A Ruthless Proposition

by Natasha Anders

  The thought brought fresh tears to her eyes, and she curled up into a tight ball, wanting to be as small as possible in an effort to shield herself from the relentless barrage of pain. This would pass. It had to pass.

  Dante’s initial reaction to his front door opening up unexpectedly was to hope for one wild moment that it was Cleo coming home. But when Luc stepped over the threshold instead of Cleo, Dante could do nothing but stare at the man stupidly

  “How did you get in here?” he asked after a long moment of silence.

  “Your guy, James, let me in. Turns out he’s a little concerned about you.” Luc ran a critical eye over Dante. “And I can see why. When did you last shower?”

  “Is Cleo okay?” he asked, ignoring his friend’s question. Luc had advised him last week to give her some space, and Dante had reluctantly complied. After the accident and its terrible consequences, he had started to doubt his every decision, especially where Cleo was concerned. But not a day went by that he didn’t want to tear over there and drag her back home with him. He slept in her damned bed every night, for God’s sake.

  “Cleo’s about the same as you,” Luc said, and Dante forced away his annoyance at the cryptic response. “From the looks of you, you haven’t been eating or showering, and according to James, you haven’t left the building since last week. Not even to go to work.”

  “I am entitled to compassionate leave, just like every one of my employees,” Dante said defensively, and then immediately regretted rising to Luc’s obvious baiting.

  “Look, I know I told you to give Cleo space, but I take that back. She’s . . . she’s in a bad place.”

  “She just lost her baby,” Dante pointed out.

  “And so did you,” Luc said with a nod. “And that’s why I was wrong in telling you to give her space. Neither of you should be going through this alone.”

  “She won’t want me around,” Dante said quietly.

  “Do you want to be around?” Dante gave him a look that told Luc exactly how dumb he thought that question was. “Then you should be around.”

  Exactly two weeks to the day after losing Zach, Cleo was wandering around the house like a wraith. Blue and Dante had both gone to work, and Cleo knew she should attempt to do something more positive than stay at home. It was a glorious summer day in mid-December, and nobody had even mentioned Christmas because her brother and Blue were both walking on eggshells around her. They had gently tried to talk her into thinking about some kind of farewell ceremony for Zach, but Cleo still couldn’t bring herself to even contemplate it.

  Her body was slowly returning to normal; her milk had dried up, and she’d spent a day crying over that too. She didn’t recognize herself anymore. Who was this woman who could spend entire days crying, and other days just staring at a wall doing nothing? She felt like she had lost herself along with the baby and couldn’t find her way back.

  So today was the day she would turn it all around. She would get dressed, leave the house, and buy Christmas presents for Blue and Luc. She would go to the hospital and pick up Zach’s ashes . . .

  Only she couldn’t.

  When midday rolled around, she was still in her pajamas and still just drifting from one end of the house to the other. It was almost a godsend when the doorbell rang. She yanked open the door without considering how very unfit she was to be seen by anyone.

  She became very much aware of that fact moments later when she stood staring up at Dante.

  “Oh,” she whispered as his eyes ran over her body wordlessly. His face was grim, and his lips thinned. “What are you doing here?”

  He said nothing, just pushed his way past her and into the house. That made her angry, and it felt wonderful. It was the first emotion other than sadness that she’d felt in too long.

  “You can’t just barge in here like this, Dante.” She slammed the door and turned to confront him. “I . . .” Her voice faltered when she saw his face. He looked seriously pissed off with her. His eyes had gone dark and intense, and it made her back up until she felt the door behind her.

  “Okay, I know you’re upset with me for just leaving the way I did,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “But you have to understand that I couldn’t, I just couldn’t, go back to your place.”

  The fixed, feverish look in his eyes was starting to freak her out, and it made her talk a little faster.

  “I wanted to be around people who love me and understand me.” A muscle was starting to tick in his jaw, and she swallowed nervously. Why was he just staring at her like that? She wished he would just say something. She opened her mouth to say something else, but all that emerged was a squeak when he took a purposeful step toward her, then another, and then the third bridged the gap between them completely. He was way too close to her now, and she was trapped between his chest and the door.

  She tilted her jaw up and met his gaze head-on. Why did he have to look so formidable? Cleo was aware of her heart beating like a maddened, trapped animal against her rib cage and—even though she knew he would never physically hurt her—she jumped when he brought his hands up.

  He palmed her narrow shoulders and with an anguished groan, dragged her into his arms.

  “Dante—”

  He interrupted whatever she had been about to say by speaking for the first time since entering the house.

  “Just shut up for a moment while I hold you, okay?” he growled into her hair, and Cleo sighed and leaned into his embrace, relishing the feel of his protective arms around her.

  “I can do that,” she whispered as she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him close.

  “This happened to me too, Cleo,” he said after a long, long silence, and Cleo trembled at his words. “I lost him too and it hurts like hell. I need you. I can’t . . . I can’t do this without you. And I know that maybe I’m the last person you want to be around right now because of the accident, but—”

  Guilt reared its ugly head; she should never have said those words to him. He’d been dealing with the same loss, and she had made his grief so much worse by blaming him for their baby’s death.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Dante,” she said, leaning back to look up at him. There was moisture gleaming in his eyes. “It really wasn’t. They did an autopsy and he had a chromosomal problem, or imbalance. The accident hastened the inevitable, but our baby would never have made it. I shouldn’t have put that on you. Dr. Klein called me with the results yesterday, and I know I should have called you immediately, but I was just so sad and I felt so horrible for blaming you. Even when I said those things, I knew they were awful and unfair and I wanted to call you, but I—” She stopped and sobbed. “I didn’t know what to say. You must have felt so terrible. I’m so sorry.”

  “I did,” he whispered. “I do. Not because of anything you said or did, but because I wanted him. I so badly wanted to be his dad.”

  She was crying again, and that was okay because Dante was crying too, and Cleo no longer felt alone.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Dante was still there when Blue and Luc came home from work that evening. Blue invited him to stay for supper, and after a quick glance at Cleo, who nodded, he happily accepted. He clung to Cleo’s hand for most of the evening, and after small talk and drinks on the veranda while they listened to the waves crashing nearby, Blue and Luc excused themselves and went to bed.

  Cleo sat on her grandmother’s old rocking chair. She still wore the loose pajamas she had on when he arrived. Dante was on a deck chair next to her, and he took her hand for the umpteenth time that day. They didn’t speak, their silence speaking for them, and after another half an hour in the cool, briny air, Dante sighed.

  “I should probably get going,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

  “For?” she asked, genuinely confused.

  “Including me.” Oh. The underlying vulnerability in those words hit her hard. He’d been made to feel excluded and alone at a time when he should have had a solid support base,
and it was entirely her fault. Well, that would end right now.

  “Stay,” she invited.

  “What?”

  “Stay the night. As a friend.” She wanted to make it perfectly clear that she was expecting nothing more than that from him. He wasn’t obligated to stay with her after all this was over. She didn’t want him to. But for now they each needed the other.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, hopeful and hesitant. She thought about it for a moment before nodding.

  “I’m sure.” She took his hand and led him upstairs to her room, which was even messier than usual for her, and for the first time since she’d lost the baby, that bothered her. “I’m sorry it’s a bit crazy in here.”

  “You should see the penthouse,” he said wryly, and her head swiveled to meet his gaze. She couldn’t imagine the penthouse being anything other than immaculate.

  “Seriously?”

  “I’ve been at home a lot since it happened, and I didn’t want to be disturbed, so I asked Esta not to come in.” Esta was his cleaning lady.

  “Yeah but you’re inherently neat,” she reminded him, and a corner of his mouth tilted up.

  “I haven’t been myself these past two weeks,” he said with a shoulder lift.

  “And work? You haven’t been to the office much?”

  “I have competent people to run things in my absence. I took compassionate leave.” He unbuttoned his shirt and kicked off his shoes while he spoke, and Cleo turned her back to give him some privacy, while nervously rearranging the myriad decorative perfume atomizers on her dresser.

  “You did?” She wouldn’t let the fact that he was stripping down affect her; she’d invited him to stay, and he couldn’t very well sleep in his shirt and trousers. It was ridiculous to be nervous around him; she’d seen him in less. It wasn’t like she didn’t know what his body looked like. And being sexually aware of him was completely inappropriate and disrespectful considering the circumstances. “You can turn around again,” he said, his wry tone making her wonder if he knew exactly what crazy thoughts had been running through her head. She turned around reluctantly and kept her eyes fixed on his face.

  “I can sleep in one of the guest rooms,” he suggested gently. “There have to be more than a few in this gigantic house?”

  “None of them are currently habitable,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Water damage in a couple from the leaky roof, mold in the other, and the last one is being used as a storage room for generations’ worth of crap. We’re talking everything from spindles to World War II rifles to old-time girlie magazines.”

  “Why not store those in the attic?” he asked, but she didn’t respond, waiting for him to figure it out instead.

  “Ah,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Holes in the ceiling?”

  “The roof leaks like a sieve, and naturally it’s worse up in the attic, so Blue and Luc moved everything into the biggest guest room. Honestly, it’s only a matter of time until it starts leaking in there as well.” Talking about what a train wreck the house was calmed her nerves a bit, and she felt herself relaxing by degrees.

  “So I suppose you’re stuck with me tonight, then. Unless you want me to go home, after all?” he asked, generously giving her the opportunity to back out.

  “It’s fine,” she whispered. “Let’s just go to bed.”

  “Great, because I’m exhausted, and I didn’t relish the thought of the drive home.” He crawled under the covers without further discussion and stretched out on his side. He eyed her with a slight smile playing about his lips and lifted the sheet invitingly.

  Cleo returned the smile and slowly climbed in next to him. He sighed, the sound almost content, and brought the sheet and his arm down over her, cuddling her close. She turned onto her side so that she was spooned against him, and Dante pulled her tightly against his hard, beautiful body and tucked his arm around her waist. It was reminiscent of the way he’d held her in the hospital the day they’d lost Zach, and it was equally as tender as that particular gesture had been.

  Cleo reached over and switched off the bedside lamp, and the room was plunged into darkness. The top of her head was tucked beneath his jaw, and their breathing was almost in tandem. At first they said nothing, both of them enjoying the warmth and company. The only sounds in the room were their soft breathing and the gentle rattle of the breeze against the loose pane of her window.

  “I’ve never done this snuggling thing before,” he declared. His chest rumbled against her back, and his stubble tugged at her hair.

  “That’s a shame,” she whispered, hugging his arm to her chest. “You’re a fantastic snuggler.”

  “I haven’t been a very good guy. Terrible with women,” he whispered. The darkness of the room and the fact that she was facing away from him seemed to be enough to inspire this unexpected bout of honesty. “I didn’t want more than sex from them, maybe a short-lived affair here and there.”

  “I know,” she said, her voice dry. “I was there.”

  “Of course I mean to settle down someday,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. He sounded driven to speak, and she was more than happy to let him air his thoughts. This whole turn of conversation took her mind off her immediate grief.

  “I’m sure you had a type picked out, right?” she prompted, when it looked like he was done speaking.

  “I always thought I’d marry a beautiful, elegant creature who would be the perfect wife and mother. We would have a quiet, calm marriage with mutual respect for each other. So much respect that the ugly concept of divorce would never once enter our minds. We would never argue, and we would have two children. A boy and a girl.”

  “Would they be as boring as their mother, or as cowardly as their father?” Cleo asked scathingly, and she felt his arm tense around her waist before it relaxed again.

  “Probably a mixture of both,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  “Boring cowards,” she said sympathetically. “Luckily you’re loaded, else they’d have absolutely no friends.”

  “So why are you casting disparagement on my future wife and me?” he asked.

  “You want someone without personality,” she said. “A beautiful, empty vessel, into whom you would pour all your unrealistic expectations for the perfect marriage. The perfect Stepford wife.”

  “Que?”

  “It’s a movie. Considering how much you hate horror films, it doesn’t surprise me that you’ve never seen it. It’s about a bunch of guys who turn their wives into these perfect housewives. They all think the same and act the same. But never mind that. The point is, she’d never challenge you, and you’d be bored with her in months.”

  “And I’m a coward, why?”

  “Because you don’t want to be challenged. You’re terrified that a woman with any personality will mess up your perfect, orderly life and that you wouldn’t be able to deal, and then the fighting would start and the irritation with each other and then the inevitable divorce. Just like your dad, right?”

  “I refuse to wind up like him.”

  “Yeah, well, your dad’s an idiot.” Cleo wasn’t in the mood to pull any punches tonight.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, his voice wobbling a little. “But I know why I think he’s an idiot, so I’m interested in hearing your view.”

  “Because he’s clearly an appalling judge of character, and he never seems to learn from his past mistakes. Sound about right?”

  “Sí.”

  She patted his arm smartly.

  “Good talk,” she said, and this time he actually chuckled.

  “I like you a lot, Cleo,” he said, the words sounding impulsive. “You make me laugh more than anyone else ever has.”

  “Oh, how . . .” She paused to think of the word. Unexpected. “Nice of you to say that.”

  “I wonder if Zach would have had your sense of humor.”

  “I don’t want to talk about him,” she said, clamming up at the sound of his name.

  He squeeze
d her briefly in apology and dropped it. The conversation died after that, and Cleo listened to his breathing even out and become deeper. His arm grew heavy around her waist, and after a while, the comforting weight of that arm and the soft little snore that came with every third breath he took lulled her into a deep sleep.

  When Cleo woke the next morning, it was to the same bleak reality that she’d woken up to over the last fortnight, but this time the knowledge didn’t physically weigh her down as much as it had just yesterday. She turned over and stared into Dante’s relaxed face. He was still fast asleep, and as she really looked at him for the first time in two weeks, she saw that he appeared exhausted and definitely thinner. He had lost weight and had gained a few lines on his face. It was clear that this loss had taken a physical toll on him as well. At least his bruises from the accident had disappeared; there was only the very faintest tinge of yellow left around his eye.

  She watched as his breathing became shallow and his eyes started to flutter beneath their lids, and when they opened, she kept her gaze level. She watched confusion flicker in his eyes for a second, followed by what could only be described as radiant joy, which flared and disappeared so quickly that she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it or not.

  “Morning,” she murmured, and then wrinkled her nose and covered her mouth. He grinned in delight at the gesture.

  “Come on, morning breath isn’t cute,” she protested. He leaned over and dropped a kiss on the back of the hand covering her mouth.

  “Buenos días, dulzura,” he said, his voice rasping sexily. “How did you sleep?”

  “Like a log,” she said, still from behind the hand. He stretched with a groan and smiled at her contentedly. God, he looked so beautiful in the morning, with that stubble, the slightly crooked grin, and his hard, ripped chest uncovered. She tried—and failed—to avert her eyes.

  “Me too. Best sleep I’ve had since it happened.” His gorgeous smile dimmed somewhat at the reminder.

  He got out of bed and stretched again, arms up over his head, with a massive yawn. Cleo blushed at the sight of all that toned, gorgeous flesh and at the obvious morning erection straining at the front of his white boxer briefs. The underwear left very little to the imagination. He noticed her fixed stare and glanced down at himself.