Billionaires: They're powerful, hot, charming and richer than sin...

by Clare Connelly

  “I suppose I am.” She smiled apologetically. “You just look so glamorous.”

  Emilia slanted a look of disbelief at Maggie. “That is because my presence was requested by mother today. Usually, I wear sweatsuits as much as possible.”

  Maggie liked her. Instantly. Anyone from the viper’s nest who was willing to attempt to put her at ease was obviously going to win points with Maggie.

  “After you,” Emilia said, stepping back so that Maggie could precede her into the home.

  Maggie stepped forward, into Dante’s house, holding her breath without realising it.

  The history was obvious. From the heavy oaken beams, to the enormous terracotta tiles, the slightly uneven lime washed walls, the design that was open plan and comfortable. The furnishings though were state of the art, and unmistakably expensive.

  “Our father oversaw the renovations,” she answered the unspoken question. “Dante has since updated all of the technology and wiring.”

  Maggie nodded.

  “They are through there,” Emilia nodded her head down the corridor. “I will just be a moment behind you.” She smiled encouragingly, sensing Maggie’s nervousness.

  It worked. Maggie managed to plant one foot in front of the other. As she traversed the low-ceilinged corridor, she forced herself to straighten her back and wipe the worry from her face. She was proud. Too proud to let Dante’s family know that shame over her decision was making her miserable.

  The siblings and Sylvie were in the room with May. But there was someone else too. A woman. Beautiful, with a tumble of blonde curls, skin the color of honeycomb and nails that were like hot pink talons, she was stunning. And Maggie knew immediately who she was.

  Veronika.

  Dante’s ex-wife.

  What was she doing, standing beside Sylvie, holding a hand out to May? Why was Sylvie speaking to her? Their divorce had happened years ago. Hadn’t it?

  She dug her nails into the palm of her hand, and forced herself to look away. Dante’s eyes locked with hers for the briefest of moments and then swept onward, blanking her easily.

  His behaviour was worse than rude.

  It was hurtful to the extreme.

  But could she blame him?

  “Ah. Here is the mother.” Veronika’s voice was tinged with a heavy eastern European accent. The look she gave Maggie was disparaging. “I recognise you from your photographs.”

  The room went silent. Even May stopped her babbling to stare at her mother. As if sensing there was unpleasantness afoot, her face crumpled and she began to cry. Maggie’s instincts kicked in and she quickly crossed the room and took May into her arms. May’s crying subsided into little sobs, but her hands clung to Maggie’s dress.

  “Veronika, of course I recognise you, too,” Maggie said formally, trying to keep any hint of surprise from her voice. She had no idea that she had done so well.

  Veronika’s smile was weak; she spun around to Sylvie and said something in Spanish. Sylvie responded in English, though too quietly for Maggie to make out what they were talking about. It all happened so quickly. A moment in the afternoon, that had jolted her painfully back into the past. Into the job she had once done. The knowledge Veronika had, undoubtedly, that she, Maggie, had slept with Dante while undertaking a spying assignment for her, Veronika.

  Her cheeks flushed, and it was with an enormous surge of relief she saw Emilia return to the room. Even more so when Emilia’s glance at Veronika showed barely-concealed scorn.

  She’d known Dante’s younger sister for less than an hour, but she gravitated to her like a lifeline. “My niece is perfect,” she said smugly, making cooing noises at May and pulling exaggeratedly cartoon like faces.

  “She seems smitten with you,” Maggie responded, smiling at May’s contagious joy.

  “It is mutual, believe me. Has she been a good child for you?”

  Maggie didn’t detect anything but curiosity in Emilia’s question. “She’s excellent,” she responded with a small smile. “She is easy in most ways. A lovely temperament; happy, gentle, curious. And she has always slept well. Her appetite is ferocious.”

  “She looks like Dante, but she sounds like she must take after you in her manner.” Emilia rolled her eyes. Her accent was more pronounced than Dante’s, making it apparent she spent less time in English speaking countries. Still, her comprehension was excellent. “Dante is never still, as you know. Sleep is something he regards as a luxury; a sign of weakness, even. And as for his temperament, he is better described as intractable rather than happy.” She winked for good measure. “Still, he has his good points, no?”

  Maggie’s gaze was drawn across to him. He was speaking to Sofia, one of the tall, slender sisters. The one who designed the labels? She thought so, though it was difficult to keep track. How did he manage to stand out so completely, even in this room, so filled with gorgeous, swarthy-complexioned goddesses and handsome men? Maggie looked away just as he looked up. For the briefest of moments, their eyes met, and the room seemed to sizzle. The fine hairs on the back of Maggie’s neck stood on end as her body remembered what he was capable of doing to her.

  “Yes.” It was a guttural sounding agreement. She reached down and scooped May up, burying her head in May’s flopping brown curls simply to hide the way her cheeks were flaming.

  “He has done wonders with the business,” Emilia continued, observing Maggie from beneath her thick, curling lashes.

  “Has he?” She hated herself for it, but she needed to know. Any little crumb of information about Dante was fascinating to her.

  “Si.” Emilia leaned closer, absentmindedly rubbing May’s little back. “He really took it to the next level. Made it not just the super expensive, top-quality wines that Velasco is renowned for, but also table wine that is enjoyed far more widely.”

  Maggie didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t really thought about Dante’s work. She knew only that he came from a very wealthy winemaking family. She had sort of presumed that he was more or less riding the coat tails of an established business. It hadn’t occurred to her that his dominant personality would translate into a need to improve on something that was already pretty darned near perfect.

  “I’ve only tried one of your wines,” she said apologetically. “But I really liked it.”

  “That is all that matters.” Emilia turned her attention to May. “She is looking tired.”

  Surprisingly, several hours had passed since May woke, and it was getting near to her dinner and bedtime. “It’s so late,” she said with surprise. “I should get her back to her bed.”

  “I will walk with you, Maggie,” Emilia said kindly, her smile filled with genuine friendship.

  Sensing Maggie’s total consternation about how to extricate herself from the situation, Emilia took over. She clapped her hands together, so that the bangles on her arms jangled and May jumped in Maggie’s arms. “Our little princess must retire for her beauty sleep now!”

  She hated that she looked to him so often, but she did so now, lifting her eyes to Dante instinctively. He was very still, his face watchful.

  “Ah, no!” Sylvie exclaimed, putting her arms up in frustration. She walked in her elegant glide-like way across the room, and put a finger under May’s chin. “Abeulita will see you soon.” She lifted her dark eyes to Maggie’s face, and now her expression was simply inquisitive. “May I visit her tomorrow?”

  “Of course,” Maggie responded with a smile. “May would love that.”

  “Thank you.” She kissed May’s cheek. “So many children, and you are my first grandchild,” she whispered. “But it doesn’t matter. Even with a hundred, I think I’d love you the best.”

  Maggie felt her heart swell, and then break. How had she kept May from these people for so long? She put a hand on Sylvie’s wrist. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Maggie looked about the room by way of general farewell, and then moved towards the door. The bag of baby supplies she’d packed was propped in the h
allway and she bent to retrieve it now. May was heavy on one hip, but Maggie was used to juggling groceries, a baby, car keys and a phone.

  “Allow me.” Dante’s voice, sharp like a knife, cut through her thoughts. His fingers reached for the bag, and connected with her hand. She startled visibly, and rose swiftly, almost banging her head on a low-hung picture.

  “Thank you,” she said shyly.

  Emilia stood as the third wheel to their bicycle, waiting by the door.

  “Are you heading to the villa, Dante?”

  “I wanted to say goodnight to my daughter privately.”

  “Oh.” Dante did not mince words. His meaning was obvious.

  Emilia rolled her eyes. “I will have to join the queue of people wanting to see you tomorrow, I suppose,” she said with a lopsided smile. “You sleep well. Dream of your aunt Emilia, who is going to take you shopping for lovely dresses when you are older.”

  Maggie’s grin was genuine. “Thanks for everything. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  “Yes. Goodnight, Maggie.”

  All in all, the afternoon and evening had not been as disastrous as she’d anticipated. Only one point had caused her any distress, and as she walked further and further away from Dante’s house, and closer to her temporary accommodation, she felt her blood begin to singe her veins with its bubbling ferocity.

  “May coped well,” Dante remarked in an almost conversational tone, as they reached the beautiful villa.

  Maggie shot him a look over the child’s head that was filled with hurt venom. “Of course she did.”

  Would it kill him to acknowledge that she, too, had handled the situation with aplomb? His ex-wife, the woman whose marriage she had helped end, was still in his life. Her stomach lurched as she began to wonder what their relationship involved.

  Were they sleeping together? Was a reunion on the cards? Oh, God. Was that woman to be a step-mother to May? Her hands were shaking as she placed May on the floor and moved into the kitchen. May followed happily behind, in search of her usual amusement, the wooden spoon and pot.

  Maggie grabbed them from the bench and handed them to May.

  Dante stood in the doorframe of the kitchen, his face unreadable, his posture deceptively relaxed.

  Maggie looked away, focussing her mind on preparing May’s dinner. “You can leave the bag in my room, thanks. I’ll sort it out later.”

  He frowned, before realising he still had the nappy bag hooked over one shoulder. He disappeared for a moment, then reappeared. Maggie, in the act of lifting some risotto from a dish into May’s bowl, paused.

  “Was there anything else?” She demanded coldly, placing the dinner aside so that she could lift May into her high chair.

  “Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of me?” He asked curiously.

  Her eyes flew to his. Wasn’t it obvious? “I’m not,” she denied hotly. “But you don’t need to stay. I have given May dinner and got her to bed hundreds of times on my own.”

  “And whose fault is that?” He asked with a menacing softness, padding across the room to stand by her side.

  Maggie closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. He was too close. And she was too incensed. She lifted her gaze to his handsome face, then immediately wished she hadn’t. The accusation there was unmistakable. The anger, the frustration, the hurt, the recriminations. And Maggie recognised his feelings, because she felt them too.

  “You didn’t want children,” she said, finally, repeating the one life-line she had been clinging to for years. It was the justification she’d used for the fact she’d not told him about May.

  He was very quiet while he digested her statement. “What?” He demanded finally.

  “You said you didn’t want children. That you didn’t want to be tied down.” She lowered her voice so that it was an imitation of his deep tone. “I am my own person. I do not want to compromise that with commitments – to a family. That is not my way.”

  He closed his eyes, his face pale beneath his tan. “This is why you didn’t tell me?”

  She turned away from him, moving to the corner of the kitchen so that she could fill May’s sippy cup. “It’s one of the reasons,” she said with a curt nod.

  “And what were the others?” He followed her across the room, and succeeded in trapping her in the corner of the kitchen with his powerful frame.

  “I… don’t want to talk about it now,” she said weakly, unable to look away.

  His face set in a harsh mask. “Don’t you? That is tough, Maggie. You owe me an explanation.”

  Her heart was hammering against her chest. He was so close. His body was radiating heat and energy, and she longed to wrap her arms around his waist and pull him closer still. But she dared not.

  “I don’t want to talk in front of May,” she said with a quiet firmness.

  “She does not speak. Well, not really. What do you think she’s going to do?”

  Maggie shot him her best impersonation of a withering glance. No mean feat given that desire was forming sharp little arrows in her central nervous system. How could she still want him after all that had passed between them? She must be certifiable. Only she wasn’t. What they shared was a gut-wrenching need for one another, no matter how they despised it.

  “She’s very perceptive,” Maggie responded. “She picks up on mood and tone like anybody.”

  “Does she?” Dante turned around and slanted a glance at their chubby little child. At that point, she was gnawing on the end of a rusk, her face coated in wet crumbs. He spun his body back to Maggie. Beautiful, crazy-making Maggie.

  “Yes,” she glared at him crossly.

  Something had changed in him. His manner was strange. Different to the outright hostility he’d exhibited earlier. Oh, his rage was still an actual force, but there were other emotions now too. “And what would she think if I touched you here?” He asked with a cold detachment. He lifted a finger and ran it slowly up her side, to the sensitive skin just beneath her arm. “And here?” He murmured, his eyes hooded as he repeated the gesture on her right.

  She bit down on her lip, immediately feeling the muscles of her core clench with willingness.

  “And what if I were to kiss you, here?” He lowered his head, and she was positive he was going to do what he’d promised. How she ached for his kiss. But he didn’t. He darted his tongue out instead and traced her lower lip, then pulled backward.

  Though her insides were in turmoil, she sounded almost ironic when she spoke. “I think she’d be confused.”

  “Would she?”

  “She has certainly never seen her mother do that before.”

  His smile was cruel. “Another lie?”

  She frowned. “Huh?”

  “You do not need to pretend you’ve lived the life of a saint, Maggie. I know you. And your libido. I have no expectations that you assumed an almost virginal lifestyle in my absence.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she responded hotly, rolling her eyes and pushing at his chest with true force. Her eyes flashed, and a voice in her head was telling her to calm down. Reminding her that May was watching. She took in a deep breath and reformed her features into an expression of saccharine sweetness. “It was not for you that I’ve been on my own, Dante. I’ve had my hands full with May. By the time I’ve worked, and cared for our daughter, I haven’t really felt like getting dolled up and hitting on men.”

  He turned away from her, making a far more visible attempt to settle his nerves. “You are right. We should not argue in front of her.”

  Maggie scooped up the risotto and walked to May. “Fine by me,” she said in an undertone, feeling guilty the second she saw the wary curiosity on May’s face.

  “Sorry, angel. Dante and mummy were just discussing something important.” She scooped some risotto onto a spoon. “Sometimes grown ups raise their voices when they’re talking.”

  “Dinner Dinner Dinner,” May responded enthusiastically, closing her toothy little mouth around the
spoon and making an exaggerated noise of enjoyment.

  As Maggie fed May, she was rendered self-conscious by Dante’s dark, watchful presence. The usual banter she enjoyed with May was absent. Instead, she concentrated on getting food into the little mouth without ending up covered in the starchy meal.

  In this, she was not overly successful. Her dress had splotches of white rice down the front by the end of the dinner. When she picked May up out of the chair and carried her to the bathroom, she realised that May had dropped her sippy cup, and the wetness saturated her dress.

  She began the bath running and placed May inside. Dante had followed. “Would you watch her for a moment please?” She asked without meeting his eyes.

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  He was standing in the door jamb, and when she moved past him, he failed to give her any room. Her body brushed up against his and just as she was about to break the contact he grabbed her hand.

  “Where are you going?” His eyes were heavy, and she felt the hint of arousal on her hip. She gasped, surprise ripping through her. Anger, that he was still somehow involved with Veronika made her react sharply. She pulled her hand away and rubbed her skin where he’d touched her.

  “To get changed. My dress is a casualty of May’s love for food.”

  She knew he watched her walk away, because she felt his eyes on her in a way that made her pulse race.

  When she emerged from her room a vital ten minutes later, her mood was slightly calmer. She’d pulled on the first things she’d laid her hands on – black yoga pants and an oversized sweater.

  When she returned to the bathroom, she saw it was Dante that needed a change of clothes. He was drenched from head to toe. “I was the recipient of some overzealous hair washing,” he said with an explanatory laugh.

  “Oh, goodness!” Maggie made a tsk tsking noise at May. “You know you aren’t to throw water from the bath.” She shot him a look of apology. “It’s her latest thing. She adores tipping water from the tub.”

  “It is fine. It makes me feel like a parent.”

  Her stomach rolled with another dose of remorse. Would she ever forgive herself? Probably not. She certainly couldn’t think straight with Dante, all wet and adorable looking.