by Caro LaFever
His mouth twisted.
“Not by you,” she admitted, trying to make him understand. “By my past.”
The wariness left his eyes, replaced by reluctant interest. “Tell me what you mean.”
Taking a deep breath, she dove in. “My last marriage—”
“Ah.” His tone turned wry. “The sins I have been paying for.”
“Yes,” she grimaced. “You were right about that.”
Grunting, he began to rub his hands up and down her sides, and that gave her hope.
“When Gerry found out…” She stumbled to a stop. She’d never found it easy admitting this piece of herself. In her head, she knew it was nothing to be ashamed of. But in her heart, she still remembered Gerry’s reaction when he’d found out after their marriage. Shock and then a smug superiority. The superiority had slowly taken over her life.
“Found out?” Dante’s low tone stopped her rambling thoughts.
“I’m dyslexic.” She couldn’t help that her voice had turned brittle and hard.
His broad, sweat-soaked shoulders moved in the characteristic way he had that always made her tingle. “So?”
“He…he thought less of me.”
Eyes narrowing, his dark lashes hid the expression she so wanted to see. Understanding.
“He thought of me as a kind of child after that.”
His fingers tightened on her skin. “Idiot.”
The one word freed her laugh. Freed her from the past, filling her with quiet pleasure and peace. “Yes, he was.”
“I’m starting to get the picture.” His voice held a hard thread of violence in it. “I am glad for his sake he is no longer in the land of the living.”
Laughing once more, she ran her hand through the strands of dark curls lying at the edge of his ears. “Thank you for the thought.”
“So, he thought of you as a child—”
“And treated me like a child,” she finished for him.
“Bastardo.”
“Yes.” She brushed his ears with her fingers. “I kept thinking it would get better, that he would learn what dyslexia was actually about and change. But he didn’t. He only got worse and worse.”
“More and more…” His words slowed, then stopped.
“Controlling.”
The black deepness of his stare seemed to reach out to her, surrounding her. With understanding. “I see.”
“Do you?”
“Si,” his hands tightened on her skin and his mouth turned down. “I remind you of him.”
She cupped his jaw in her hands and dared to look into his somber visage. “At first, yes.”
“Ah.” He tried to tug his head from her grasp.
She sensed his emotional withdrawal, but kept her grip on his hard jaw and her wavering confidence. “But not at this point.”
He froze. His dark lashes lay like black fans on his pale skin. He said nothing, waiting, almost as if for a blow. Another blow.
Lara’s conscience ached at what she’d done to this man, how she’d spilled her past pain onto their relationship and hurt him. “Not now, Dante. Not now.”
Abruptly, he glanced up. Stared into her eyes with a stark look of misery. “What do you think of me then?”
Tell him you love him.
Her heart screamed the words, yet her head and confidence shuddered. Would he believe her? Would he believe such a quick turnaround from where she’d been when she’d seen him again for the first time? Wouldn’t it be preferable to build toward the confession rather than blurting it out right now?
He gave her a hoarse laugh. “Perhaps it’s better I don’t know.”
“No.” She smoothed her hands across his cheeks. Would he see what she couldn’t say, in her eyes? “What I know is you are nothing like Gerry.”
His mouth turned grim and he glanced away.
“Dante.” She kept running her hands over him, trying to soothe. “Gerry destroyed me. You make me feel alive.”
His fingers relaxed on her hips and his gaze flew to meet hers again.
“Really.” She managed a small smile. “I want you to know I have put Gerry and that life behind me once and for all and you won’t be—we won’t be—saddled with that baggage anymore.”
His lips firmed, his dark eyes filling with pride for her. “I’m proud of you. It takes a woman of courage to come through what you did.”
His total and absolute support was a balm to her soul. “You honestly don’t mind that I’m dyslexic, do you.”
He frowned. “Why the hell should I?”
A shrug was the only answer she could come up with because a well of instant tears cluttered her throat. He truly didn’t care. He truly did accept her as she was. He actually wasn’t anything like Gerry.
“Bella.” He pinned her with a determined stare. “You are a remarkably intelligent woman. You’ve done incredible things with your school. I have great respect for you.”
“Well—”
“Which I’ve told you again and again.” His tone was slightly irritated. “I don’t have protection on you because I think of you as a child.”
“I know.”
Her short sentence stopped him. His wary stare bored into hers. “You understand my motivation is one of concern, not control?”
“Yes.”
He grunted a male reply and kept staring at her face.
“Please accept my apology,” she whispered through the love for this man clogging her throat.
“All right.” A faint smile curved his lips. “How can a man say no to such a persuasive argument?”
His wry humor shocked the tears away and she chuckled. “I had to do something to get your attention.”
“You were successful.” One warm male palm began to move over her skin. “I’m glad we’ve put this issue behind us.”
She gazed into his eyes with all the emotion in her heart. “I am too.”
* * *
“I have nothing to wear.”
Dante’s chuckle was his only response.
Lara walked along the long line of dresses she’d accumulated over the past couple of months. There were more clothes here than she’d ever dreamed of owning, which had more to do with her husband’s continual purchases than her own. For some reason, he seemed to find enormous pleasure in contributing not only to her collection of lingerie, but now, to her outer-wear as well.
His focus perplexed her.
Why would a man who ran a billion dollar corporation want to spend time shopping for her? Still, he kept coming home with more and more. Almost every day she found some present on the bed, on the kitchen table, hanging in her walk-in closet…
She spotted the plastic-covered dress at the end of the row. “Dante.”
“Yes?” His low voice rumbled from the bathroom.
“You didn’t.” Slipping off the plastic, she nearly gasped at the sight of the gown. This was more than usual. Green silk slithered in her hand, the fabric covered with a web of fine crystal that shone and twinkled when the light hit it.
Her husband’s tall figure appeared at the door, a small tilt to his mouth. “I did.”
Looking up, she gave an inner sigh of relief. Since their interlude at his office two weeks ago, things had gone back to normal. Well, almost normal. They had their customary breakfast together in peace. He came home most nights at a reasonable time and usually cooked dinner. They made love every night. If every once in a while she caught an odd look from him, if every once in a while a shadow passed through his black eyes, if every once in a while he became quiet and withdrawn…well, it didn’t happen often and it would eventually pass, wouldn’t it?
But those isolated moments had stopped her, once more, from expressing her love. She wanted the timing to be perfect. She wanted all the shadows gone before confessing.
She wanted him to say I love you too.
Pushing away the deep yearning, she tugged the dress off the hanger. “It’s beautiful.”
“I’m sure it will be ou
tshone by your beauty.” His voice was husky as his gaze slipped down her barely clad form. She’d gotten out of the shower and merely wrapped a towel around her before tackling her wardrobe. A sharp zap of electric energy rocketed up her spine, making her nipples tighten and the tender place between her legs soften.
“Do we have to go to this dinner?” Batting her eyes with exaggeration, she sauntered over to him, tugged his tie loose and ran a finger across his silk-covered chest. She relished the new confidence she’d found in the bedroom after the explosive response he’d given her in his office.
His hand fisted around hers, pressing it against his warmth. “Do not tempt me.”
“But I do it so well, don’t I?” Standing on tiptoe and kissing the side of his neck, she breathed in the scent of his aftershave and his own unique maleness.
His hands clasped her shoulders and pulled her away. Dark eyes, filled with fierce passion, gave her some comfort. He was not unaffected. However, he was resolute. “I have to be there, Lara, you know that. I’m the keynote speaker.”
“I know, I know.” Her husband was a man of his word. How could she object to a characteristic she admired in him?
“Believe me, though, if there was any way I could think of to drop it and take you to bed, I would.” Running his palms down her arms brought a fresh wash of warmth and electric energy to her.
Pulling herself form his grasp before she started to beg, she glanced at the dress she held in her hands, and then at her husband once more. “Okay. We have to go. Although, in punishment, you have to finish dressing me.”
His mouth twitched in amusement. Her teasing no longer threw him. In fact, he’d become quite adept at joining in the fun. “It would be my honor, Signora.”
Chuckling, she skipped out of the wardrobe and bounced on the bed. “This should be interesting.”
Dante turned, brows rising. “You think I cannot do this?”
“Everything means everything. Shoes, stockings…frilly things.” she grinned.
“Ah,” he mused. “Your collection.”
She nodded before arching her own daring brow at him. “This dress will need a very special bra and panties. Something that won’t show beneath the sheerness of the fabric. I’m not sure a man will be able to—”
“Perhaps not an ordinary man.” He marched over to her bureau and pulled the drawer open with a flourish that startled a fresh set of giggles from her mouth. “Yet I, as you know, am not an ordinary man.”
Watching his broad back, covered in white silk that showed the movement of his muscles as his shoulders flexed, she gave her inward assent. No, her husband was not an ordinary man, in any sense of the word. He was special and unique: gorgeous on the outside and amazing on the inside.
And in this playful mood, irresistible.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she sent a swift prayer of thanks upward. How could she have been so lucky to have landed with the exact man who would fulfill her, in body, in soul, in spirit? How could one woman be so lucky to have been forced into marriage to the man who was perfect for her?
A pink satin thong plopped on her lap, as he started tossing multi-colored bras and camisoles and panties and thongs haphazardly on the bed, the floor, and his wife.
“Dante!” She laughed and tried to catch each brightly colored piece of her collection as it got tossed over his shoulder.
“I am only doing your bidding, Signora.” Her husband’s tone was solemn, but edged with a tease. “I have been tasked with outfitting you tonight, and I will not fail.”
Another cream bra landed on her head, causing her to laugh again. “You are determined to accomplish the task.”
Turning to face her, hands filled with lace and silk, he wiggled his brows and then looked down at himself. “As you can see, I am up to the task as well.”
Her gaze slid over his broad torso, across his flat stomach, and zeroed in on his blatant arousal. She couldn’t help another peal of laughter, and to her delight, a grin crossed his face. A grin that reminded her of the boy she’d fallen in love with long ago.
“Better watch out,” she managed between chuckles. “I might take you up on that offer.”
“Hold that thought for later tonight.” He turned again to the drawer and pulled another lacy concoction out, glanced at it, shook his head and threw it over his shoulder.
She grabbed it as it hit her face, smiling at his antics. Dumping it on the pile of lingerie lying on the bed, she turned to tease him once more.
And then, she noticed his sudden stillness. “Dante?”
With infinite slowness, he lifted out a small plastic container and set it on the top of the dresser. Her heart slammed to a stop. She’d forgotten. She hadn’t taken the pills for weeks, knowing she wanted his baby, his love. But she’d stupidly forgotten to get rid of the last of those pills. She could tell from his silence, his tense body, this was going to be a problem.
“Dante.” Scrambling off the bed, she took a step toward him, only to be stopped by a large palm held out in rejection.
“Don’t come near me.” His voice was cold as ice.
Panic started to claw on her insides. Taking a deep breath, she deliberately controlled her voice into a calm, reasonable tone. “I can explain.”
For the first time, he looked directly at her and the expression on his face made her step back. “These are birth control pills, si?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I didn’t mean—”
A sharp, cutting laugh interrupted her. “Why am I not surprised?”
“You don’t understand.”
“But I do.” He was pale as death, yet his tone was as cool and collected as she’d ever heard it. “You don’t want my child.”
Her mouth went dry. “No, that’s not—”
“There is nothing left to say, Lara.” With a jerk, he pulled himself away from the hand she’d tried to hold him with and headed for the bedroom door.
The panic clawed up her throat and into her brain, making it hard for her to breathe or think. She followed his rigid form into the living room and watched helplessly as he slipped on a leather coat. Which words should she use first? What confession should she give him to stop this misunderstanding? If only she had a moment to think. “Wait,” she cried.
“There is no longer any reason to wait.” Turning, he gave her one more distant look. “I’m sorry. This is my fault and I will take care of it.”
Clutching the ends of the towel around her, she rushed to the open door and followed him into the hallway. They were the only ones on this floor, and who cared if anyone saw her like this? He was leaving, before he understood, before he realized she—
“Stop,” she wailed. “I have something—”
The lift door closed, showing her a brief glimpse of his shoulders as he stood facing the wall of silver. Facing away from her.
He didn’t realize she loved him. He didn’t realize she desperately wanted his baby. He hadn’t given her the chance to tell him. Why had she lost her voice and reason at this most critical time?
With a curse, she ran into the flat and sprinted to the dresser. Throwing on the first shirt and pants she found, she slipped on a pair of loafers and dashed for the lift.
The trip to ground floor seemed to take forever, but finally she was there and running towards the door.
“Signora.” The doorman’s cheery smile was like a slap on her face.
“Where is he?” She knew she sounded demented, yet she didn’t care.
“The Signore?”
“Yes, yes. Of course.”
“He said to tell you he would be in touch shortly.” The doorman’s smile deepened. “He will take care of everything, he said.”
Wildly, Lara looked down the street. Nothing. No limo. No tall man walking away from her. He was gone.
“He’ll be in touch shortly?” she whispered.
“Si, Signora.” The doorman gently pulled her back into the lobby. “I think it would be best to return to your home
and wait. I know the Signore would not like it if you were out in the night streets without him.”
“That’s true.” She clutched the front of her shirt and looked out one more time. Nothing. He was gone.
But he’d be back. He had to come back.
Chapter 21
He didn’t come back.
Not that long, silent night, and not the next day either. Lara alternated between staring out the window, cursing herself, and debating whether she should call anyone in his family to find out where he was. She decided against it. Why would she want a worried Daniella or Mamma or any one of the numerous Casartellis pacing the floor with her?
She deserved to suffer by herself.
Why hadn’t she taken the chance and told him she loved him? Why hadn’t she swallowed her pride and been the first to say those fateful words? She’d hidden behind kisses and laughter, hoping he would be the one who would break the silent tug of wills. Because the battle had still been there between them, she acknowledged it to herself now.
When it might be too late.
The momentary pause whenever he saw her. The shadow of something awful that crossed his eyes. The silence he fell into after making love. She’d ignored it, hoped it would go away. Instead of grabbing the bull by the horns, she’d hidden from the confrontation. Just as she had with Gerry.
Hadn’t she learned anything?
The day passed. Slowly and grudgingly. She called him a dozen times on his mobile phone yet it always went straight to voice mail. He was avoiding her. She fell asleep on the terrace bench overlooking Florence. The twinkling night lights tormented her. Where was he? Somewhere down in the city? Holed up in a hotel? A friend’s place? Did he have another apartment she didn’t know about?
The next day, she called in sick to the school for the first time. She couldn’t possibly concentrate on the children, the paperwork, the fundraising. More importantly, it was Monday and Monday meant her husband was at work.
She would confront the king on his own turf. If it meant they had to battle it out in front of his employees, so be it. She wasn’t willing to wait for him anymore.
