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Was that what had driven her into the arms of a stranger?
Maybe he’d ask himself that question someday, but not now. Not when all his rage at Tally had turned to fear an hour ago, when he’d watched her face whiten as she crumpled to the floor.
Now she stood straight and tall before him, her eyes fixed on his and glittering with unshed, angry tears. Her hair was loose; he’d undone the pins himself, let it tumble to her shoulders in soft, heavy waves. She wore no makeup; he’d washed it away with a cool cloth and it occurred to him that he’d never seen her like this before, that in all the time they’d been lovers, her appearance had always been perfect.
She’d been beautiful then but she was even more lovely like this, he’d thought, her lips naked of artificial color, her hair in sweet disarray. She was what they called her in Vermont.
She was Tally, not Taylor, and something in the softness of the old-fashioned name had made his t
hroat constrict.
Slowly, he’d undressed her, telling himself it was only so he didn’t have to ring for Mrs. Tipton or Ellen.
His hands had trembled as he undid the buttons of her suit, as he slid her blouse from her shoulders.
It was so long since he’d seen her breasts. Her belly. The pale curls that hid the sweet folds of flesh where he longed to bury himself. The long legs that had once wrapped around his hips as he lost himself in her welcoming heat.
And yet, despite those images, what he’d felt, undressing Tally, hadn’t been sexual desire.
What he’d felt was the desire to protect her. To hold her close. Rock her in his arms. Tell her he was sorry he’d hurt her, sorry he hadn’t understood what she’d needed of him, what he’d needed of her all those years ago.…
“Even now,” Tally said, her voice tinged with bitterness, “even now, you can’t tell me the truth.”
“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I was going to leave you.” Tally turned away. He cupped her jaw and forced her to meet his eyes. “But I don’t know why, cara. I thought that I did, but now I’m not so sure.” His gaze fell to her lips. “All I’m sure of is this.”
“No,” she whispered, but even as he lowered his head to hers, Tally didn’t pull back. She shut her eyes, felt the whisper of his breath on her mouth, and when he gathered her into his arms and said her name, she moaned and melted against him.
This was the kind of kiss they’d shared on the night that had changed everything. It was a kiss of tenderness and longing so intense she could feel his heart thudding against hers and with a suddenness that stunned her, she knew she wanted more.
“Dante,” she said, the word a soft sigh against his lips. “Dante…”
His name, breathed against his mouth. Her breasts, pressed to his chest. Her belly, soft against his. Dante groaned, slid his hands into Tally’s spill of cinnamon hair and gathered her closer.
Passion exploded between them.
Tenderness became desire; longing turned to desperate need. Dante’s mouth demanded acquiescence and Tally give it, parting her lips so his tongue could seek out her honeyed taste. He groaned, slid down the delicate straps of the nightgown, baring her breasts to his hands and mouth.
“Say it,” he demanded, and she did.
Her whispered “Yes, make love to me. Yes, touch me, yes, yes, yes,” rose into the silence of the winter night and filled him with ecstasy.
And he knew, in that instant, that taking her to bed once more in a quest for revenge was not what he needed at all.
He needed her wanting him, like this. Crying out as he bent to her and sucked her nipple deep into his mouth. Tossing her head back in frenzied response to the brush of his hand as he dragged up the skirt of her gown, cupped her mons with his palm, felt her hot tears of desire damp on his fingers and sweet heaven, he was going to come, to come, to come…
He scooped Tally into his arms.
“Now,” he said fiercely, his mouth at her throat, and she sobbed his name over and over as he carried her through the vast room, heading not to her bed but to his…
A child’s voice cried out.
“Sam,” Tally whispered.
Dante shut his eyes. Dragged air into his lungs. Turned and carried her to the nursery, where he set her gently on her feet.
He stood back and let her approach the child in the white and gold crib alone.
“Baby,” she murmured, “did you have a bad dream?”
