Dreaming Dante (The Adamos Book 7)

by Mia Madison

  Not satisfied with his intake, she tries to give them back again. He shakes his head, and her lower lip protrudes. Sophie has a stubborn streak.

  “That’s your food, kid. You gotta eat it.”

  “Tontay,” she repeats, and offers him another bit.

  “I had some. If you don’t eat, how are you gonna grow up big and strong?”

  She considers this, then solemnly shoves a piece of sandwich in her mouth and chews. I set the sippy cup on her tray and shoot Dante a smile she can’t see.

  He gets that look on his face again, like the last time I smiled at him. Before I can move away, his hand curls around my thigh just above my knee.

  Heat penetrates the thin cloth of my lightweight pants and burns into my skin like a brand, then shoots down between my legs. My eyes get big. Okay, this probably doesn’t count as an “I don’t like you that way” move.

  He squeezes lightly, his eyes still holding mine, then lets me go. I wander in a daze back over to the refrigerator.

  “Mama?”

  “What, baby?”

  I sound like a total airhead, because my brain has not recovered from Dante touching me. Turning, I see him staring at the table with great concentration, his lips pressed together, obviously trying hard not to smile — or, worse yet, laugh. If Sophie weren’t in the room I’d throw something at him.

  12

  Sitting Duck

  My daughter waves a piece of carrot at me and I smile. “Thank you, Sophie, but I’m going to make something for me and Dante.” A cloud appears on her face. “And you can have some of that, too, when it’s ready, but I didn’t want you to wait that long.”

  Pacified, she goes back to her sandwich while I try to decide what to fix for dinner. On the one hand, Dante belongs to a big Italian family and, evidently, likes to cook, so I shouldn’t try my hand at spaghetti or lasagna. On the other hand, those are two foods that I know my daughter will eat.

  “I’m making spaghetti,” I announce. “Don’t shoot me if you don’t like it.”

  “No complaints here. Let me know if you need a hand.”

  Everything is stored in very logical places -- the way I’d organize my own kitchen if I had one. Maybe that comes from running the parts store, or maybe he’s just naturally good at it. In seconds, I have water boiling and a pan out for the sauce.

  “You can make the garlic bread if you want,” I say absently.

  He doesn’t respond, but moments later I feel him in the kitchen behind me. I don’t hear him until he starts opening cupboards. We work in peaceful silence, sometimes passing each other, and every time we’re that close the very cells in my body tremble.

  I half expect him to butt in on the cooking — taste my sauce and offer critiques — but he doesn’t. I put together a salad once everything else is underway, and Dante sets the table. “You want a glass of wine?” he asks.

  “No. Thank you.” I feel his eyes on me, but don’t look his way.

  When everything’s done, we take our seats, me between Sophie and our host, but she’s not happy. “No, Mama.”

  I frown at her, puzzled; I haven’t even served her any food yet. “No what?” She loves spaghetti, so it’s hard to believe she’s developed a sudden aversion to it.

  “Tontay.”

  “He’s having the spaghetti too.”

  “No, Mama!” She waves her arms and kicks her legs in agitation.

  I’m usually pretty good at figuring out what my daughter wants, but I’m completely baffled. I look back and forth between her and Dante — and then she stretches out her hand toward him, and it hits me.

  “You want Dante to sit close to you too?”

  “Tontay!” This time beaming.

  I shoot him a look. “You don’t have to move if you don’t want to. She’ll live.”

  He doesn’t say a word, but he shifts around the table, plate, place setting and all, until he’s on the other side of her. I focus on cutting up some spaghetti noodles for her, not sure how to respond to this development.

  Dante’s good with her, apart from the swearing, and I always appreciate people who are kind to me and my girl. On the other hand, I’m worried about Sophie getting too attached to him and what it will do to her when we have to move on.

  I’ll have to talk to him about it once she’s asleep. Make it clear that it’s better for all of us if he doesn’t encourage her or pay special attention to her. And I’ll have to tell him the same thing about me, while I’m at it.

  Getting involved with Dante would be a very bad idea. My libido’s all for it, but the rest of me knows better. It would just confuse Sophie.

  “Good.”

  I blink and focus on Dante. “Pardon?”

  “The spaghetti. It’s good.”

  He doesn’t sound like he’s just being polite. I flush with pleasure. “Thanks.”

  After that, dinner is largely a quiet affair. Sophie talks to both of us, in her own fashion, and we answer her, but we don’t really talk to each other. I suspect Dante has caught my mood.

  After dinner, we clean up the kitchen. Again, it’s powerfully disturbing to be that close to him, but I do my best to hide it. When we’re finished, I get started on Sophie’s bedtime routine.

  Despite my fears that she wouldn’t go to sleep without me in the room, she settles down easily, already yawning. Her big day must have worn her out. BeeBee comes in and curls up on the floor by the crib, and I get that pang in my chest again.

  I’m ready for sleep too, but first Dante and I have to get some things straight. When I go back out into the living room, he’s waiting for me, sitting on one end of the couch with his legs stretched out in front of him. I curl up in a nearby armchair that’s angled toward the couch and try to order my thoughts.

  Dante beats me to it. “I think you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

  “What?” I say, caught off guard. That is not on my agenda at all.

  “You’re a good mom. You wouldn’t be taking your daughter on the road with no money and a car that’s on its last legs if you had any choice. Which means you’re running from something.”

  Damn him and his brain. “I can’t talk about it.”

  “Heather.” He waits until, reluctantly, I raise my eyes to his. “Whatever it is, I’ll help you. But you gotta trust me, and I say that because you gotta trust someone.

  “Disappearing takes money. Travel takes money, plus decent transportation. Without resources, you’re a sitting duck, and so’s your girl.”

  13

  Unfit Mother

  I scrub my hands over my face. “All right. You’re right.” And if I have to trust someone, it might as well be the people in this town who have gone out of their way to be good to me.

  “Long story very short: Sophie’s grandparents are trying to get custody.”

  His eyes narrow. “Your parents or his?”

  “His.”

  “Where are yours?”

  I shake my head. “I grew up in foster care.”

  “Where’s her father?”

  “Dead. He got drunk and wrapped his car around a tree.”

  “And instead of helping you, his parents are trying to take your girl away?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hang on.” He grabs his phone and makes a call. “Carlo. Need you over here. Yeah. Yeah. Right.”

  I remember the name from earlier today. “Is that the Carlo Gina’s engaged to?”

  “Yeah. He’s ex-military, has his own security and private investigation firm.”

  “I can’t—”

  He stops me with a look. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll work it out.”

  Carlo shows up a few minutes later, along with Gina. Carlo’s as huge as Dante, and it’s easy to see they’re related. I’m glad Dante mentioned the military background, because his cousin looks a lot more like a commando than a private investigator.

  Gina makes a beeline for me and gives me a hug. “I promise you — and I don’t even know wha
t’s going on yet — but I promise you, it will be okay. We’re going to make it okay. Believe me.”

  For some reason, I do. Maybe it’s the absolute conviction in her voice. I give her a hard hug in return before I let her go.

  When she and Carlo have found seats, I start again and give all the background. “Who’s Sophie’s father?” Carlo asks gently.

  “Chandler Fitzwilliam Carrington the Fourth.”

  He and Dante exchange glances, and then Carlo pulls out his phone. “Marco. I need everything you can dig up on one Chandler Fitzwilliam Carrington the Third, his wife, and their families. Priority.” He listens a moment, then ends the call and looks back at me expectantly.

  While I try to decide where to start, Gina says, “Let me guess. Chandler’s parents didn’t approve of you.”

  I snort. “Poor girl from the foster care system with no family at all? They didn’t think I was good enough to clean their toilets, let alone date their son.”

  I’ve made a real effort not to hold onto hard feelings toward Sophie’s grandparents, but I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice. Honestly, I did a pretty good job … until they tried to take my daughter.

  “They didn’t even know about me and Chandler until I got pregnant. And then they pretended to be nice to me for the baby’s sake, but once Chandler died they were done with that.”

  “Were you and Chandler married?” Carlo asks.

  “No. I thought it was because he didn’t want to, but in retrospect I think his parents were pressuring him not to. I think that’s why he got drunk that night. Chandler wasn’t a terrible person; he was good to me. But he couldn’t stand up to his parents.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you were in love with him,” Gina says carefully.

  I sigh. “I thought I was, at first. But now I know it was just that I was lonely, and so desperate to be connected to another human being that I fell for the first guy who treated me decently.”

  Through all of this, Dante hasn’t taken his eyes off me. He’s letting the others lead the questioning, but I feel the weight of his attention. It’s like he’s absorbing the answers through his skin.

  “How did you find out Chandler’s parents were seeking custody?” Carlo wants to know.

  I shift in the chair, tucking my legs to the side of me. Even talking about it makes my stomach hurt. “After Chandler’s accident, I moved to another town. I didn’t want the memories. Chandler had given me a little money, right before he died, and I used that to move us into an apartment.

  “I shared babysitting with another mom in the building. I had a job, and we were doing all right. Things were tight, but I was making it work.

  “Then, one day, a man showed up at my job. He was some kind of PI; the Carringtons hired him to find me. He told me they believed I had gotten pregnant to trap Chandler into marrying me, and the money he gave me was effectively stolen. If I gave Sophie to them, they wouldn’t press charges, but if I refused they’d have me arrested and declared an unfit mother.”

  14

  Think Like A Nun

  “Bastards,” Gina snarls. Dante and Carlo have eyes like flint; both of them are suddenly more than a little scary, even though I know it’s not me they’re angry at.

  “I panicked. I was terrified the PI would find Sophie and just take her. And I knew, if they got her, I’d never get her back. People like the Carringtons … they can hire all the best lawyers, who know every trick in the book. No way would I be able to fight them.

  “So I rushed out of work and got in my car to go home, and of course the guy followed me. Then I realized he must not know where she was, and I was going to lead him right to her. I drove toward a daycare center I knew about, and then when I was almost there, I acted like I’d just realized he was behind me, and started driving crazy, trying to lose him.

  “I wound all around the daycare center’s neighborhood for a few minutes, like I was trying to get in there without him figuring out my destination. Went right by it a couple of times. Then I ran a yellow light and got away from him.”

  My audience smiles in grim appreciation. “Smart,” Carlo murmurs. “Give him a decoy to occupy him for a few minutes.”

  “I got home as fast as I could, and Holly helped me pack Gilda. I left almost everything behind because there wasn’t time. On the way out of town, I stopped at an ATM and got out the last of my cash.

  “We’ve been driving at night and sleeping during the day, in the car. And then this morning, Gilda started overheating, and you know the rest.”

  There’s a pause. Then Dante says, “That’s why you didn’t pack clothes.”

  Of course he noticed. My face gets warm. “All I could think about was getting everything Sophie needed into the car as fast as possible.”

  “Unfit mother, my ass.” He mutters it under his breath, but it spreads a warm glow through me.

  Carlo says, “Gina was right, Heather. We’re gonna fix this. Gilda picked the right town to break down in.”

  At that, I have to blink back tears. “Thank you,” I whisper. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

  Gina says, “I think we’re about the same size. I’ll bring over some clothes you can wear.” She and Carlo exchange glances as they stand up.

  I forget what I was going to say, because the way he looks at her … and the way she looks at him. It puts a lump in my throat.

  I get more hugs, another from Gina and one from Carlo, and then they’re gone and Dante says, “You wanna take a shower? Or a bath? I got a robe you can put on.”

  Such a simple but important thing. More than anything else that’s happened, it moves me that he would offer me that kind of care. “That would be great.” My voice is hoarse because I’m trying not to cry — again. “Thank you.”

  He acts like my voice doesn’t sound funny at all. “There’s a regular shower/tub combo in the hall bathroom, or a big tub and a separate shower in the one between the bedrooms.”

  “Just a shower is fine.” I can wash my hair, and it’s faster in case Sophie wakes up. Dante gets a set of towels from the hall closet, and then I’m alone, free to indulge for five glorious minutes. As quick as I can, I peel off my clothes and get under the spray, which is so strong I want to stand there for an hour.

  The hall bath has been remodeled from whatever was here originally, because everything is new. I know what cheap looks like, and the floor, the tile, the fixtures, are … not cheap. The other bathroom must be just as impressive.

  Maybe, if I’m here more than one night, I can try out the tub.

  As soon as the thought appears, I banish it. I can’t stay here. Dante is too tempting. Until all this is over and Sophie is safe, I can’t give the Carringtons anything to work with. A nun should have a racier personal life than I do.

  Tomorrow, I’ll ask him about staying with one of the nonnas. For Sophie’s sake. He’ll understand.

  I race through washing my hair and cleaning up. The shower has everything I need, shampoo and soap and body wash. There’s even a brand-new disposable razor. After I’m done with everything that needs doing, I give myself thirty extra seconds to enjoy the water pounding my stiff muscles.

  When I step out, I feel like a new woman. Toweling off, I wrap my hair, then crack the door open enough to see that Dante has draped the robe over the outer doorknob. It’s huge on me, even with all my curves, and hangs past my knees when it probably barely covers Dante’s ass.

  Don’t think about his ass. The robe smells like him, clean and sharp and masculine. My inner muscles clench, and there’s an ache between my legs.

  You’re a nun. Think like a nun. That doesn’t work because I have absolutely no clue what goes through a nun’s mind.

  I hang up the towel that was wrapped around my hair, wishing I had a blow dryer. And some makeup. No, you don’t. You’re a nun, remember?

  I’m suddenly glad that the robe is so big, and that it’s a plain, thick, cotton terry. It covers more than normal clothing e
ver would. Steeling myself, I leave the bathroom and go down to the living room.

  Dante’s there, on the couch, eyes on the flat-screen tv on the wall, where a baseball game is playing. He looks my way, and his eyes go dark.

  I freeze. Evidently, the robe didn’t work the way I hoped it would. He looks away, a muscle moving in his jaw, and then flicks off the tv and is up on his feet in one graceful motion.

  Run! cries the part of my mind that feels like prey. But I can’t. The rest of me doesn’t care at all that his big, gorgeous body is stalking across the floor toward me.

  He comes to a halt when we’re barely an inch apart. My brain isn’t working any better than the rest of me, so I stay silent. Dante, though, he has words ready.

  “I’d say I should have given you some sweats to put on, instead of my robe. But I don’t think there’s anything you could wear that would stop me from wanting to fuck you.”

  All my chaste good intentions vanish in a wave of heat, and my brain and body gleefully join forces to gang up on my will. You deserve this. One night with a good, sexy man. Something you can remember on cold nights if you have to run again.

  I will never be a nun, because it takes approximately half a second for them to convince me. Closing the gap between us, I press against him, hands on his chest.

  Dante doesn’t ask if I’m sure. He picks me up by my ass, and my legs wrap around him, and then our mouths fuse together.

  15

  Or Possibly Anything

  He tastes as good as he smells. I make eager little sounds against his lips, my fingers tunneling into all that thick, dark hair. Dante licks into my mouth and I suck on his tongue.

  With a soft growl, he carries me into the bedroom, still kissing me. It’s a big room, I can see that much, but most of my attention is caught by the enormous bed. Dante lowers me to it, coming down on top of me, and the first hint of his body pressing against mine drives me mad.