”

“You have your answer. You asked whose child Daniel was. I told you. You denied it. We have nothing more to say to each other.”

He reached out his hand, slapped the door closed and stepped closer to her. He could feel his adrenaline pumping. Did she really think she could toss him out? Never mind that he owned this house. How about the bombshell she’d just dropped on him? Telling him the kid upstairs was his….

You asked, a sly voice inside him whispered.

Yes. He’d asked. And she’d answered. He had every right to follow up with questions—or did she assume he’d accept her fantastic claim just because she’d made it?

A man only did something that stupid once in a lifetime. He’d done a lot of growing up since the incident with Teresa D’Angelo.

“Let’s assume the kid is mine.”

Bile rose in her throat. “Go away,” she said, her voice shaking. “Forget this conversation ever took place.”

“Which is it? Are you claiming he’s mine or that he isn’t?”

It was too late to lie. “He is yours,” she said wearily, “but only by biological accident.”

“Did you know you were pregnant with the kid the night we broke up?”

“I told you,” she said, her eyes suspiciously bright, “he has a name. Daniel.”

“Fine. Great. Did you know you were carrying Daniel when we broke up?”

“The night you said I’d worn out my welcome, you mean?”

“Dammit, answer the question. Did you know?”

“What if I did?”

“Didn’t it occur to you to tell me?”

Her eyes brightened with anger. “When? Before the earrings or after?”

He felt his face heat. She made it sound as if he’d been trying to buy her off, as if this whole damned thing was his fault.

“I gave you a gift because I…I wanted you to know you’d meant something to me.”

Her hand flew through the air, connected, hard, with his cheek. He caught her wrist, dragged her arm behind her back. He knew he wasn’t being gentle. She winced, rose to her toes but he didn’t give a damn.

“Do not,” he snarled, “do not, whatever you do, try to make it my fault you didn’t inform me of this—of this situation!”

“Is that what it was?” Her voice shook. “Because I’d describe it differently. I was pregnant. Pregnant with your child. And you were dumping me and tossing me a…a bauble when all I’d ever wanted from you was…was—” She tried to jerk away but his hand only tightened on her. “Let go of me, Dante. Do us both a favor and just go away.”

She was trembling.

She had trembled that night, too. He had noticed it but he’d told himself it meant nothing, that she’d get over it. She was an adult; she was a model, dammit. She’d dated a lot of men.

Hadn’t she?

She’d seemed so innocent in his bed. As if everything they did, everything he did, was new to her. And that night, after he’d told her it was over, there’d been something in her eyes, a quick flash he’d chosen not to think about.

It was there now.

Was it a flash of pain?

His throat tightened.

He knew how to soothe that pain. He could gather her in his arms. Hold her against his heart. Kiss her. Caress her. Tell her that he’d never stopped thinking of her. That he’d missed her. That he still wanted her.

Merda!

What in hell was he thinking? How could she still have this effect on him? It was why he’d stopped seeing her, not because the affair had gone on too long but because he’d felt her getting inside him, getting to him. Well, it wasn’t going to happen again, especially now. The last thing he needed was to react to her, feel that tug of lust low in his belly that he’d always felt when he was with her.

For all he knew, she was counting on it.

Some tears, a kiss, and he’d bought her the fazenda. Now this fantastic story, a few tears, another kiss and he would say, sure, the kid was his and how much would she need to keep it and herself in the style to which she so obviously wanted to grow accustomed?

Was the boy his? That was the question of the century. If the answer was yes, he’d do whatever had to be done, but he wasn’t about to accept a woman’s word as proof. Been there, done that, he thought grimly, and he let go of Gabriella’s wrist and stepped back.

“I want proof.”

“You don’t need proof. I want nothing from you.”

“Like you didn’t want the fazenda when you climbed all over me this morning? Come on, baby. Let’s not play games. I want proof of the kid’s—of Daniel’s parentage. When was he born? Where? Is my name on his birth certificate?”

Tears were streaming down her face. If this was a performance, it was a damned good one.

“Get out,” she hissed. “Get out of my life! I did not ask you for anything when I carried my baby. I am not asking you for anything now. I never wanted anything from you, Dante! Not your money, not your fancy gifts—”

“But you wanted this,” he growled, and he gave up fighting what he wanted, what he always wanted when he was near her. He swept his arms around her, bent his head and captured her mouth with his, kissing her hard, kissing her without mercy, forcing her lips apart, his tongue penetrating her, demanding the response she had always, always given him.

But she gave him nothing tonight. She stood motionless within his embrace. Slowly he raised his head. Her eyes were open, dark and empty and filled with pain.

“I beg you,” she whispered. “If you ever cared for me at all, please, go away.”

He stared at her. Of course he had cared for her. The truth was, he’d cared for her too much. He wanted to tell her that, to kiss her again, to hold her close and change her unhappy tears to soft, sweet sighs…

He stepped back.

What the hell had he been thinking?

The fact of it was, he hadn’t been thinking.

He had to get out of here. Talk to his lawyer. His brothers. Arrange for tests and if the tests came up positive, figure out how to handle all of this.

He went out of the house without so much as a backward look.

One thing was certain, he told himself as he drove away.

This time, he would not turn around and go back. He was done with Gabriella. With Brazil.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing here for him.

All he could think of was getting home.

To hell with waiting for morning, he thought grimly as he strode into the lobby of his hotel. It was very late and the concierge was dozing behind his desk, but who gave a damn?

Dante woke him. Told him he wanted to rent a plane and a pilot. The concierge yawned. Dante spoke sharply. Pulled out his checkbook, said he wanted that plane, wanted it now.

A couple of calls, and it was done.

He was airborne an hour later. The plane was handsome, the pilot was efficient, the sky was shot through with moonlight and stars.

And Dante…Dante was in a mess.

He was a man who had never shirked responsibility. Wasn’t that how he’d ended up in Bonito in the first place? Because Cesare had somehow transferred responsibility for righting some long-ago wrong to him? Yes, Cesare had gotten the details wrong. There was no dying man, no successful ranch about to be dropped into the hands of a son incapable of running it. There was, instead, a ranch he’d somehow ended up owning.

Like it or not, the fazenda was his, not his father’s.

A muscle knotted in his jaw.

And there was more.

There was a woman, alone and penniless. A baby she said was his.

Dante groaned and closed his eyes.

A mess, indeed.

What he’d said was true. He always used a condom even though, okay, there’d been times with Gabriella—and only with Gabriella—that he’d wanted to make love without that thin layer of latex sheathing him. The need to feel the slide of his erect penis against the warm silk walls of her had driven him half-crazy. He’d wanted to know that nothing, absolutely nothing separated him from her, that she was his in a way he’d never wanted another woman to be his.

“Dammit,” he growled, shifting his weight in the leather seat.

Thinking X-rated thoughts gave a man’s body a predictable reaction. And turning himself on was not what this was all about.

Besides, he would never have done such a stupid thing as have unprotected sex.

He enjoyed risk. Back-country skiing with the everpresent danger of avalanche. White-water kayaking. Skydiving. Letting his money and his reputation ride on financial deals that made other men blanch. He was into all that.

But sex without protection? That wasn’t risk, it was suicide unless you were ready to marry, settle down, have kids. He wasn’t. For all he knew, he would never be ready. He knew what women were like. They schemed. They plotted. They wanted wealthy husbands and they weren’t above doing whatever it took to get them.

So, no sex without protection.

Still, accidents happened.

If you didn’t leave a woman’s body quickly enough, after you ejaculated, if you didn’t get out and get that rubber off, there could be a problem. He’d always done it right. That one explosive moment, the sense of welcome release and then a kiss, because he knew after-play was important to a woman, a light caress, and he withdrew, headed for the john, took care of things. No wham, bam, thank you, ma’am, but no lingering so long that a rubber could leak, either.

Except…except, toward the end of things with Gabriella, he hadn’t always followed those rules.

There’d been times the thought of withdrawing from all that heat, that sweet warmth, had seemed impossible. Times he’d stayed deep inside her, holding her, kissing her, not wanting to leave her even after he’d come.

How protective was a condom then?

Not very, he thought glumly. And whose fault was that, if not his own?

And, damn, even now, his body stirred at the memory.

Okay. Enough of that. The sex had been fantastic. The truth was, he’d never had better sex before or since, but that had nothing to do with this situation. And, yeah, it was a situation, even if she found the word offensive. And the only way to deal with it was head-on.

He took out his phone, flipped it open. Brought up his contact list. Paused, his finger above his attorney’s name. Thought about the tests the guy would recommend, the time they’d take to run. Thought about Gabriella, alone with a baby in that big, falling-down house and Ferrantes salivating all over her.

Dante muttered a couple of ripe obscenities, put the phone away, rose to his feet and walked to the front of the plane. The flight attendant looked up as he made his way past her, gave him a surprised smile.

“Ah, senhor, you wish something? You had only to press the call button.”

He ignored her, rapped sharply on the cockpit door, then opened it.

“Captain.”

The pilot and copilot turned and looked at him. He saw confusion, then concern on their faces and silently called himself a fool. One did not enter an airplane cockpit, even on a chartered plane, so precipitously in today’s world. That he had done so only gave proof to what he already knew: he had not settled things in Brazil, and until he did, he would not be in any condition to move on with his own life.

“Captain,” he said quickly, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile, “forgive me for intruding but I wish to change our destination.”

His words only made the men look more alarmed.

“I wish to return to Bonito,” he said, even more quickly. “My apologies for the inconvenience and, of course, I will pay for the flight as arranged, plus an additional amount for the change in plans.”

The pilot got straight to the point.

“Because?” he said, and waited.

What was the answer that would be best understood? “A woman,” Dante said briskly.

The pilot and copilot both grinned. “Ah. In that case…no problema, Senhor Orsini. We will be back on the ground in no time.”

Dante nodded. “Excellent.”

And it was excellent. He’d return to Brazil, do everything that had to be done. He’d promised Gabriella the deed to the fazenda and she could have it. As for the rest…DNA tests. Blood tests. Sure, but who was he kidding? The child was his. The blue eyes. The dark hair. Besides, he knew Gabriella. She wouldn’t lie to him. There wasn’t a deceitful bone in her body.

Her lush, beautiful body—And what did that matter?

She was out of his life. That was what he’d wanted the night he broke up with her; it was what he wanted now. But he’d do the right thing. Give her the ranch. Set up a trust fund for the kid. Another for her. And that would be the end of it.

The absolute, complete end.

Then he’d get on with his life.