A Ruthless Proposition

by Natasha Anders

  His brow pleated as he continued to stare at the screen, and after a while, he was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs as he focused on the screen.

  “Why would they play that ridiculous game in a new house?” he asked, shaking his head but never once removing his eyes from the screen.

  “Have you never seen this movie before?” Cleo asked in surprise, and he shook his head, keeping his eyes glued on the television.

  “A lot of the new movies are automatic purchases, but I never have the time to watch. I don’t think I’ve even heard of this movie.”

  “I’ve heard of it, and apparently it’s pretty scary,” she said.

  “It’s a movie,” he scoffed. “We know that it’s fiction. How scary can it possibly be?”

  “This one is based on fact,” she informed him in a spooky voice, and he shot her a fleeting glance before refocusing on the screen.

  “Yeah, probably really loosely based,” he retorted skeptically, and Cleo rolled her eyes.

  “Shush and let me watch. Go back to work or whatever it is you’re doing,” she demanded. His lips quirked and he dropped his eyes back to his documents, but Cleo was watching him surreptitiously and noticed him glancing back up at the screen seconds later. After a while he sat back and put his feet up on the coffee table. One major jump scare later, he was swearing prolifically and on the edge of his seat again.

  Cleo was so busy watching him that she could barely focus on the movie. He was obviously freaked out but trying manfully not to show it, yet he jumped slightly with every scare. It was cute to watch the macho, unflappable Dante Damaso losing his cool over a scary movie.

  By the end of the film, Cleo barely knew what it had been about, while Dante’s face was grim and a little pale.

  “I don’t know how you can watch crap like that,” he grumbled, and she grinned.

  “You seemed to be enjoying it.”

  “I was just . . .” He paused as he considered his next words. “Scientifically curious.”

  “Dante you were so scared you practically peed yourself every time something creepy happened,” she pointed out gleefully, and he looked so affronted that she burst into laughter. The next thing she knew he was kneeling in front of her chair and capturing her mouth with his, swallowing her remaining laughter in a kiss so scorching and intense it set her nerve endings on fire.

  When he finally lifted his mouth, it was to give her a languid smile.

  “Stop laughing at me,” he whispered.

  “I’ve stopped,” she responded shakily.

  “Good.” He kissed her again, this time he added his hands into the mix, and before she knew it, he had dragged her back onto the couch with him and she was straddling his lap.

  “This is a terrible idea,” she protested.

  “I think it’s the best idea I’ve ever had.”

  “Dante, we can’t resume a sexual relationship; it’ll complicate things.” She sounded unconvincing, even to herself. Especially since her hands were roaming beneath his T-shirt and reacquainting themselves with his gorgeous chest and abdomen.

  “How about we finally finish the one we started in Tokyo? We’ve never gotten that out of our systems. We ended it before it ran its course.” Each sentence was punctuated with a long, drugging kiss, while his hands went to town beneath her tank top. She hadn’t bothered to put her bra back on, since her breasts were starting to feel swollen and painful and her bras were all getting too tight and confining. When his fingers flicked one of her nipples, she hissed and arched her back violently.

  “Okay?” he asked worriedly, his hands retreating slightly.

  “Sensitive,” she muttered. “Very, very sensitive. Treat them with care.”

  “Always,” he said, and dragged her tank up to drop a reverent kiss on the hard little nub. He followed it up with a lick and then some quick, extremely tender suctioning.

  “Oh.” Cleo’s hands tangled in his thick hair, and his mouth left her so that he could peer up at her over the peaks of her small breasts.

  “They’re bigger than I remember,” he said, his tone sounded bemused and a little reverent. “And the nipples are darker. Still so damned pretty.”

  He flipped her over until she was sitting on the couch and moved down to kiss her abdomen tenderly, right above the spot where she knew their baby rested. The gesture was so sweet and loving that it took her breath away. Dante might not have known what role he wanted to play in this baby’s life yet, but he was clearly starting to fall in love with it despite himself.

  He moved even lower until he was under her short denim skirt, and he peeked up at her with a grin.

  “I’m glad to see my friend Daisy is back,” he said as he placed his hands on her hips and dragged her down slightly. Shortly after that, “Daisy” was slowly slipped down over her thighs, then knees, before he removed her completely. He took one of her slender thighs and rested it on his broad shoulder before—with one last wicked grin at her—he bent down to taste her.

  Cleo cried out at the touch of his mouth and tongue on her most sensitive flesh, and it didn’t take more than a few strokes before she was lost. She was floating back down and was aware of him rearranging her until he was flat on his back on the marble floor and she was straddled above him.

  “Is it okay if we do this?” he asked, the tip of him poised at her entrance. “For the baby. Is it okay for the baby?”

  “It’s okay,” she said dazedly. This was happening so quickly. Too quickly. His face was tense as he focused on where their bodies were on the verge of joining. Cleo swallowed. Now that her orgasm had passed and she could think clearly again, her previous doubts came swamping back.

  “Dante,” she said, her voice filled with regret as she shifted off him. He looked at her intently before raising an arm to cover his face and sighing deeply.

  “Bad idea, huh?” he muttered.

  “I’m sorry.” She glanced at him and winced at the sight of his angry-looking erection. “You know it’s not a good idea. It just all happened so fast.”

  He nodded, his mouth tight beneath the arm that covered his eyes.

  “I’m going to need some . . . time,” he said.

  “I think I should go home,” she whispered.

  “No!” he said sharply, and she jumped. He made an effort to soften his voice before speaking again, shifting his arm to glance at her quickly. “No. Go on upstairs. I just need to get myself under control, and having you right here, where I can still smell and taste your orgasm, is a little difficult.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  “It’s okay, but please just . . .”

  “Yes, of course.” She leaped to her feet and vacated the area as quickly as she could. She scurried up the stairs and slammed into the room she’d already picked as her own. Once there, she crawled to the center of the massive bed, drew her legs up, and buried her face in her knees. How the hell were they going to make this work if they couldn’t keep their hands off each other?

  She only hoped that once she started to show, he would lose interest in her body, even though she could barely look at the man without wanting to spontaneously combust. She had seriously mixed feelings about what had just happened between them and wished she hadn’t allowed it. Especially since the evening had ended with him still hard and wanting. Was this another example of Cleopatra Knight being selfish? At this point she had no clue.

  She officially moved in two weeks later, bringing only her clothes, some books, wall art, and her bed. It was a sad testament to her nearly twenty-eight years that she had absolutely nothing more than that to show for herself.

  Cleo and Dante hadn’t interacted much since that last evening together at his place. They had exchanged telephone conversations, and he had e-mailed her snippets from articles he had read about pregnancy and what she should eat and what vitamins she should be taking. It was endearing and a little disconcerting, the level of interest he took in her pregnancy.

  She, in
turn, had reciprocated with week-fourteen (which they both already knew) and week-fifteen updates.

  She was in regular contact with Blue, but Luc still wasn’t talking to her or Dante, and it broke her heart. She had tried calling him on several occasions, but he never answered and didn’t respond to a single one of her text messages. Blue told Cleo that he needed time. Cleo gave him his space, but it was difficult not having him around to talk to. She couldn’t remember a single time in her life when her brother hadn’t been there for her, and this was so much harder without his support.

  Cal was doing well. Since their talk, he’d made a real effort to find decent work. He’d auditioned to be part of the corps de ballet for a small dance company based in Durban, and they had called him just that morning to inform him that he’d gotten the job. He would be staying for the remainder of Cleo’s lease and leaving two weeks after she moved out. Cleo was happy for him, but she would miss him like crazy, especially since her relationship with Luc was so strained.

  Cleo’s own life was looking up too. She’d started helping Susan out with a few classes—kids between the ages of ten and twelve—and she loved it. More than she ever expected. Susan even offered to let her do the choreography for one of their upcoming recitals and was willing to let her do even more classes if the recital went well.

  Cleo’s love for dance was rekindling, but in a different way. She was thinking more and more about the technical aspects of it, how a dancer’s body moved, how she could achieve certain shapes with those bodies through her choreography. It felt fantastic.

  And as far as her pregnancy went, she was developing a tiny bump, which was even more exciting than her new part-time job. Once, she even thought she felt a little wriggle in there, but she’d been mistaken. She couldn’t wait for the baby to start moving.

  Now she stood in her new room in Dante’s penthouse and took in the changes he’d made to accommodate her. Of course, the trendy king-size bed was gone and had been replaced by her four-poster bed, which would have looked out of place in the room had he held on to the old furniture. But whomever it was he employed to do these things had matched bed stands, bureau, and dresser with the warm teak of her bed, and the room looked so much more inviting. Vertical bamboo blinds, which made it feel more private, now covered the windows.

  Dante was standing in the doorway as she took in her new surroundings, and when she looked back at him, she was surprised to see a flash of nerves on that handsome face. He disguised it pretty quickly, but that brief glimmer had been enough for Cleo to recognize that he was actually unsure of her reaction to the room.

  “I like this room a lot better now,” she said with a smile, and could see the tension around his eyes easing, even though there was no perceptible change in his expression.

  “Great,” he said. “I have something else to show you. Follow me.”

  Curious, she trailed him out of the room and into his gym. He stood aside and waved her in, and she passed him tentatively, wondering what he could possibly have to show her in here. When she looked around the room and noticed what was different, her eyes immediately flooded with irrational, stupid tears.

  “Oh my God, Dante,” she cried, her hands going to her mouth in shock. “This is too much.”

  “Do you like it?” he asked, striving to sound casual.

  “How can I not?” Her voice wobbled dangerously, and she inhaled deeply as she walked toward the sprung floor that simply hadn’t been there just two weeks before. He had cleared out a whole corner of his gym for the floor, covered the wall with mirrored panels, and installed a ballet barre to run parallel with the floor.

  “I know it’s not as big as the space you’re used to, but I was hoping it would suffice. And of course I consulted a professional dancer—Callum, actually—about the type of floor that would be best. I wasn’t sure . . .” She turned around and shut him up with a fierce hug and an equally intense kiss. The kiss was short-lived, and she stood back to stare into his stunned eyes through a haze of tears.

  “Nobody has ever done anything like this for me before,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “I . . .” At a loss for words, he settled for a shrug. Cleo kicked off her shoes and stepped onto the floor. She took hold of the barre and did a quick and easy series of demi-pliés.

  “I can’t wait to give it a go,” she said over her shoulder, while he stared at her with a completely unreadable expression.

  “Great,” he said tightly. “I have to get back to the office. I’ve squandered enough of my day. James will remain to run your biometrics through the security system. He’ll explain how it all works.”

  He left without so much as a backward glance.

  Stung, Cleo reminded herself to never lose sight of the fact that he was Dante Damaso, and despite any unexpected kindnesses he might throw her way, he wasn’t a very nice man. She was here only because of the baby in her belly, and she’d better not forget that. While there might be some residual desire between them, it would be dangerous to confuse that with anything more meaningful.

  Her hand came to rest on the small bump of her baby, and all her joy in the room fled. She stepped off the floor and, barefoot, went in search of James.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Two weeks later, Cleo was sitting on the horrendous couch with a huge comfy pillow shoved behind her back and her feet propped up on the coffee table. She had a bowl of warm, buttery popcorn on the stand next to the couch and was watching one of her all-time favorite movies with the intensity of someone seeing it for the first time.

  Dante had been pretty much absent since she’d moved in. He left before she got up in the mornings and came home way after her bedtime. And because he was such a neat freak, he even had a maid come in to clean up his nonexistent mess every other day, so there was never any trace of him around the place. It was like living with a ghost.

  Cleo, who was so used to Cal being up in her business and Luc constantly calling, felt lonely. She still had her friends from the dance studio and had befriended a few of the mothers of the girls she taught, but at the end of the day, she came home alone to this tomblike place. She wasn’t unhappy, but she felt increasingly isolated. She didn’t have to worry about money or work or her apartment falling apart around her ears—which was a relief—but she had no one to talk to.

  Blue called her regularly, but Cleo tried to keep her sense of isolation from her friend because she didn’t want Blue to feel torn between her concern for Cleo and her love for Luc.

  Cleo was spending most days at the studio now, and Susan had entrusted her with two back-to-back classes in the afternoons after school hours and with choreographing the ten- to twelve-year-old group’s upcoming recital performance. It was exciting and challenging, and she had so many ideas. Of course she had to consider her students’ abilities, and once she had everything ironed out, they would start rehearsing the dance. She couldn’t imagine anything more exciting than to see her idea come to life onstage. It felt like she had two babies due, and both of them were bringing joy, excitement, and fulfillment into her life.

  Most evenings were spent working out for an hour or so at the barre Dante had installed for her—since she didn’t have time to do so at Susan’s studio anymore—working on the routine, and then eating some dinner and settling down to watch a movie. Tonight, after a long bath in the massive tub in her room, she had donned shorty pajamas and a pair of striped knee socks before getting comfy in front of the TV. She was so focused on the movie that she didn’t even notice the front door swing open and wasn’t aware of Dante’s presence until he spoke.

  “What are you watching?” he asked from almost directly behind her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “Crap,” she squeaked, lifting a hand to her chest. “You scared the stuffing out of me.”

  “Stuffing?” He raised an eyebrow at her language, and she wrinkled her nose.

  “I read somewhere that the baby can hear my voice. I don’t want him to pick up any bad
language before he’s even born.”

  “He can hear us?” Dante looked completely disconcerted by that bit of news, and after shrugging out of his jacket and neatly placing it on the chair, he sat down on the couch next to her. “Seriously?”

  “Yep. Shocked the shi—sherbet out of me too.”

  He grinned, the expression so infectious she found herself grinning back.

  “How long do you think you’ll be able to keep that up?” he asked, his voice wobbling with laughter.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to try my damnedest not to . . .” She paused, frowned, and then her shoulders sank as she grasped what she’d said. “Shit.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he chuckled, toeing off his shiny shoes and propping his feet up on the table next to hers. Of course his legs were a lot longer, so they were bent at the knees while hers were straight. She got a funny little flutter in her stomach at the sight of his long, slender feet next to her much smaller ones. How could a man’s feet be sexy?

  “I’m exhausted,” he confessed, his shoulders slumped and his voice weary. “Tokyo hit another snag, and Dubai just can’t seem to get off the ground. I spent the entire week bogged down in meetings.”

  Without seeming to think about it, he turned sideways, dropping his feet over the arm of the couch and—shockingly—his head into her lap. He tugged at his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons in an effort to get more comfortable and then turned to face the TV.

  “What are we watching?”

  The “we” undid her, and she allowed the tension to leave her body at this unexpected turn of events. Her hands, which had been hovering in midair as she tried to figure out where to place them, dropped—one to his hair and the other to his shoulder.

  “Uh . . .” She stared blankly at the screen as the high-resolution space marines argued among themselves. “Aliens.”

  “Oh, I know that one,” he muttered, his voice sounding slurred. “What was that thing she said? ‘Stay away from her, bitch’?”