CHAPTER SEVEN

AFTER you put Ana to bed, come down to the dining room for dinner.

Paige touched the note Dante had left her earlier. A note. Who wrote a note? She’d have to introduce the man to the mighty power of the text message. Or, better still, making human contact when you lived in the same house as someone.

She touched one of the letters on the paper. He’d pressed too hard on his pen, made dents, each letter precise and perfect, gone over two or three times she guessed. Dante didn’t do spontaneous very well, that was for sure.

Well, she supposed their arrangement fell under spontaneous, but then, even when he’d had that headline sprung on him he hadn’t acted with any sense of wild abandon. It had been with frightening calm, and complete confidence in the fact that he’d made the right decision.

Whereas, she, after blurting out the idiot untruth to Rebecca, had eaten a pint of ice cream and spent the night beating her head against the arm of her couch.

Decisive wasn’t really her thing. She needed to start getting there, though. She had a baby. A baby that would grow, and who would need a mother who could stand strong in decisions and discipline and…stuff.

The idea of it made her a little anxious. But for now, it was all about loving her. And that she had down just fine.

At least her room was nice. And yeah, all her clothes and her toiletries were in Dante’s room, but she’d managed to get her dress for dinner and her makeup essentials over to her room without running into him. Which suited her fine. She’d been feeling a little rumpled and frumpy after what had been a very long day.

But a shower and a sparkly minidress had done a lot to fix the way she felt. Her newfound sense of flashy style was something she’d acquired on arrival in San Diego, and it had done wonders for the way she felt about herself. About the outside of herself, anyway.

She leaned into the mirror and swiped her lipstick over her bottom lip, painting it with a streak of fuchsia, then spreading it evenly. She smiled. She felt better when she was bright. Like showing the world her mood, so that she had to bring herself up to match it.

She let out a long breath and opened her bedroom door, padding quietly down the hall to Ana’s room first, to make sure she was sleeping soundly, then continued to the stairs. She took the stairs two at a time, anxious now to hear what Dante would say.

To see if he would tease her again. Flirt with her? No, he wouldn’t flirt with her. There was no reason for that.

She tripped on the last step, her focus splintered over her thoughts.

“Careful.”

She looked up and her heart slammed hard against her breast. Dante was standing in the doorway of the dining room, his eyes on her. On her nearly falling on her face. He, on the other hand, looked immaculate as always. Perfectly pressed in a crisp white shirt that was open at the collar, showing a faint shadow of chest hair that she couldn’t help but notice, and black slacks that showed off his trim waist and powerful thighs.

Since when had she ever noticed a man’s thighs? What was he doing to her?

“I like to make an entrance,” she said, doing a very lopsided curtsy in an attempt to defuse the tension. All she really succeeded in doing was making herself look like a bit of an ass. That seemed to be her specialty. But it didn’t matter really. She just kept smiling. If she didn’t care, no one else seemed to. No one else seemed to notice how hard things were, how awkward she felt, if she didn’t.

She straightened and smiled, hoping she didn’t blush.

“You certainly do that.” He walked toward her, the easy grace in his movements filling her with one part envy and nine parts desire. He really was gorgeous.

“Ha. Yeah. My blessing and my curse.”

He put his hand on her lower back and heat fired through her from that point to the rest of her body. He propelled her forward into the dining room and she was afraid she might wobble again. Not because she was that big of a klutz, not usually, but because his touch was making her limbs feel rubbery.

She sucked in a breath when she saw the table. It was laid out special—gorgeous platters with appetizers and there were candles. It was very real, suddenly. Like an actual date, which she knew it wasn’t.

And she shouldn’t let it make her feel any kind of pressure. He wasn’t interested in her that way, and that was fine with her. She didn’t have the time or inclination for it.

“This looks great,” she said, too brightly.

He pulled her chair out for her and looked at her, waiting for her. She just stared.

“Would you like to sit down?” he asked.

“Oh, uh…yes. I’m not used to men pulling my chair out for me.”

“Then you need to associate with better men.”

“Or maybe find men to associate with in general.”

“I imagine your dating life is somewhat hobbled by recent developments.”

“Yeah, recent developments. That’s what’s hobbled my dating life.” She sat down and he abandoned his post at her chair and went to sit across from her. She took a salmon roll off the platter and put it onto her plate, her stomach growling, reminding her it was late for dinner. “So,” she said, “you want to talk?”

“We need to talk. I’m not sure I particularly want to talk. But we need a plan. If we’re going to be a couple, to both child services and the media we need to know about each other.”

“And how do you propose we get to know each other?” she asked, taking a bite of the sushi.

“I’m not proposing we get to know each other. I’m proposing we learn things about each other. The two are different.”

“Less involved, I suppose,” she said.

“Much.” He took a roll off the platter with a pair of chopsticks. Effortless for him, as ever. “Where are you from?”

“Silver Creek. Oregon. Small, bit of a nothing town. Everyone knows your business. Everyone knows you. The entire population is kind of like your extended family.”

“Which is why you moved.”

“Yes. To somewhere that didn’t have people with…expectations.” Expectations of her failure. Of her continuing to drift through life without a goal, without any success. “And you, where are you from?”

“Rome originally. Then moved to Los Angeles. And then…when my mother died,” he said, his voice too smooth, too controlled, as if he was saying words he’d rehearsed to perfection, “I went into foster care. I spent a few years with different families before the Colsons adopted me at fourteen.”

“I could have found all that out by reading a bio online somewhere.”

“But had you read one?”

“No.”

“So, I still had to tell you.”

“Fine, you did. What else do I need to know?” she asked.

He slid two covered plates over from the edge of the table and placed one in front of her, and one in front of himself. She uncovered it and took a moment to appreciate the tantalizing look and smell of the fish dish before directing her focus back to Dante.

“My sign?” he asked, his tone dry.

She laughed. “I don’t even know my own sign. I don’t pay attention to that stuff.”

“That surprises me—you seem like you would.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re very…free-spirited. And you’re an artist.”

“I see. Well, sorry to disappoint you. What’s your favorite color?”

“I don’t have one.”

“That’s stupid. Everyone has a favorite color.”

He arched one dark eyebrow. “Did you just call me stupid?”

“No. Your lack of favorite color is stupid.”

“Fine, what’s yours?”

“Well, I’m an artist, so I have a close relationship with color. I like cool colors—they’re very calming. And of course warm colors are quite passionate. So I have to say my favorite color is…glitter.”

He laughed and she felt a small tug of gratification that she’s managed to pull an expression of humor out of him. “That isn’t a color.”

“Sure it is. I’m an expert. I don’t question you about merchandising and advertising and everything else you have a hand in. Siblings?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “You?”

“Two. My sister is a pediatrician and my brother is a second-string quarterback for the Seahawks. Impressive, I know.”

“Very. So how did you get into art?”

She fought off the sting of embarrassment that always came when she had to talk about Jack and Emma. It wasn’t fair, really. They deserved their success. They earned it. They had talent, and they worked hard.

They didn’t deserve for her to make it about her. Still, it was never fun to talk about. But talking about it was better than living in a town where everyone knew that you were, without question, the big letdown of your family.

“I’ve always been interested in it. Started drawing and painting really young.”

“Did you go to school for it?”

“No.” She shook her head, kept her tone light. No big deal. It was no big deal. “I never really liked school. Just wasn’t my thing.”

“And what did your parents think of that?”

“Would you like me to lie down on the couch before you continue?”

“Just a question.”

“Well, uh…they’ve never been that impressed with my interests. My grades in school were bad, and they were spending a lot of money sending Jack and Emma to school already, even with the help of scholarships and…and they didn’t want to pay to send me too when they knew I wouldn’t apply myself. So the not going to school was a mutual decision.”

She could feel Dante’s dark gaze boring into her. “A mutual decision?”

She shrugged. “I mean, I might have gone if they…”

“But they wouldn’t.”

“No.”

“Should we tell your parents about the wedding?”

The subject change threw her for a moment. “Oh, it’s…No, probably not. It’s not like it will be huge news outside of our circle here. Your circle here, I should say and anyway…they won’t really approve of the whole thing with Ana.” An understatement. She could just hear her mother’s skepticism.

Do you think you can handle it, Paige? Filled with concern, and a bit of condescension.

But she could handle it. She was sure she could. She was almost completely sure. Again, the bigness of it all threatened to swamp her completely. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d really wanted something. The last time succeeding had been so important, if it ever had been.

It was so much easier to just not care. But with Ana, she couldn’t.

“They don’t approve of you adopting?” he asked.

She shrugged and put her focus back on her food. “I haven’t talked to them about it, but I figure if I save it until everything is final I can spare everyone a lot of angst. It still might not work out.” Her throat tightened, terror wrapping icy fingers around her neck.

“It will,” he said, total confidence in his tone. “We have the media involved which, now that I think of it, is very likely going to work in your favor. I doubt social services want reports out about how they denied an adoption to a child’s lifelong, primary caregiver.”

“You may have a point. I have to ask, though, what’s really in it for you? Because I don’t have any guarantee that you won’t back out. I know you talked about easing business deals but clearly you make deals just fine without me, so I can’t fathom why it would suddenly be important.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I have opportunistic tendencies. This opportunity presented itself and I decided to follow it to its conclusion. There were two options in this situation—do what was expected of me, accept the negative press. Or, try to change things.”

“And that’s all? Because truly, with that as your only motivation, I’m not really filled with comfort and warm fuzzies.”

His gaze sharpened, his dark eyes intense. “It’s important for you to know something. When I say I will do something, I do. There is no going back.”

He said it with such purpose, such unequivocal certainly that she couldn’t help but believe him.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said. It was the truth. She was the one in the stranglehold. She was the one who was in a situation that was too big for her, nothing unusual there. She was the one who needed help.

But instead of giving up, like she usually did, she’d done whatever she’d had to in order to secure her success. Unfortunately, that had meant lying. It had meant dragging Dante into the situation, and she really did sort of feel bad about that.

“I am doing it. I made the decision. I won’t change my mind.”

“But is the media thing…that’s all you want?” she asked. Seriously, it was a stupid question because she didn’t exactly have anything to give him if changing his image in the press wasn’t enough.

He put his fork down, and took in a deep breath, his expression one of barely contained annoyance. “I have been the target of malicious rumor and speculation by the media since I was fourteen years old. I came onto the stage a villain. I thought it might be interesting to see if I could end up a hero.”

There was no real venom in his words, none of the emotion that was so easy for her to think should be there. That the media had been attacking him since he was a young teenager seemed unforgivable. But he just said it like it was an interesting fact. And he talked about changing public perception as if it were no more than a fascinating experiment.

“What did they…say about you?”

“That I had somehow tricked the Colsons into adopting me. That I was holding something over their heads, that I was a plant for the Mafia—racially motivated attacks are always nice. That I might murder the poor, trusting older couple in their beds.”

He spoke so casually, without inflection. Cold horror settled in her stomach, making her shiver. He continued. “Some thought Don Colson had ‘imported’ me because I was some sort of financial genius and he lacked an heir.”

“But you knew the truth,” she said, her heart tightening, aching for him. Things with her family were hard, and sometimes she felt like she didn’t belong, but she didn’t have the media weighing in on it.

He paused for a moment. “That’s the thing. Paige, I don’t know the truth. Why they would take me in is somewhat beyond me. A fourteen-year-old boy with no people skills and no inclination to find any. But I was smart,” he said, as if trying to reason it out. “I did well in school.”

Oh, good, he was a genius, too.

“I’m sure it was more than that,” she said. Because she really needed to believe that getting good grades in school wasn’t the deciding factor on a person’s value. Otherwise she was sunk.

“Perhaps. I’ll have to ask them sometimes.”

“You never have?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does.”

“No,” he said, his voice hard, “it doesn’t. They gave me a future, the best education possible, the best job opportunity possible. They gave me the means to support myself.” He chuckled. “That might be an understatement. They gave me the means to thrive. They owe me nothing. No explanation. No frilly words. I don’t need them. I have everything I need. And I think you and I have everything we need, too.”

He stood from the table, his food less than half-finished. “I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll all drive to work together. It would look wrong to go separately.”

She nodded and watched him walk out of the room. She picked up her fork and started eating again. She wasn’t going to go to bed starving just because he’d decided to get upset about something and leave.

And he was upset. For all that he’d stayed calm, she could tell that the conversation had disturbed him.

There was so much more to her poker-faced boss. Finding out just what lay beneath the surface should be the furthest thing from her mind. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Ana.

But it was Dante dominating her thoughts tonight. She sighed and tried to focus on her dinner, and not think so much about the deep, overwhelming darkness that she’d glimpsed in his normally expressionless eyes.

* * *

Dante unbuttoned his shirt and took a hanger out of his closet. He put it on the hanger and buttoned the top few buttons, then put it in its place in the closet

He moved his hand to his belt buckle, then paused for a moment. He walked into his en suite bathroom and braced his hands on the vanity countertop, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

He didn’t look at himself often. He didn’t see much point in it. But he did now. And he wondered what other people saw.

He chuckled, the sound bitter, hollow in the empty room, and turned the sink on, running cold water onto his hand, splashing it onto his face. He knew what people thought about him. They wrote it in on society blogs and people, people from all over, were able to leave comments with their explicit opinions.

Sexy, but dead behind the eyes.

Amoral.

Italian bastard.

Impostor.

Yes, he knew what people thought of him. How they saw him. And he knew that it didn’t matter. Not because he was so at peace with who he was, but because he genuinely didn’t care.

A man makes his own destiny. If he is in control of himself, he can control everything around him.

Words from Don Colson when he’d first come to live with them. From the man he thought of as his father. The man he’d never felt worthy of calling father. It was what made him strive to be worthy. The Colsons were the only people who’d inspired that feeling in him.

Control was the key. It was what put him on Don Colson’s side. And not on the side of his real father. The man who’d spilled his mother’s blood. The man whose blood ran through his veins.

He shut off the water and turned, walking back into his room. His bedroom door opened and Paige stopped short, one foot in the room, a sharp squeak escaping her lips.

“I thought you were…that is…you didn’t say anything when I knocked, and my pj’s are in here. I’ll…come back.”

It took him a moment to realize that her wide eyes were glued to his bare chest. It gave him a strange sense of satisfaction to know that, in spite of her constant reminders that she didn’t want to sleep with him, she wasn’t immune to him.

Something that shouldn’t matter.

“No need. Find your pajamas,” he said. “Don’t mind me.”

“Right,” she said, sliding into the room and moving quickly to the closet. She opened it and walked in. He watched her rummaging in the corner that had been designated for her clothing. He would have to ask his housekeeper to lay things out more nicely for her. His closet was huge, and his clothes always well spaced out so he could see what he had. There was no harm in crowding things in a little bit for Paige’s sake.

Although, just when the idea of giving her some substantial room in his home had stopped bothering him, he wasn’t sure. Maybe, stopped bothering him wasn’t the right way to put it. More that it didn’t make his eye twitch.

“Got them.” She emerged a moment later, clutching a pair of flannel pants and a white T-shirt to her chest. “So I’ll go.”

He found that he was reluctant to let her leave. If she left, he would be alone with his thoughts, and tonight, his thoughts were on a dangerous path.

“Those don’t look like I imagined they might,” he said, extending his hand, taking the flannel between his thumb and forefinger.

“No?” she asked. He noticed that her chest pitched sharply, in time with a sudden breath. That his drawing nearer to her was making her nervous. That he was right in his earlier assessment of her. She wasn’t immune to him.

“No,” he said. “Something diaphanous and flowing, I thought. Something with glitter.”

“And slippers with heels and feathers?” she asked, her voice thin and shaky.

“Also a tiara.” He took a step closer to her, heat firing in his blood. He was thinking too much tonight and being near her made him feel less like thinking, and more like acting.

He lifted his hands and brushed his finger along her cheekbone. Her mouth dropped open, her lush lips forming an O. Oh, yes, this was simpler.

He slid his hand around, cupping her head, his thumb stroking her face still. “Even so, this has a certain appeal to it. As does the dress you have on now.”

“D-Dante…”

“If we are going to be a couple, do couple interviews and things like that, you will have to look comfortable with me touching you.”

“I’m comfortable,” she said, the high pitch of her voice proving her a liar.

He wasn’t comfortable, either. He was shaking, he was hard as hell and he couldn’t fight the need that was coursing through him, not anymore. He had seen her, he had wanted her. Wondered what it would be like to taste all that color and light. To absorb it into himself.

But he had denied himself. No more.

Without thought for consequence, without even trying to gentle his movements or ask her if she was all right, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She was so warm. So alive. Her breath filled him, the soft sound of shock she made when he slid his tongue over the seam of her mouth, made his stomach twist.

Keeping one hand on the back of her head, he curved his other arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Her arms were pinned between them, still clutching her pajamas, keeping him from feeling her body against his.

He reached between them and tugged the clothes from her hands, scattering them over the bedroom floor. She pressed her hands flat against his bare chest, her palms warm, her touch sending a shock of heat and fire through him.

He traced her bottom lip with his tongue and she opened to him, offering him entry into her mouth. He felt like drowning in her. Like losing himself completely.

He didn’t realize he’d starting moving until Paige’s back came up against his bedroom wall. She was pinned between the hard surface and him, her breasts pressing into his chest. So he deepened the kiss. Took more. Demanded more.

Her hands were still pressed tight against his chest and for a moment, he thought she might be pushing him away.

No. No, he needed more. He continued to kiss her, devouring her, until she relaxed against him, until her hands crept upward, fingers curling around his neck, clinging to him.

Yes.

His heart was pounding, sweat beading over his skin. She dug her fingernails into his neck, holding on to him tightly, pressing in closer so that his heavy length was resting against her stomach.

There was no room for rational thought. There was no thought at all. Not beyond the next hot, wet slide of her tongue on his. Not beyond the next gasp of pleasure that came from her lips. There was nothing but bright lights bursting behind his closed eyes, and a pounding need to take her, join himself to her. Go deep inside. So deep he would lose himself completely.

It would be the easiest thing to push her dress up, tug her panties down, free his aching erection and push inside her tight, wet body. Find solace in her release, and in his. To let go.

He jerked back, his heart thundering, his body protesting. This was not how he operated. Not why he had sex. Not how he allowed himself to live. He couldn’t allow it. Not ever.

He would never give in to that creeping darkness inside of himself. To the monster that lived in him. The thing that he hated most.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his words clipped.

She blinked. “Why?”

“It shouldn’t have happened,” he bit out. It was inexcusable. The loss of control. The desperation he’d felt. To use her as a salve for his wounds. To let go of everything completely.

“I see,” she said. She bent down and started collecting her clothes, her movements jerky, awkward. She seemed angry, upset.

“You think it was a good idea?” he asked, frustration pounding his temples, arousal pounding in his groin.

“What? Oh…it’s just…” She stood up. “Whatever.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “It was a kiss. It’s not like it was anything serious. No big deal. Lips. Tongue. Not a big…I’m gonna go now.” She sidestepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Dante wrenched his belt off and threw it on the ground, stalking into his bathroom and turning the shower on cold. He dropped his pants and underwear and stepped beneath the spray. He let the icy water roll over him, making him shiver, his body shaking from the inside out. It wasn’t about cooling the heat in his body. He was paying penance for losing his control.

It would not happen again.

* * *

Paige leaned against her bedroom door, her heart sill pounding heavily, her lips still burning. Just a kiss? No big deal? She was getting good at lying.

She’d never been kissed like that, by a man like him, in her life.

And of course, the first words out of his mouth had been that it was a mistake. Of course it had been. How could it be anything else? A man like him would not want to kiss a woman like her. Not really.

Sometimes she felt like she was changing. Finding out who she was apart from the labels she’d been given at home, back in high school. Tonight, she felt like she’d reverted. Back to the painfully awkward girl she’d been.

The one she still was beneath the makeup and sequins.

She changed into her pajamas as quickly as possible and tried to ignore just how conscious she was of the fabric sliding against her skin. Of how sensitive she felt. He’d lit her skin on fire, made her feel like she was burning from the inside out.

The memory of the kiss, of how it had made her feel, took the edge off her humiliation. He’d made her want to do something stupid, like run her fingers over that finely muscled chest. To feel him, firm flesh, heat and a hint of chest hair, beneath her palms.

He’d made her want more than that. Her entire body heated at the thought of exactly what he’d made her want.

And he thought it was a mistake. Had he even wanted her? Even a little? Or had he just been horny and wanting sex? And she was in his house instead of one of the women he’d selected.

He wouldn’t have stopped with one of them. Wouldn’t have called it a mistake.

She opened her door and padded down the hall, cracking open the door to Ana’s room. She pushed Dante, and the arousal, the need, the hurt he’d inflicted on her, out of her body. A sense of calm washed over her as soon as she entered her daughter’s room. She didn’t need blood relation, or a government document to feel like Ana was hers. She was, in every sense of the word, no question.

She walked over to the crib and leaned up against the rail, not minding that the wood was digging into her ribs. She bent down and ran her hand over Ana’s fuzzy head, down her stomach. Ana sighed and wiggled beneath Paige’s hand, making a little smacking sound with her mouth.

So much perfection. So much love. So much responsibility. Paige had never succeeded at anything in her life. And she had to succeed at this.

No matter how hot the kisses, Dante Romani was just a means to an end. She couldn’t let him distract her.

And that meant no more kissing. Unless they had to. For the press or for social services.

Suddenly she felt very tired. Like a weight had come to rest on her shoulders. It was harder than she’d imagined it would be. And she couldn’t pretend that she didn’t care. Couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t pressure pushing in from all sides. Couldn’t pretend that losing would mean nothing.

Not when it would mean everything.

“I’ll do my very best, sweetie,” she whispered, an ache in her throat, a tear rolling down her face. She just hoped that for once, her best would be good enough.