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Dante wasn’t just arrogant, he was presumptuous. She could hardly wait to see him and tell him so, but where was he? And when was the last train to Shelby? Eight? Nine? She intended to be on it. No way could she afford a night in a hotel now that her prospective job had turned out to be a farce.
Tally took out her cell phone and dialed Sheryl to see how Sam was and to tell her that the plans that had seemed so magical had fallen apart, but there was no answer. What a time to be reminded that cell service in Shelby wasn’t always what you hoped.
Was nothing going to go right today?
Twenty minutes passed. Thirty. Tally frowned. Paced the sitting room. Checked her watch again. Damn it, she didn’t have time for this! She’d wait another half hour, then give up the pleasure of confronting Mr. Russo and his monumental ego.
Getting on that train, getting back to Sam and the real world, was more important. In fact, why was she wasting time waiting for Dante when she could be packing? She didn’t need a maid to toss things into a suitcase.
Chin lifted, Tally marched through the sitting room, though a light-filled bedroom, to a door she assumed led to a closet…
Her breath caught.
The door didn’t open on a closet. It opened on a room meant for a very lucky little girl.
For Samantha.
The walls were painted cream and decorat
ed with murals that spoke of fairy tales, princesses and unicorns. The carpet was pale pink. The crib and furniture were cream and gold. A rocker stood near the window, a patchwork afghan draped over it. Tucked away in one corner, a playhouse shaped like a castle rose toward the ceiling, guarded by a family of plush teddy bears.
The room was a little girl’s dream.
For a heartbeat, Tally’s mood softened. She could imagine her daughter’s excitement at such wonders.
Then she came to her senses and saw the room for what it really was.
Did Dante think he could bribe her into staying?
She turned on her heel. There was nothing she’d brought to the city she couldn’t do without. To hell with packing. To hell with confronting Dante. All she wanted was to go home.
Quickly she left the suite, went down the stairs and headed straight for the private elevator…
But it was already there.
The doors slid open just as she reached them and she saw Dante standing in the mahogany and silver car.
Dante, with Samantha curled in his arms.
The blood drained from Tally’s head.
Of all the things she’d imagined happening this day, she’d never envisioned this. Not this. Not her former lover, with his daughter in his arms.
Sam was so fair. Dante was so dark. And yet—oh, God—and yet they were so right together. The same softly curling hair. The same wide eyes and firm mouths, curving in the same smiles as they looked at each other, Dante with a softness of expression Tally had never seen in his face before, Sam babbling happily about something in a two-year-old’s combination of real and made-up words.
Dante and Samantha. A father and his daughter.
The ground tilted under Tally’s feet.
Blindly she stuck out a hand in a search for support. She must have made a sound because suddenly Dante looked up and saw her.
His smile faded. “Cara?”
I’m fine, she said. Or tried to say. But the words wouldn’t come, nothing would come but another soft sound of distress. Dante barked a command. His housekeeper ran into the room, took Sam from him, and then it was Tally who was in Dante’s arms, his strong arms, and he was carrying her swiftly through the apartment.
“Cara,” he said again, “Tally…”
He had never called her that before. She thought of how soft the name sounded on his lips. Of how the world was spinning, spinning, spinning…
