Brazilian Nights. Sandra Marton

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ a second to realize he meant her.

      “Yes. Of course I can. But what…”

      “No. Come to think of it, I don’t trust you on the stairs. Not yet. So, you stay right there. I’ll come back for you.”

      “Dante. Honestly—”

      “Two ‘honestlys’ in one conversation.” Dante shook his head, turned back to her and brushed his mouth lightly over hers. “Amazing.”

      She couldn’t help laughing, even though she didn’t want to. “No. I mean, honestly—”

      He kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers, the baby between them cooing at this new, delightful game. When he drew back, he ran his hand along her cheek.

      “That’s the penalty,” he said softly. “A kiss, each time you use that word. Now, stay put. Okay?”

      She nodded. It was all she could manage.

      He went up the stairs quickly, came down just as quickly but without the baby. She waited for a wail of protest and heard, instead, her son’s contented gurgles.

      Dante swept her into his arms. It felt—it felt wonderful. Hours ago he’d carried her up these same steps but she’d been too sick to enjoy it. Now she was aware of everything it entailed. The steady beat of his heart. The solid feel of his chest. The light pressure of his hand at the side of her breast. The clean, soap-and-water scent of his skin and hair.

      The sweet pull of desire in her breasts and belly.

      “You’ve lost weight.”

      His voice was gruff. She nodded.

      “Maybe a little.”

      “What for? You were perfect, just the way you were.”

      Perfect. The word seemed to shimmer with light.

      “I…it wasn’t deliberate. I…I had a lot of things to do, when I got back to the fazenda.”

      “The baby.” His tone grew even more gruff. “I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”

      She thought of telling him that she had not been entirely alone, that her brother had been there for her, at least at the beginning. But that would only lead to questions. Dante didn’t know anything about her brother; they’d always kept their talk impersonal. Intimate, yes. Dante had whispered things to her in bed. Things that had made her tremble with desire. With need. With…with what she felt for him.

      “Here we go,” he said, as he carried her through a door, not to his room but to one just across from it.

      Gabriella’s mouth fell open.

      This was a baby’s room.

      Not in decor. The walls were cream; there were white-and-black vertical blinds at the windows, a black-and-white Scandinavian area rug underfoot. But it was furnished for a small child.

      Winnie the Pooh smiled from atop a bird’s-eye maple dresser, side by side with a baby monitor. A teddy bear with button eyes sat in the seat of a baby swing. A changing table stood against one wall, a big maple rocker against another. Facing her was surely the most beautiful crib in the whole world, also made of maple, fitted with sheets patterned with kittens and puppies. A mobile of rocket ships and suited spacemen amid stars, moons and planets hung over it.

      Her son lay on his back in the crib, arms and legs going like mad, eyes fixed to the mobile, his face a portrait of delight.

      “I didn’t know what you’d like,” Dante said. “So I just ordered some stuff.”

      She looked up at him. His mouth was a whisper away. Say something, her brain shrieked, but she couldn’t come up with a single word.

      Dante cleared his throat.

      “Look, there’s no problem with sending it all back. You know, if it’s not what you wanted—”

      “Oh, Dante! It’s wonderful!”

      His face cleared. “You think?”

      “It’s just that—” she hesitated “—we can’t impose on you this way. I mean, I know how busy you are. Orsini Investments. Your family. The last thing you need is…is someone from the past cluttering up your life, your home—”

      He silenced her the only way he could.

      He kissed her. And kissed her. And when she kissed him back and sighed his name in the way that had always sent spirals of desire straight down to his toes, he knew that everything he had done—bringing her here, sweeping aside his plans to find her an apartment and instead settling her into his home, was right.

      The idea had come to him while the doctor was with her. Gabriella was sick; she had the baby to care for. No way could he let her be on her own just yet. She’d simply have to stay with him for a couple of days. Just a temporary arrangement, of course, but even so, the baby would need things…

      Except that now, looking down at the woman in his arms, he knew those were all pathetic rationalizations.

      “I want you here,” he said softly, when he finally ended the kiss. “Here. With me. You and the boy—you and Daniel belong here.”

      “Dante.” Her voice shook. “Please. Don’t say that and not mean it.”

      “We’ll take things one step at a time.”

      It wasn’t quite the answer her heart wanted but it was an honest answer. How could she fault him for that? she thought, and she nodded and said, very softly, “Okay.”

      He leaned his forehead against hers. “Starting with that bathroom stuff you were positive I couldn’t handle.”

      She smiled into his eyes. “Somehow, I can’t picture you changing a diaper.”

      “Who says? Put your money where your mouth is.”

      Her smile became a grin. “A buck says you can’t.”

      “You’re on.”

      She lost the bet.

      Dante could do everything. Run a powerful corporation? Sure. Make every man in a room defer to him? That, too. Be the man all the women in the world wanted? Easy.

      She’d known all that from experience.

      What she’d never known until now was that he could diaper a baby as if he’d done it all his life. Take care of her. Brew her a cup of tea. Stand over her until she gave up and downed another couple of Tylenol. Whip up a meal—though as he pointed out, heating a can of chicken broth for her, taking a steak from the freezer and broiling it for himself wasn’t exactly gourmet cooking. But it was much, much more than she’d ever seen him do in the past. Back then he’d been a whiz at making restaurant reservations and, once or twice, phoning down for Chinese take-out.

      Dante Orsini, doing kitchen duty?

      Never…until СКАЧАТЬ