CHAPTER TEN

DANTE cursed himself. To hell. To any level of hell. He’d heard every reference about his name in connection with the place of suffering and damnation that the media could possibly create, and this time, he found it appropriate.

He belonged there for this.

He had let her lead, but what he hadn’t realized was that she hadn’t known the dance.

A virgin. A damn virgin.

He should have known. He should have seen it in every wide-eyed glance, in every sweet, perfect blush. In the way she didn’t seem to know the sort of power her body could wield.

But he hadn’t, or worse, he’d ignored it. That black part of his soul rising up to choke out the control, choke out the small seed of human decency that had still rested inside of him.

He avoided women who didn’t know the game. Who didn’t understand that with him sex was only about one thing: release. Even if the woman had had a hundred partners, he had to be sure she understood that.

But a woman who had no experience with sex? She was not the kind of player he picked for the game. Ever.

The voice in his head whispering that Paige was different was silenced completely.

“Dammit, Paige,” he said, his voice rough.

“Oh, no. Don’t do that please.”

She scooted away from him and burrowed under his covers. In his bed. Like she was planning on staying the night, which he was sure she was. Women didn’t stay the night with him. They never had. Not once.

They met in hotels. They got the itch scratched. They left. A long encounter lasted a couple of hours. Never more.

“Don’t get upset about you not telling me you were a virgin?” he growled.

“Yes!” She threw her arms up and brought her hands back down on the covers. “It’s stupid. You’re not a mustache-twirling villain who just ripped away my maidenhead. I knew what I was doing.”

He moved into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and forked his fingers through his hair, his heart pounding heavily. Too quickly. He hadn’t gotten his control back yet. “I cannot even wrap my head around that sentence.”

“I wanted it. I told you I wanted it. You asked me to say it, and I did. I wanted to sleep with you. I wanted you to be my first. No, you know, that’s not even it. It wasn’t about first. It was about wanting you. End of story.”

“Paige, I don’t…I can’t offer you anything.”

“Oh, you mean you can’t offer me anything other than a temporary marriage to help me keep custody of my daughter? You can’t offer me anything more than that and multiple orgasms? Is that what you mean?”

“Paige,” he growled.

“Get into bed, Dante.”

“I don’t…” He was about to tell her. To tell her that his lovers did not share his bed. His lovers didn’t usually enter his home.

But the words stuck in his throat. He should tell her, tell her that if she wanted sex, she could have it, but if she wanted to make love she would have to look somewhere else. But for the first time in his memory, the blunt words, the true words, stuck in his throat.

He stood. “I need to go and take care of things.”

She nodded, her hands clutching the covers like talons, as if proving to him that she was well and truly rooted to the spot.

He walked into the bathroom and disposed of the condom, then for the second time in only a few days, he gripped the edge of the sink and regarded the man in the mirror.

He released his hold and straightened, turning away from his reflection. And he weighed which sin would be greater. To give her what she asked for, with no intention, no ability, to offer emotion. Or to show her now, that with him, there would be no softness.

He walked back into the bedroom, his chest tightening when he saw Paige, deep in the blankets, rolled onto her side, her eyes open.

“You did come back,” she said.

“I did,” he said.

His stomach tightened, painfully, a raw, intense tremor of terror working its way beneath his skin and straight into his heart. The closer he got to the bed, the sharper the feeling became.

He stopped, trying to catch his breath. She looked…angelic. Her lips swollen and flushed pink, her skin still flushed, too. Her blue eyes filled with an innocent expectancy, a need that he knew he could never meet.

And still, the desire to slide beneath the sheets and tug her bare body against his was strong. The need to feast on her beauty, to sate himself on that need, so great, so powerful, it threatened to take over.

He took a step backward. “You are welcome to stay in here for the night, Paige,” he said, his words stilted. “But I have work to do.”

He bent and retrieved his pants from the floor, tugged them on, then did the same with his shirt. And without looking back, he walked out of the room and closed the door firmly behind him.

* * *

Paige opened her eyes slowly, squinting against the light coming through the curtains. Her first thought was that it was strange that Ana hadn’t woken up.

Her next thought was about how strange it was that she was naked. She never slept naked. She wore her pajamas. But she hadn’t last night.

Oh, yes, and now she remembered, very, very clearly why she hadn’t worn pajamas.

Dante. His hands. His mouth. His body. He was…everything a man should be. No wonder she’d been so fascinated with him for so long. Somehow, some part of her, must have known, instinctively, that that man was capable of giving pleasure that went well beyond anything she’d previously imagined.

A smile curved her lips. Okay, so she hadn’t waited for marriage, or even true love, which she was sure her perfect sister had done. But it had been worth it. So, so worth it.

She pushed away the dreaded suspicion that she might feel differently about it later, and instead, focused on the warm satisfaction that was still resting in her body. She shifted and winced. Oh, yeah, there was also a little bit of ow resting in her body, but that seemed worth it, too.

Her muscles hurt. And so did…things that had never hurt before.

She rolled over and realized that the sheets were cold where Dante should have been. And then she remembered him walking out, his expression shuttered, blank, and she wondered if he had ever come back to bed.

The door to the bedroom swung open and Dante entered, wearing the clothes from the night before.

“Good morning,” she said, feeling slightly less blissful than she had a second earlier.

He frowned. “It is morning.” He tugged his shirt up over his head and her brain stalled at watching the play of perfect, golden skin over shifting muscles.

A little thrill assaulted her. He was hot, so supposedly out of her league, and yet, last night, he’d been hers. He had wanted her. Her.

She’d gotten the hot guy, and for a moment, she just wanted to celebrate that. Before reality hit.

“Yes, it is morning,” she said, sounding far chirpier than she imagined he might like.

“Are you okay?”

She sat up, holding the covers to her chest, and poked herself in the arm. “I…feel okay.”

“Very funny, Paige. You know what I’m asking.” He dropped his pants and her stomach followed the trajectory, sinking around her toes.

“If I’m angry that you made love with me and left me for the rest of the night?” she asked, keeping her eyes trained on his tight butt as he looked through his closet, shoving her clothing aside with rough, frustrated movements. “I’m a little angry about that, yeah.”

“That isn’t what I was asking.”

She really hoped that he wasn’t actually asking what she thought he might be asking, because that was just too stupid. “You want to know if I regret the sex.”

“Yes.”

She let out an exasperated breath. “I don’t regret the sex, Dante. But I am a little put out by the way you acted after. And actually, the way you’re acting now.”

“It sounds to me like you regret anything happened at all.”

“I told you I wanted it,” she said, exasperation lacing her tone.

He draped a pair of black slacks and a white shirt over his arm, still completely naked. “I know, but that was before you knew…”

“Just because I was a virgin doesn’t mean I didn’t know anything about sex. You can know about things without actually doing them.”

“But you don’t know how they’ll make you feel.”

“I feel—felt, because now I’m a little annoyed—satisfied. And warm. And…happy until you ditched me to work or whatever it was you did.”

“So, you have it all figured out then, do you?”

“Yes. If you stop treating me like a child, or a stranger who invaded your bedroom, I think we can work something out.”

His expression turned dark, fierce. He stalked over to the bed and leaned in, planting his hands on the foot of it. “So you think we can just go on and have an affair while you’re living here? Just sex. You, me, this bed, no clothes, no emotions—is that what you think?”

He was challenging her, trying to make her back off, trying to make her say no. And she knew it wasn’t for her benefit, not really. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging one bare shoulder, “I think we could do that.”

He raised both eyebrows. “You do?”

“Yeah. Last night was…really fun.”

“Fun?” he asked, his tone deadly.

“I can’t believe I waited so long. Well, I can, because you know…this is really embarrassing, but when I was in high school, I made out with this guy, but I had braces, and he cut his tongue.”

Dante blinked. “He…cut his tongue?”

“Yeah, on the braces. Only because he kissed like an overzealous puppy. You’re much better, by the way.”

“Thank you,” he said, drily.

“You’re welcome. Anyway, that’s hard to live down.” She drew her knees up beneath the covers and studied the stitching on the comforter. “And so, already I was sort of a running joke at the school. And then…senior prom, this guy who was…waaaay out of my league, asked if I would be his date. And I said yes. And then after the dance part, he told me he had a blanket and some drinks waiting for us under the bleachers which means…well, you know what that means. Well, no guy had paid attention to me in a couple of years thanks to the braces incident and so I…I was going to do it.”

“But clearly you didn’t,” he said, straightening.

“Clearly,” she said. “Because that wasn’t really what I was there for.”

“What happened?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “I don’t know why it’s so hard to talk about. It’s been what…four years? Stupid.” She shook her head, trying to stop the burning sting of tears in her eyes, the echoing burn of shame in her chest. “We went out to the football field, under the, um…bleachers. It was prom, you know, so…you know.”

“Yes,” he said, his tone hard. “I know.”

“Anyway things were going well. We were kissing, I hadn’t injured him. He started to take my dress off.…” She blinked hard, trying to keep her tears from falling. She’d cried enough about it. “Then he grabbed my arm and pulled me out onto the football field, and the big lights came on, and a huge group of my friends in the senior class threw eggs at me. Laughed at me. They took pictures of me, half-naked like that and trying to cover myself up. They made fliers later to pass out in school.”

She bit her lip hard. “You know, I would have gotten in serious trouble, for being out there unauthorized, but I think the principal thought I’d suffered enough. My parents thought so, too. Because everyone saw it. Everyone knew. I don’t know why…I don’t know why I walked into that. As one of the girls put it, did you really think he came out here to be with you?” A tear slid down her cheek and she brushed it away. “I had. I had really believed it. But not after that. And they never let it go. They brought it up all the time, even after graduation, and they would just…laugh like it had been the funniest, cleverest prank of all time. And I learned to laugh, too. Because my only other option was showing how much it hurt and I wouldn’t…I didn’t want to do that.”

“But then you moved here. Away from those people surely…”

“And take a chance at being rejected again? Obviously not on a scale that grand, but still. My entire senior class made a joke out of my half-naked body.”

Dante swore harshly. “There’s nothing wrong with your body.”

“Maybe not. No…I mean I know there isn’t but…they said there was. And in high school that’s all that matters.”

“Paige, why did you sleep with me?” he asked.

She looked up at him. “You wanted me.”

She could see the horror that passed through his eyes clearly. “Is that all? Because you thought I was the only man who would want you? Those people you went to school with were stupid. As limited as your family when it comes to seeing beauty and value,” he bit out. “I cannot imagine any man not wanting you. So I sincerely hope that this wasn’t some desperate act of someone who believed they could never have anyone else.”

She shook her head. “No. No, that wasn’t it. It was…you wanted me, yes, and I could see it. But also…I wanted you. Enough to risk the rejection. I’ve never wanted anyone enough to put myself out there again. But I wanted you that much. And that seems like a good enough reason to have sex to me.”

“And now…now that you’ve seen that I’m not a supportive, caring lover. Do you regret it?”

Yes, his abandonment of her had stung, and yet, she knew it had to do with him, not with her. She wasn’t sure why she was so certain of that, but she was. “I can’t regret it. It was a lot more about me than it was you, by the way, so maybe take some comfort in that.”

A shadow passed through his eyes, intense, dark. But before she could analyze it, it was gone.

A high-pitched wail shattered the moment. “Ah,” Paige said. “There she is. It’s a little past time for that.”

She looked at him, and his total, casual nudity, and down at her blanket-covered breasts. “This is a little different now,” she mused.

“What is?”

“Uh, the idea of being naked in front of you. When I was turned on things were a bit more hazy. Also, the room was darker. And I wasn’t irritated with you.”

“You’re irritated with me now?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’ll get over it, but for now, yes.”

He nodded. “I’m going to shower now, so, you’re safe.” He turned and strode into the bathroom and she watched his butt the whole way, until he closed the door behind him.

Oh, he was so hot. And yes, that was maybe shallow. And yes, she was angry at him, which was just an even-greater testament to that hotness. But he was like four-alarm-fire hot, and she’d had sex with him. It was hard not to feel a little bit of smug triumph over that.

Sure, he hadn’t gathered her into his embrace and held her all night long, but Dante had never promised romance. And she wasn’t going to forget that.

She slipped out of bed over to the closet, grabbing a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, dressing as quickly as possible, doing a victory hop-step down the hall to Ana’s room.

A little ray of joy broke through everything else when she saw Ana in her bed, kicking her feet, her eyes bright, her expression indignant. The memories, the confusion over Dante, for a moment, it all lessened.

“Morning, baby!” She leaned over and plucked her from her crib, kissing her soft head. “Let’s go get breakfast.”

She carried Ana downstairs and set her in her bouncy chair, letting her watch as Paige got her bottle ready. Then Paige picked her up and sat in one of the kitchen chairs to feed Ana. She smiled at the contented look on her face. Her fists were balled up by her face, her eyes round.

“Okay, take a break.” Paige pried the bottle from Ana’s lips, which earned her an indignant squeal. Then she propped her up over her shoulder and patted her back until she burped.

“Now you can have the rest.” She returned her to her feeding position.

“My housekeeper isn’t in on the weekend,” Dante said when he entered the room.

“That’s fine. I can pour a bowl of cereal. What do you usually do?”

“I can pour a bowl of cereal,” he said.

“But you didn’t even know if you had chocolate, so I assume you don’t.”

“I go out,” he said.

“Ah.”

“I take it you don’t want to?”

“You can,” she said. “I want to stay home with Ana. Spend more time on the terrace. She really liked it out there and it looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day.”

“I can pour a bowl of cereal,” he said. “I can pour two. We can eat together.”

He made it sound like he was submitting to mild torture. “You don’t have to.”

“It’s the right thing,” he said.

“Why? You think it’s what you have to do because I was a virgin?”

“Yes. Don’t protest. I’ve never slept with a virgin before. Allow me to salve my conscience.”

“Bleah,” she said. “Don’t let your conscience be wounded on account of my hymen.”

“Dio, Paige,” he said, pulling a bowl out of the cupboard and slamming it onto the counter. “Must you say things like that?”

“I’m a blurter. I blurt. That’s how we got into this situation in the first place.”

“I remember.”

“I thought you might. It’s one of those defining moments in one’s life. When someone lies about being engaged to you and you read about it in the news.”

“That does stay with you.”

She looked down at Ana. “You think I’m capable of taking care of Ana, right? Or being a mother, and seeing that she grows into a functional, happy human being?”

“I’ve said as much.”

“Great. So why would you think I can’t handle this?”

“I…”

“Exactly. You have no grounds. Either I’m tough enough to raise a child and fight to keep her, or I’m too wimpy to know my own mind and can’t be trusted to make decisions about who I sleep with. But I can’t be both.”

“You could never be accused of being a wimp.”

“Didn’t think so. It would be like accusing you of being too effervescent.”

He took a box of cereal out of the pantry. “You don’t think I am?”

“No offense, but no.”

“What am I then?” he asked.

Yet again, she could sense a strange, underlying seriousness to the question. And she had to wonder if sleeping with him had formed some sort of deeper connection, or if sex just made him philosophical.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Whatever you are, you’re good underneath all that hardness on the outside.”

“You think so?” he asked, a humorless smile curving his lips.

“I know so.”

“How?”

“Here I sit in your kitchen, with Ana. And you’re helping us. No matter how many layers of self-serving motivation you wrap it in, that’s still the heart of it.”

“I was paid back in full last night, don’t you think?” His tone hardened, his eyes turning to cool chips of coal.

“Okay, now you’ve gone from misguided gentleman to a-hole. Not sure what happened there.”

He crossed to the table and set her cereal in front of her.

She looked up at him. “I want coffee.” Caffeine just might make this morning, and him, bearable.

“I don’t make coffee.”

“Oh, for the love of…” She stood up. “Hold her, please.”

He looked stricken, his face frozen. “Hold her?”

“So I can make coffee, so we don’t have to figure out a way to mainline the grounds directly into my bloodstream.”

He took a step back, his expression closing off slowly, his black eyes going flat. “Let’s go out.”

“What?”

“All of us. It will make a nice photo-op for the press, don’t you think?”

“I…suppose so.”

“Why don’t you go and get ready,” he said.

“Okay.” She stood from her chair and held Ana close as she made her way out of the kitchen and up to her room.

And that was when she realized that it had been her request for Dante to hold Ana that had triggered his idea of going out. And that in all the time since they’d come to live at his house, Dante had never once touched Ana.

* * *

After breakfast, Dante had spent the day in his office, working, avoiding Ana and Paige to the best of his ability. But it was impossible when they seemed to be everywhere. On his deck, in the living room. Paige’s clothes were in his closet.

He stood from his desk and stalked out of the office, walking down the hall. He would go out and get some air. It was late and the lights were off in the house. Everything was quiet, blessedly so.

He walked down the stairs and to the living room, headed out toward the deck. And stopped cold. Paige was there, cradling Ana, who was wrapped in a blanket, in her arms.

He could hear her, singing softly, even through the closed doors.

It all came into focus slowly, and for a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Paige smoothed Ana’s hair with her hand, her expression so loving, so serene.

It choked him. Pain rose up in him, tightening its hold on him. Memories of another lullaby. Of his mother.

He loosened his tie, trying to get breath, clawing at the button on his shirt collar. He felt surrounded, crowded. Like nothing was his own anymore. Like his control was being pried from his hands.

He walked away from the scene, taking the stairs two at a time. He threw his bedroom door open, feeling his hold on his emotions, on his control, slipping from his grasp.

He turned and hit the wall with his open fist. It wasn’t enough. It didn’t take away from the explosion of feeling in his chest. He drew his arm back and punched the wall, pain biting into his skin, a dent in the plaster, a smear of blood on the paint that had been perfect and white a moment ago. He looked at his hand and dropped it back to his side, his eyes on the damage he had done.

Damage that he couldn’t simply wash away. He could have someone come and fix it, of course, but that wasn’t the point.

He stood there for a long time and simply looked. At what he had done. At the evidence of what happened when he lost his control.

Then he went into the bathroom and ran cold water over his stinging knuckles, focusing on the pain, on this consequence. Letting it overtake the suffocating emotion that had risen up inside of him. Letting it bring back his clarity of mind.

He needed space. He would spend the night in his office in the city. Anything to get away from this scene of domestic bliss. The vision of the kind of love that had been torn from him so many years ago.

Just a little space. That was all he needed. And he would be back in control.