CS-Dante's Twins

by Неизвестный

  Except for the foundation which was stone, the exte-rior of the house itself was stucco painted a rich cream. Beveled glass panels in the long elegant windows

  trapped the sun’s rays in rainbow prisms of color. A flight of steps led up to a graceful porticoed entrance. After a thorough inspection of both the house and the grounds, Dante dusted off his hands and nodded ap-proval. "This place’ll outlive us, no question about that. It’s built like a bunker. But I’m surprised you’ ve chosen something this old. I expected you’d want something more up—to—date."

  "I did look at quite a few new houses," Leila said,

  "but they didn’t have the character or charm of this place and the lots were so small that one family could look right into the next door garden. I don’t know about you, Dante, but I value my privacy too much to want our neighbors watching all our comings and goings."

  ‘‘I agree. Yet even with so much land, it’s safe enough for children to play outside here." He indicated the se-curity system wired to the remote-controled wrought-iron gates leading to the road. "No unsavory charac-ters’ll be able to trespass on the property without our knowing. You say there are four bedrooms upstairs?"

  "Yes."

  "Lead on, then, and let’s have a look at them." Realizing that the moment of truth was almost upon her left her skin clammy and her voice breathless with nervous tension. "Um, yes...all right."

  "You feeling sick again?" he asked, noticing her dis-composure. Oh, yes! Sick with hope and trepidation and longing!

  "A little," she improvised, leading the way inside quickly, before her courage deserted her completely. "I think it might be the sun. It’s so hot out here." She showed him the guest suite first. High—ceilinged with ornate crown molding like the rest of the rooms, it was spacious and airy, with upholstered window seats affording a fine view of the front lawns and rose garden.

  "Hmm," he said, clearly impressed. "Not too shabby by anyone’s standards, I have to admit."

  "And this one," she said, leading him into one of the two back rooms overlooking the rear garden and the in-let, "I thought would make a wonderful nursery. It’s next door to the master suite and big enough for two babies, at least for the first couple of years." He sniffed his hands in his pockets and gazed around.

  "I guess so. It’s got plenty of cupboard space which is something my sisters always set great store by."

  "That leaves us a spare room a bit smaller than the guest room..."

  “Uh—huh."

  "...And..." She gulped, afraid she might indeed throw up. At the far end of the hall, the double doors of the master suite loomed, more terrifying suddenly than the gates of hell. Quickly, before she turned tail and ran, she flung them wide. "...The main bedroom." He paused in the doorway, his face unreadable. She had set the scene with care. There were roses in a crystal vase on the nightstand, and chilled champagne. The gauzy white drapes at the open windows billowed slightly on the evening breeze, their undulations sensu-ous as a woman stripping for her lover. Washed by the afternoon sun, the mahogany furniture flowed with subdued fire. The spires of the four—poster bed cast delicate shadows on the wall. Pillows plump with goose down and covered with cotton slips piled high against the headboard.

  "What the hell is this?" Dante said softly. She could not answer for the lump of sheer terror in her throat. She had thought to seduce him here, to revive for both of them the miracle they had found on

  Poinciana. But, like a rabbit trapped in the headlights of a speeding car, she froze, at a loss to know how best to proceed.

  Should she sink down among the pillows with a come-hither look? Lure him by wantonly stripping off her clothes? Offer herself naked in all her thirteen—week pregnant glory and hope he wasn’t repelled by the sight of her distended waist and swollen breasts?

  Embarrassment burned her face. If her life depended on it, she could not. Could not! Whatever had made her believe she could?

  "Leila?"

  Dare to show him you love him, Ellen had urged and, foolishly, Leila had acted on the advice, believing she had nothing to lose.

  But, except for her babies, nothing worth having if he refused her, she realized too late after the fact. No pas-sion, no desire, no deep, abiding joy. Could she afford such a gamble?

  But she’d gone too far to back out now, so she went to him and wound her arms around his neck. "This is for us, Dante," she said. "This is our room." Although she felt rather than heard the swift intake of his breath, she knew she’d taken him by surprise.

  "Look," he said, grasping her shoulders and holding her at arm’s length. "l don’t know what you’re trying to pull off here, Leila, but pretending we’re your average bride and groom who are convinced marriage is one long bed of roses just isn’t going to cut it."

  "What is, then?" she murmured, leaning forward to press her lips to his throat. "Growing further apart with every passing day? How have we managed that, Dante?

  How did we manage to kill the love we once shared?" He swallowed. "We struck a deal that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with expediency." She strung a row of kisses along his jaw to his ear.

  "Why can’t we have it both ways, Dante?"

  "l make it a practice never to get personal with a business partner," he said, his voice textured with gravel.

  Dare to show him....

  "It’s too late for that, Dante," she whispered, tracing the curve of his earlobe with the tip of her tongue.

  "We’ve been personal ever since the day we met." His hands, which had grown slack at her shoulders, slid down her spine to clench at her waist. "Jeez," he muttered hoarsely.

  It wasn’t much encouragement but beggars couldn’t afford to be choosy, and heaven knew, she was begging shamelessly. Nesting her hips against his groin, she said,

  "I made up the bed with linens from the bridal shower your sisters threw for me. Don’t you think it would be a terrible waste not take advantage of them‘?"

  "Cut it out," he said, but his flesh betrayed him and the sweat suddenly beading his forehead had nothing to do with the room temperature.

  Undeterred, she drew down his head until his mouth hovered so close to hers that she could almost taste him.

  "It’s been a long time since you kissed me as if you meant it, Dante."

  "I’ve kissed you," he said, sounding like a man in pain.

  "But not like this."

  Deftly, she skimmed his lower lip with her tongue.

  "For crying out loud, Leila, will you stop?" Fending her off, he loosened the knot in his tie and released the top button of his shirt, backing away from the bed as he did so.

  But she could not stop. She could not ignore the crav-ings he aroused in her. She was on fire for him; aching and swollen and damp with desire. And he could deny until judgment day that he didn’t feel the same, but the evidence was there for her to see. "It wasn’t so very long ago that you’d have welcomed any excuse to touch me," she murmured, following him.

  "Which is precisely how we got ourselves into the mess we’re in now," he said, holding his shoulders very erect as if he hoped she wouldn’t then notice that other parts of him were similarly afflicted. "What the hell’s gotten into you, Leila?"

  Not you, she could have wept, though there was a time that you’d have taken me anywhere, anytime. But trying to convey her despair with words was impossible.

  Instead, helplessly, she approached him again and leaned against him in brazen, unmistakable invitation.

  Even fully clothed, the feel of him, hard against her belly, was intoxicating. Aching for his touch, for a glim-mering of the hunger he’d once shown for her, she low-ered one strap from her shoulder and, taking his hand, drew it down her bare skin toward her breast. "Dante," she pleaded.

  Still he would not surrender.

  Panic and passion converged on her then, choking her. Blindly her mouth sought the unyielding angle of his jaw, found his lips and would not let them go.

  At first he continued to r
esist. But then, just when she was ready to concede defeat, a miracle occurred. The spark which no amount of mistrust or alienation had quite managed to douse flared into life again.

  Crushing her to him, he kissed her back. Kissed her as he had not in days, with an anguish that drained her soul and left her mouth swollen and tender.

  With one hand at her buttocks, he imprisoned her against him, pelvis to pelvis and nothing but a few layers of cloth to prevent him from driving into her. The other he fastened in her hair, so firmly that even if she’d wished, she could not have escaped the onslaught of that kiss.

  But a flame so bright and hot could hurt as well as heal. Realizing he was courting destruction of all those defenses he’d so painstakingly built, Dante struggled to uphold them. "Don’t do this, Leila," he said harshly, wrenching his mouth away. "The wedding’s taking place on Saturday and I’ll be there, as per our agreement. You don’t have to act the whore to get me to the altar." Shock left her almost reeling. "Is that what you think this is all about, Dante?"

  He gestured at the roses, the champagne, the marriage bed: all those witnesses to what she’d hoped would prove to be both a reconciliation and a new beginning.

  ‘‘What else? Or are you going to pretend these, too, were left behind by the previous occupants?"

  "No," she whispered, strangling a sob. "I did all this. For us, Dante. I thought, if we made love again, if I showed you how much I need you and miss you, that we’d find our way back to each other. Otherwise, what’s the point in our going on?"

  The thud of a car door closing floated through the house. "We both know the answer to that, Leila," he said, shrugging his jacket into place and striding to the guest room window which looked down on the front

  entrance. "I’m the father of the twins you’re expecting and you need money. I’m willing to pay off your

  mother’s debts and offer you the respectability that comes of being Mrs. Dante Rossi, as well as honor my responsibilities to my children."

  "And what do you expect to get out of such an ar-rangement, Dante?"

  "From a social and professional standpoint, it’s time I acquired a wife, and whatever else your shortcomings, I’d be the last to deny that you’re an enviable accessory to success. All I ask is that you maintain the image such a role requires. In short, we’ve arrived at an agreement in which we both come out winners. I believe in the old days it was called a marriage of convenience, one based on considerations other than love—and don’t ask me to define what that is because I’m no longer sure I know."

  "It’s being close to someone," she said, following him and plucking at his sleeve to try to detain him. "It’s going to sleep in that person’s arms at night and feeling as if you own the whole world. It’s making love because you can’t help yourself, because not to be intimate with your mate is a deprivation neither the soul nor the body can survive. I learned all that on Poinciana and try though I might, I can’t forget it. I don’t think you can, either, Dante. Am I mistaken?"

  "A hell of a lot has happened since then, sweet face."

  "Too much for us to regain what we once had?"

  "Look," he said, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand, "if you’re asking me if I still want you, the answer’s yes. I can’t concentrate on a god-damned thing in the office for wanting you. I’m tired of taking cold showers and working till I’m ready to drop, just to get a decent night’s sleep uninterrupted by dreams of how you feel under me when you reach orgasm." As if beset by more devils than any mere mortal could be expected to withstand, he spun around suddenly and, grabbing a fistful of the bodice of her dress, hauled her close. "That car we heard a moment ago belongs to the real estate broker. Apparently he was able to make it here after all. But if I thought sex would fix what’s bro-ken between you and me, I’d leave him to cool his heels on the front doorstep and screw you right here, right now, until you begged me to stop."

  "Dante! "

  "But that wouldn’t fix anything, would it, Leila?" he continued, ignoring her shocked exclamation. "Having you welcome me into your lovely body wouldn’t alter the fact that you’ve never really allowed me inside your mind."

  "How long are you going to punish me for misleading you‘?" she cried, devastated by his reaction. "Or are you saying there’s nothing I’ll ever be able to do to reestab-lish your trust in me?"

  "Misleading me? Hell, Leila, you deliberately kept the truth from me on more than one occasion, first about Fletcher, then about your father, and let’s not forget your pregnancy. But what really sticks in my throat is that, in each instance, you had plenty of opportunity to come clean before I found you out but you chose to keep quiet. So don’t ask whether or not I’ll ever trust you again because the way I see it, the problem is that you’ve never trusted me."

  "How can you say that? I’m marrying you on Saturday?

  "Yeah, well, I’ve always believed money can buy just about anything, and that’s one truth you’ve certainly substantiated. ’

  Too numb with pain and disappointment to answer, she simply stared at him.

  Misconstruing her silence he released her. "Appar-ently we’re in accord at last," he said, straightening his tie and buttoning his jacket. "So, on the strength of such a premise, I propose we go down and make a deal with that broker—unless, of course, your interest in this house only went as far as trying to get me in the sack?"

  "No," she said, furious with herself for allowing des-peration to coerce her into the kind of games she’d have refused to countenance when she was young enough to be forgiven for indulging in them. What had become of her self—respect, her dignity? "I like the house very much. But you’re so eager to look for ulterior motives on my part that I’m beginning to think it doesn’t matter what I say or do anymore."

  "You’ve got a lifetime to prove me wrong, honey," he said, taking her elbow and steering her toward the stairs.

  "Well, hello there!" The sales agent heralded their appearance with practiced bonhomie. "I stopped by on my way home on the off chance that you might still be here. So, tell me, now that you’ve had a good look at it, have you decided to snap up this fabulous chunk of real estate before someone else beats you to it, or what?"

  "We’re prepared to make an offer." Without missing a beat, Dante swung into action on what he did best: talking business and dealing figures.

  Had he really kissed her so thoroughly just a few minutes ago that she’d thought her knees would give way? Leila wondered, watching from the sidelines. Had he once looked at her as if she were the only woman on earth who could make him forget himself so far that nothing mattered except that they be together, and to hell with wagging tongues? Most of all, would he ever look at her that way again?

  The doorbell rang shortly after eight on Friday night. Since Maeve and Cleo had gone for their evening walk some half hour earlier, Leila assumed they’d forgotten their key again and hurried to answer.

  But it was Anthony waiting on the step. Even though they’d talked on the phone and she’d invited him to the wedding, she hadn’t seen him in weeks and noticed the change in him at once. The old Anthony was back,

  tanned and healthy—looking. ‘‘Hope I haven’t come at an inconvenient time," he said, following her into the par-lor and placing a beautifully wrapped package on the coffee table. "I know you’ve probably got a dozen last—minute things to attend to but I wanted you to have this before tomorrow. It’s your wedding gift."

  "Why, thank you! But you didn’t need to make a special trip out here tonight. You could have brought it with you to the church."

  "I’m afraid I won’t be at the church, or the reception, either," he said, taking a seat beside her on the sofa.

  "Oh, Anthony, why not? I have so few friends in town, I was really counting on your being there."

  "I’m flying to Europe first thing in the morning to see my nurse. She’s got a week’s leave and I’m meeting her in Vienna. As for my being at your wedding, it shouldn’t matter how many frien
ds show up for you, as long as the man you love is there."

  When she didn’t answer but looked away instead, he took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him, his eyes mirroring concern. "Is everything okay, Leila?"

  "Yes."

  "You don’t sound too sure."

  "l guess I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed. It’s been so hectic, organizing a wedding in such a short time and, to top things off, we finalized the purchase of a house this afternoon."

  "And you’re not happy about that?"

  "Yes. It’s a lovely place and we’ll be able to take possession immediately. ‘’

  Anthony braced his hands on his knees and leaned forward. "But something’s wrong."

  She opened her mouth to deny the allegation and to her horror, burst into tears instead.

  "Good God!" he said. "What is it? Tell me."

  "Nothing." She covered her face with both hands to stifle the sobs——a useless gesture because they kept com-ing anyway. ‘‘Really, it’s nothing. Just jittery nerves and exhaustion.’’

  He stroked her back as if he were comforting a child and when at last she gained control again, said, "You know, I’ll never forget the night you told me you’d met Dante. It was raining and blustery outside and I was feeling pretty low, what with one thing and another, but you lit up that room with sunshine, you were so happy. Where’s it gone, Leila? What’s happened to drive away that glow?"

  "In case you haven’t notice, I’m pregnant," she blurted out because, of all the problems facing her, that was the only one she felt she could conifide to him.

  "With twins."

  "Oops!" he said. "That must have come as a bit of a shock. But you’re surely not sorry?"

  "No. I always hoped I’d have children someday."

  "And Dante? Is he happy?"

  Her lip quivered embarrassingly. "I don’t know what’s going on in Dante’s head these days. We’re both so busy planning a future together that we don’t have time for the present anymore. Sometimes I look at him and...and I see a stranger I’ll be marrying on Saturday." At first, Anthony didn’t reply. He fished a clean hand-kerchief from the breast pocket of his blazer and handed it to her. At length, he said, "You know, in this day and age, Leila, people don’t ‘have to get married.’ It’s so-cially acceptable to be a single parent. So don’t let your-self be pressured into going through with a wedding you’re not ready for."