Читать книгу Brazilian Nights - Сандра Мартон, Carol Marinelli - Страница 15

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, bebé,” 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, thank-fully, 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.

He moved the pitcher of water, the glass, the teapot, did a handful of absolutely unnecessary things and then he stepped back.

“Okay,” he said brightly. “As I said, if you need anything…”

“Thank you.”

“Do you feel better?”

“I’m fine.”

The hell she was. Her face was almost the same shade of ivory as the pillow. The baby, at least, looked okay. He was sleeping, lashes dusting his cheeks, mouth pursed in a small bow.

Cute.

Dante frowned. Wrong. The baby didn’t look cute as much as he looked, well, like a miniature of a familiar face. A very familiar face…

He swallowed hard. Turned his gaze on Gabriella.

“Yeah. Well, we’ll see what the doctor has to say.”

“Dante. I don’t need a—”

“Yes. You do.”

“I don’t. Honestly, Dante—”

“Honestly, Gabriella,” he said, and then, because he damned well had to do it, he bent and kissed her, very lightly, on the mouth. “Ring the bell if you need me,” he said, and then he was gone.

Gabriella glared at the closed door. Damn the man! Did he think he could give her orders? Kiss her into obedience? He had not changed at all. He still acted as if he owned the world.

She had hated that about him.

She had adored that about him.

Until he’d come into her life, she’d never known you could be furious at a man and crazy about him at the same time, but how could anyone hold Dante’s macho arrogance against him? It was part of him and it was incredibly sexy. He’d shown it the first time he phoned to ask her out, except he hadn’t “asked” her anything. He’d said hello, reminded her they’d met at a party a few nights before, and then he’d told her he’d be by at eight to take her to dinner.

“Did I miss something?” she’d said, even though she’d been hoping he would call. “I mean, exactly when did you ask me out?”

“Why should I ask you for something we both want?” he’d said in a low, husky voice.

Being sure of himself was part of who Dante Orsini was.

The trouble was, he was sure of her, too. Sure that she was mesmerized by him. And she had been. For all her air of cool sophistication, she’d been his from the start.

“I don’t want you seeing anyone but me,” he’d said, that very first night. She’d been in his arms by then. In his bed. In this bed. And he’d been deep, deep inside her. “You belong to me,” he’d added, his voice rough. “You’re mine. Do you understand that?”

Yes, she’d said, yes, yes, yes.

Gabriella blinked back the sudden threat of tears. Ridiculous. It had been fun. She had been faithful. So had Dante. He was, after all, a moral man. It was just that his interest in a woman never lasted all that long.

As for what seemed to be happening now…it meant nothing. He was a virile male in his prime. And she—she was a woman who had not had sex in quite a while.

All right.

She had not had sex since the night before he’d gone away on business.

The baby gave a little cry in his sleep. Gabriella drew him closer. She would get them out of here as fast as she could. A few phone calls would start the process. Then she’d thank Dante for all his help and say goodbye.

Another knock at the door.

Dante again. This time with a physician in tow. He introduced them, then left the room. If the doctor was surprised at finding a woman and an infant in Dante Orsini’s bed, he gave no sign, simply examined her and then Daniel, who reacted to the insult to his small person with earsplitting wails of protest.

The doctor packed away his stethoscope.

“You have a virus.”

“I could have told you that,” Gabriella said grumpily.

“The baby’s fine,” he said, ignoring her bad manners. “Has he ever had formula?”

“Yes, but why? Will it be dangerous for me to nurse him while I’m sick?”

“Not dangerous. Tiring. You need to rest. And to drink plenty of fluids. Let Mr. Orsini take care of things while you concentrate on getting better.”

The doctor left. Dante reappeared. The ease with which he had taken over, making decisions for her, was, for some reason, infuriating. When he held out his hand and showed her the two capsules in his palm, she shook her head.

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I’m not taking those things. Your doctor should know better than to prescribe antibiotics for a virus.”

Dante rolled his eyes. “They’re Tylenol.”

Of course they were. And they’d help ease the ache in her bones, in her head. Another decision she’d let Dante make…and what did it matter? It was only temporary.

She took the capsules. Drank some water.

“More,” Dante ordered.

She glowered at him but she finished what was in the glass.

“Thank you,” Dante said, straight-faced. He took the glass, put it on the night table. Then he scooped the baby from the improvised crib where the doctor had put him.

“What are you doing?”

“Lie back. Close your eyes. Get some rest.”

“Listen here, Dante, I am not yours to command. I am not a child—”

“Listen here, Gabriella,” he said, spoiling it by flashing a grin that made her want to grin in return. She didn’t, of course, and he swooped in to press a quick, soft kiss to her parted lips.

“You’ll catch the flu,” she said, because she had to say something or run the danger of kissing him back.

He touched the tip of his finger to her nose. “Time to take a nap.”

“But Daniel…”

“Daniel and I will do just fine.”

Hearing her son’s name slip so softly and simply from Dante’s lips did something to her, something that left her knowing she dared not reply for danger of doing something stupid…like weeping. Instead she watched Dante stroll from the room, the baby pressed to his shoulder, her son’s pale eyes filled with curiosity.

All right. She’d lie here for a few minutes. Then she’d go rescue the baby from a man who knew nothing about babies.

She awoke and knew that hours must have gone by.

Experimentally she stretched her limbs. She hurt a little but nowhere near as much as before.

Cautiously she sat up. Got to her feet. Her legs felt a little like undercooked pasta, but nothing major seemed wrong except that she needed to pee, desperately, and there wasn’t a way in the world she was going to ring for Dante and ask him to help her with that.

She made it to the bathroom, sank down on the toilet, sighed with relief as she emptied her bladder. She flushed, gave the huge walk-in shower a longing glance but decided not to push her luck. Instead she washed her hands and face, used Dante’s brush on her hair, automatically opened the drawer that had always held a couple of packaged toothbrushes, tried not to think of how many women had opened this same drawer in the past months, unwrapped a brush and cleaned her teeth.

She looked in the mirror.

Not great but it would have to do.

Dante’s soft terry robe hung, as it always had, behind the door. She put it on over the T-shirt, paused in the bedroom to get a pair of panties and set out in search of her baby.

The enormous two-story penthouse was quiet. What time was it? It was light outside, but barely. Was it night or was it day? Amazing, how she’d lost track of the hours.

She went down the wide, curved staircase, a cautious hand on the carved banister. Her legs had gone from feeling like undercooked spaghetti to spaghetti al dente. A good sign, surely…

Was that a sound? A voice? She paused at the foot of the stairs.

Yes. There was bright light at the end of the wide corridor she knew led to Dante’s big, if rarely used, showplace of a kitchen. Slowly she made her way there, her bare feet soundless against the cool marble floor—and stopped at the entrance, eyes widening.

The voice she’d heard was Dante’s. Barefoot the same as she, wearing jeans and a T-shirt that clung to his muscled torso, he sat in a high-backed swivel stool at the granite counter, Daniel in the curve of his arm.

The baby was staring up at him and sucking contentedly at a bottle of formula.

The two of them looked as if they’d been doing this kind of thing forever.

“Hey, buddy,” Dante said, “you’re doing a great job. That’s the way. Drink it all down. I know it isn’t what you’re used to but it’s good for you just the same. It’ll put hair on your chest, you’ll see.”

Gabriella’s eyes filled with tears. She leaned back against the wall, determined not to let Dante see her until she got herself under control. Seeing her lover—her once-upon-a-time lover—and her son like this was almost more than she could bear.

And yet she knew better than to read anything into the scene.

Dante was an intelligent, capable man. Faced with a problem, he would always attempt to solve it: she was sick; the baby needed to be cared for; he’d taken charge. He was good at that. Still, it was hard to see the two of them together without feeling almost indescribable joy.

“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. But it was much, much more than she’d ever seen him do in the past. Back then he’d been a whiz at making restaurant reservations and, once or twice, phoning down for Chinese take-out.

Dante Orsini, doing kitchen duty?

Never…until tonight.

Hours later she and Daniel were both yawning. Dante offered to give the baby a bottle but she said no, she’d nurse him. “Are you sure?” Dante said and she nodded and decided that telling him she really had to do it, that her breasts would be swollen and heavy unless she did, was more than she wanted to discuss. It was too private, too intimate…

Too much.

She nursed Daniel, sitting in the beautiful rocking chair in his room while Dante cleaned up the kitchen. When she was done, they bathed the baby together. Dante said he felt too clumsy to do it, but he took over halfway through, laughing when Daniel splashed water all over him, wrapping the baby in a big bath towel, then diapering him and dressing him in a blue onesie.

Dante lowered him gently into his crib. Gabriella kissed her son’s head. Dante stroked his dark hair.

“Good night, pal,” he said softly.

Out in the hall, for the first time all day, they were alone. The penthouse seemed wrapped in silence. Their eyes met. She felt the heat rise in her face. He took a step toward her. She took a quick step back.

“No. We can’t.” Her voice was breathless. “It would—it would only complicate things.”

He nodded. Hadn’t he already reached that same conclusion?

It was her turn to nod. “So…so, good night.”

“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered. And then he reached for her and she went into his arms.