His eyes met hers, their glitter intensified by the candle flames. “With you I’m always hot-blooded.”
Abby found it hard to breathe under his intense stare.
“Don’t, Dante.”
“Don’t what? Want my wife? Because I do. Ferociously.”
“Do you want me or a child?” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. His eyes narrowed in anger. She’d ruined a lovely evening with bitterness.
“I’m sorry.” The tension in his jaw eased. “This is why I wanted to go slowly. I still have issues to work through.”
Dante drained his glass and flicked a look of disdain her way. “Go to bed, Abby. I’ve got some work to do since we’ll be at the hospital tomorrow. I’ll sleep in the spare room so there is no need to lock your door.” He rose and left the table without so much as a good night.
Abby bit her lip, uncertain if she should go after him. She’d hurt him when all he’d done was provide her with a pleasant meal.
Later when she was brushing her teeth and getting ready for bed, she reminded herself that this was a business deal. Emotions didn’t come into it.
Then why did she take so long to fall asleep? Emotions were certainly at play. She just couldn’t work out which ones.
Chapter 6
In the morning, Dante paused outside Abby’s bedroom. He leaned his head against the door, his hand clenched on the brass doorknob, fighting the impulse to enter. But after a sleepless night, his willpower seemed to have deserted him. He opened the door softly, and one look inside had his body instantly as taut as a high wire.
Abby had kicked the sheet off likely because of the high humidity. It lay bunched at the end of the bed, exposing tantalizing skin. His fingers itched for a touch. She was lying on her back, arms flung wide, and she had slept in a horrible T-shirt. He made a mental note to get Rachele, his housekeeper, to destroy it. His eyes swept over his sleeping wife. His pulse hitched and his mouth dried. Wife. His. As reluctant as she was. The T-shirt had ridden up and lay bunched at her waist. The cool dawn light stealing between the shutters caught the blond curls at the top of her slender legs. His mouth began to water. He could imagine selling his soul for a taste.
Go to her. Take her. She’s your wife. He took a tentative step into the room, then stopped. A recollection of their past lovemaking flashed in his head, tormenting in its vivid detail. She’d always been so responsive in bed. He bit his lower lipas the little devil on his shoulder urged him to take a little morning delight. Besides, her grandmother was arriving this afternoon and Abby would want to be with her at the hospital for much of the next few days. He would surely combust if he had to wait until she returned to sample the treats she displayed so blatantly. But he’d promised Abby he would wait.
As if on automatic pilot, he stole into the room silently.Stop!his mind screamed.Think of the plan. Think of your purpose.He stood still. His heart was pumping as though struggling through the last lap of his morning swim. He couldn’t find his legendary control to assert his will and turn and walk from the room.Imagine awakening her with passion, the treacherous little demon whispered.
He had been without her for three years. Surely he could wait another few days. He’d learned to bury his sexual needs in work and punishing physical activity, had he not? He’d never been so fit, so focused. To succumb would lend her too much power.
Anger finally allowed his feet to move. He turned and left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.
A loud knockon the bedroom door woke Abby from her slumber. She stretched like a cat, realizing she’d never felt so refreshed. Funny, she’d always slept like the dead when at the Villa Lombardi, even when Dante hadn’t made love to her half the night. In Southport she’d had trouble sleeping, dreams of Dante awakening her over and over, hot and bothered.
The knock came again.
She realized that more of her body was on display than she’d like. She quickly pulled the sheet over herself andcalled, “Incerisci.”
The door opened, admitting the smell of fresh coffee and hot pastry.
“Buongiorno, Contessa. I’ve brought you your favorite breakfast. It’s good to have you home.”
Abby sat up against the quilted headboard, and Rachele placed the breakfast tray over her legs.
“Rachele, you used to always call me Abby. Please, don’t be formal now.”
Rachele had been the one person who had not taken sides in her marriage. Dante’s family had made her feel very welcome, but she was the outsider. It didn’t help that they thought Dante was a god, incapable of wrongdoing. They would never side against him, never accept any thinking that contradicted his. But Rachele had listened to her problems. She’d listened and tried to help Abby with her difficult and demanding husband. She reminded Abby to be true to herself, that Dante had married her and that there had to be a reason why, of all the women in the world, he’d selected her. A woman who wasn’t even Italian. That had to mean something even if Dante didn’t recognize it.
Abby was not at all sure Rachele was wrong. In leaving, maybe she’d given up too soon.
Rachele gave a soft laugh and clapped her hands together. “I thought your time away might have changed you, but I see it hasn’t.” She gestured toward the tray. “Come, eat up. Your scrambled eggs will get cold.” She moved around the room picking up Abby’s discarded clothes.
Her stomach rumbled. The thought of Rachele’s scrambled eggs on a lightly toasted croissant made her mouth water. But her grandmother came first. “Is Dante up? I have to talk with him about my grandmother.”
Rachele stopped tidying to give her a mocking smile. “Goodness, Dante has been up for hours. It’s almost ten o’clock. But he told me to let you sleep. He said you looked abit peaked. He was right. All that worry about your grandmother. You poor thing.”
Abby almost choked on her croissant. Her grandmother was not the only cause of her strain. “Where is Dante? I need to telephone my grandmother and confirm when she’s arriving.”
