by Day Leclaire
“Because you’re married.”
It took every ounce of self-control not to roar like his namesake. “For the last time, I am not married.”
“Well, no. But I thought you were.” She sighed. “I’ll have to remember to check my facts when it comes to my grandmother.”
“How many years have you known her, and you’re only just now coming to that conclusion?” He waved the comment aside. “Never mind. Answer me this, Shayla. What would you have done if you’d been told the truth from the start? If that—” He swallowed the epithet he was about to use to describe Leticia so he wouldn’t offend Shayla. It went down like a bitter pill. “If your grandmother hadn’t lied and told you I was married, what would you have done?”
She fell silent for an endless moment. With the light at her back, he couldn’t read the expression in her dark eyes. Couldn’t tell what she thought or how she felt, and it was killing him inch by torturous inch. Finally, she spoke. “I would have called you to tell you I was pregnant with your baby.”
The simple statement hit like a blow to the solar plexus. It took endless seconds to regain use of his lungs and limbs. Once he had, he approached and sank onto the padded bench beside her. The sunshine streamed in through the window and warmed his back like a blessing. Ever so gently he reached out and slid his hand across her abdomen. The Inferno burned hot against his palm, hot against the life cupped beneath.
“Our baby,” he murmured.
To his surprise, Shayla leaned into him and allowed her head to fall against his shoulder. It struck him that if he’d been wrong about his suspicions—that going to bed with him had not been part of some Machiavellian plot forged by Leticia Charleston—then Shayla had probably spent the past nine months standing strong, all on her own. Granted, she had the Wicked Witch to assist her, but that couldn’t have been much help. Not when her grandmother had a hidden agenda she was clearly running, play by dangerous play.
The best he could tell, there were two options. Either Leticia and Shayla had devised a plan of revenge to even the score with the Dantes for long-past transgressions, and sleeping with him was somehow part of it. Or Shayla was an innocent bystander. He was absolutely certain about one thing. Leticia was up to something. The Dantes just hadn’t uncovered the how-and-when portion of the slowly unfolding play. But guaranteed, the instant the curtain fell on the final act, it would be with a dagger in their collective backs.
It was also clear to him Leticia wanted to keep him well away from Shayla and their baby. The question was . . . why? Was the baby somehow part of her plot, or an unexpected wrinkle? And how much did Shayla know? How involved was she in all this? Only time would tell. Until then, first things first.
“Why would your grandmother go out of her way to keep us apart?” he demanded. “Wouldn’t she want the baby to have a name?”
Shayla stiffened. “The baby will have a name. My name. The Charleston name.”
“Our baby is a Dante,” he corrected implacably. “He’ll have the Dante name. We’ll marry as soon as it can be arranged.”
Where some women would have gotten angry and obstinate, Shayla simply smiled. “You can’t force me to the altar, Draco. I’ve lived almost my entire life with Grandmother Charleston. She’s spent the past seventy-two years learning how to operate a steamroller and she’s one of the best at it I’ve ever seen. I’ve lived my entire life sidestepping her. If she can’t force me in the direction she wants me to go, what makes you think you’ll have any better success?”
Shayla was like moonbeams and stardust, filled with magic but impossible to pin down. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. “Because you want what’s best for our child. And staying here, raising a child as a single mother, having your grandmother as a strong influence in your baby’s life is not in our child’s best interest.”
“But you are?”
“I’m his father,” Draco stated simply.
“His?” she repeated.
“Chances are it’s a boy. The Dantes have never quite gotten the hang of producing daughters, despite the occasional error in judgment.” He grinned to let her know he was teasing about his sister, Gianna. “Regardless of the sex, I intend to be there for our child on a daily basis. Not for the occasional, flying visit, but every single day of his or her life.”
“I see.”
She appeared troubled, which disturbed him more than he cared to admit. After all, what had she expected him to say? “Good luck and goodbye”? Or . . . “Here’s the monthly check, don’t call me, I’ll call you”? He tilted his head to one side. “You have a problem with my being involved?”
“Not exactly.”
He pushed. “Then what exactly?”
She fussed with the blankets some more, though the best he could tell they weren’t going to fold any neater. “I gather that this daily contact is supposed to take place in San Francisco?”
“I’d be willing to move here,” he conceded. “But there’s another important point you should take into consideration before deciding where we live. If you and the baby join me in San Francisco, you’ll both be surrounded by the love and support of my family. Our son will have grandparents who’ll adore him and be an intricate part of his life. And he’ll have more aunts and uncles and cousins than he can count.”
“I grew up without all of that,” she countered. “I’ve done just fine.”
That was open to debate. Fortunately, he retained sufficient discretion not to point that out. “The Dantes all get together at least once a week at Primo’s. We vacation together during the summer at our lake house. The wives all support each other and help with babysitting duties. Granted, considering your background you may find all the intermingling a bit overwhelming at first, everybody in everybody else’s business. But would you deny our son the opportunity to be part of such a large, close-knit family? Be honest, Shayla. Didn’t you miss that growing up? Which is the better lifestyle, here or there?”
“If I decide moving to San Francisco is a better option, why does it have to involve marriage?” she asked in a reasonable voice. “Marriage is a huge commitment. And it’s not like we’re in love with each other.”
He forced himself to remain silent, to choose his words as though they were the most precious of commodities. “I come from an old-world, extremely traditional Italian family, one in which premarital sex doesn’t happen.”
She blinked. “Then what did we have?”
He smiled. “Premarital sex.” His smile faded. “But for my grandparents it doesn’t exist, and therefore, didn’t happen.”
“Boy, are they going to be in for a surprise in a couple weeks,” she murmured.
He didn’t want to think about that, wouldn’t be distracted by it. But he wanted her to understand who he was and where he’d come from. “If you were to have our baby outside of wedlock, I would shame Primo and Nonna because I didn’t marry you and provide our son with the Dante name. They would never get over it.”
Distress filled her eyes, turning them black as midnight. “They’d disown you, wouldn’t they?”
“Once upon a time, perhaps, when the line was blacker and more rigidly drawn. But they lost their son and daughter-in-law—my uncle and his wife—in a sailing accident. It changed my grandparents, made them hold tighter to those of us who were left. So, no. They wouldn’t disown me. Even if that were a possibility, I wouldn’t try to force you to marry me because of it.”
“Even so, your relationship with them will never be the same if I don’t marry you.” When he remained silent, she pressed. “Will it?”
He hadn’t expected her to be so shrewd. “It would change,” he conceded.
“And if we married? Even if it’s only weeks before our baby is born?”
“I’d make it clear I moved heaven and earth these past months searching for you, intent on finding and marrying you. That even if I’d known you were pregnant, I couldn’t have done any more in order to track you down. I’ll also make it clear you didn’
t contact me because you were operating under the mistaken impression I was already married. Primo will have words with me, no question there. But since you and the baby will bear the Dante name, it’ll go a long way toward smoothing everything over.”
“Why, Draco?” she asked in bewilderment. “Why have you been looking for me all this time?”
“You know why.”
He laced her hand with his, pressing palm against palm, Inferno against Inferno. He watched her weigh the options, watched while his entire future hung in the balance. She almost tipped, when suddenly she grimaced. She slipped her hand from his to rest it low on her back and press, the gesture one of supreme weariness. He’d been around enough pregnant women in recent months to understand the source of her discomfort and take a fairly accurate stab at how to relieve it.
“Let me help,” he offered.
Gently he shifted her on the window seat so he could get to her back. Running his hands down her spine, he cautiously pressed until he found the bundle of knots just above her buttocks. Then he sank the heel of his palm into the source of her pain and worked at it. Her low moan had him clenching, building a number of knots of his own to replace the ones he relieved in her back.
“How did you learn to do that?” she marveled.
“Watching my cousins and brothers with their wives.”
He rested his jaw alongside her temple. He wished he could sit like this for hours, absorbing the soft texture of her skin against his, inhaling her sweet scent with each breath he took, feeling the quiet joy of having her in his arms. He didn’t care what it required or what sacrifices he needed to make. This woman was his and he refused to let her go. Not again. Not ever.
“Shayla . . .” Her name whispered between them.
She stiffened, pulled away from him. “Don’t pressure me, Draco. I’m not going to marry you because I’m pregnant with our child, or because of Primo and Nonna, or even for Alessandro and Elia.” The use of his parents’ names had him shooting her a questioning look. “I’ve made a point of acquiring a genealogy of your family,” she explained.
“Why?”
“Because the baby will need to know who his family is.” Her response registered on some deep, elemental level, but before he could comment, she continued. “I can’t make any decisions until I speak to Grandmother Charleston. I want to know why she told me you were married.”
He could take several wild guesses, but kept them to himself. At least, for now. It wouldn’t help his cause to go after Shayla’s sole remaining family member. A hideous thought occurred to him and he closed his eyes, wincing. Hell. If he and Shayla married, he’d be related to the old bat through marriage. She’d be his grandmonster-in-law.
And the hits just kept on coming.
As though waiting for her cue to return, Leticia swept into the room and shot off her opening volley. “If you’ve settled your business with my granddaughter, Mr. Dante, you may feel free to vacate my home.”
Draco folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not leaving without Shayla.”
“We’ll just see about that. One phone call and I can have you removed, by force if necessary. My second phone call will be to my lawyer telling him to tear up the contract authorizing the sale of the Charleston mines to your family.”
Shayla waded into the fray. “If everyone is finished making idle threats, we all have some decisions to make.”
Leticia sat down abruptly. “I can’t begin to imagine what you’re talking about. What decisions?”
“For one, whether or not I’m going to marry Draco and move to San Francisco with him.”
The words were barely out of Shayla’s mouth before Leticia shot to her feet again. “I forbid it! I absolutely, unequivocally forbid it.”
Draco was so grateful, he was tempted to kiss the hideous old woman on her narrow, cotton candy-pink mouth. She couldn’t have picked a worse comment to make if she’d tried, or one more guaranteed to drive her granddaughter in the exact opposite direction of the one she wanted.
Sure enough, Shayla’s eyes narrowed. “You forbid?” she repeated softly.
Draco had to hand it to her. Despite her advanced years, the old broad could still do a fast backpedal. “Perhaps the word forbid was ill-advised,” she graciously conceded. “But, darling, you must think about what’s best for the baby. And flying in your condition could prove dangerous. I’m certain your obstetrician would never agree to it. I suggest you wait until after the baby is born. Then you can go out and visit the Dantes with your—” she lifted her eyes heavenward, a pained expression painted across her face “—little bundle of joy.”
That look must have decided Shayla, warning that Leticia Charleston would never forgive her granddaughter for having the temerity to give birth to a child half Dante. It also provided answers to several of Draco’s questions, such as whether or not sleeping with him was part of a Charleston plot. Clearly, it wasn’t.
Shayla turned to Draco, the pain in her gaze threatening to rip him apart. Though he rejoiced Leticia had tipped the scales in his favor, he hated she’d hurt Shayla in the process.
“When can we leave?” she whispered, her breath catching in a slight hiccup.
“That depends. How fast can you pack?”
“Wait!” Leticia aimed for entreaty and still hit demand. “Please, wait, Shayla. I don’t want you to leave.”
“I understand, Grandmother,” she replied gently. “But you’ve said it yourself. I have to do what’s best for my baby.”
“But you’re the last Charleston in our family. You could have a son.” Leticia directed a fulminating glare at Draco. “Dantes have a history of shooting out sons like gumballs from a nickel machine. If you had a boy, he’d be a Charleston. Our name, our line, would continue.”
Shayla gasped in disbelief. “Is that why you told me Draco was married? Why you worked so hard to keep him from finding me and discovering I was pregnant? So I’d produce a Charleston heir?”
Leticia lifted a shoulder, somehow managing to imbue the gesture with a wealth of exasperation. “That might be one of the reasons on my list. It’s not the first item, but it’s on there, somewhere. I don’t normally approve of illegitimacy, although considering the current benefits to our line, I am willing to make a one-time exception. Even if the boy will be half Dante.”
“Very gracious of you,” Draco said carefully.
She turned on him like the viper she was. “Oh, get over it,” she snapped. “You found out in the nick of time, didn’t you? You Dantes always find a way to win the day. Go ahead and fly her out to California. Your family probably owns a fleet of private planes. Wave your hand and make one of them appear. With any luck the flight will force her into premature labor before you can drag her to the altar. And I’ll still get my way, assuming the baby survives.”
“Why, you—”
“That’s enough.” Shayla never raised her voice, yet sheer steel shot through her words, making them all the more powerful. “Grandmother has a point. Before I leave I should visit Dr. Dorling and have him determine the best way for us to get to California.” She fixed her grandmother with an unyielding stare. “But I am leaving. I will do what’s best for my baby and right now that’s Draco.”
“And if I refuse to sell the Dantes our mine?” Leticia stalked in Draco’s direction though she was smart enough to stay well out of his reach. She gripped her wedding ring, tugging at the chain so hard, he half expected it to snap. “I’ll sell the mine to one of your competitors if you marry my granddaughter. What have you to say to that?”
There was only one response to her threat, a response—given the circumstances—Draco couldn’t resist using. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”
Chapter Five
“How are you feeling?”
Shayla sighed. It must have been at least the twentieth time Draco had asked the question. From the moment they went wheels up, he’d watched her with all the ferocity of a fire-breathing dragon, as though he w
ere guarding a treasure more precious than gold.
“I’m fine,” she assured both him and Dr. Dorling. How Draco had convinced her obstetrician to join them on the flight, she had no idea. No doubt it involved a sizable amount of money since the doctor had dropped everything to make the trip. “I feel great.”
Dr. Dorling checked the monitors and nodded toward Draco. “Everything is perfect, Mr. Dante. Good oxygen. Excellent heart rate for both mother and baby. Blood pressure right where it should be.”
Draco didn’t appear the least relieved. Though he didn’t pace, Shayla could feel his worry electrifying the space within the luxurious confines of the Dantes’ jet. “We should arrive in another two hours,” he muttered, digging his thumb into his palm. His Infernoed palm, she noted. “Not long now.”
“Draco . . .”
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he attempted to soothe in a voice overflowing with grit and tension. “The pilot has the coordinates for all the landing strips close to hospitals along our flight path.”
“Draco.” She waited until he gave her his undivided attention. “Would you please relax? The flight isn’t making me nervous. The baby isn’t making me nervous. The doctor and his machines aren’t making me nervous. You are.”
He blew out a sigh, then smiled, two deep grooves denting his cheeks. It was the smile that did her in. But then, his smile had coaxed her into his bed in the first place. His smile. The burn of his touch. That odd sizzle and jolt when they’d first touched, a sensation that refused to go away, even after more than nine impossibly long months.
He crossed to join her, sliding in beside her and tucking her close. She closed her eyes, absorbing his warmth and allowing the steady beat of his heart and quiet movement of air in and out of his lungs to lull her toward a peaceful limbo. These days she lived in a haze of exhaustion, not to mention feeling uncomfortable and awkward, able to nap at any given moment, though with the constant kicks from the baby, never for long. Her life had changed in monumental ways, and all because of the man who held her safe and secure within his arms.
