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“No,” she said, hating the soft, breathless quality of her voice.
“You’re starting a new career and I’m flying to an important meeting. It’s just a kiss for luck. Surely, I’m allowed that?”
“Dante. We can’t—”
“We aren’t.”
He put his hand under her chin, lifted her face and claimed her mouth with his. And she—she let it happen. Let him slide the tip of his tongue between her lips, let him thrust his fingers into her hair, let him deepen the kiss until she was dizzy with wanting him.…
Dante let go of her, straightened and took a sleek black leather briefcase from the sideboard.
And then he was gone.
TALLY’S DAY WAS LONG, exhausting—and wonderful.
Her office was a huge, light-filled room, handsomely furnished and perfectly equipped. Selecting an assistant was difficult only because all the candidates Dante’s P.A. had chosen were outstanding.
It would have been equally tough to choose one of the nannies but a middle-aged woman with a soft Scottish lilt made things easier when she spotted Sam’s photo on Tally’s desk and crooned, “Och, the sweet little lamb!”
There was nothing difficult in deciding that Dante’s P.A. was the eighth wonder of the world. Joan was fiftyish, elegant, and as warm as she was efficient.
“Just let me know what you need,” she said, “and it’s as good as yours.”
At lunchtime, Tally dashed to Fifth Avenue and did the sort of lightning-fast shopping trip she used to do in the past. Within an hour, she’d bought several trousers, skirts, blazers, cashmere sweaters and a couple of pairs of shoes.
At four, she met with Dante’s architect, who showed her the interior changes he was going to make in the new offices. At five, she met with one of her old contacts at the design center. At six, she dismissed Dante’s driver and headed for the subway.
Dante would not kiss her anymore, and she would not accept any more favors from him. She was working with him. It was only right that they maintain appropriate behavior.
There was a delay on the subway line. A quarter of an hour passed before the train came and after that, it sat between stations for five endless minutes. When she reached her stop, she went half a block out of her way to buy a chocolate Santa for Sam.
She’d called to talk with her baby half a dozen times and the last time, she’d promised to bring a special treat.
By the time she reached Dante’s apartment building, Tally was feeling wonderful. She was back in the city she loved, involved in a major project, and she’d made peace with the problem of dealing with Dante.
All she had to do was make sure he understood the parameters of their relationship, and—
“Where have you been?”
Dante stood in the entrance to the building, blocking her way. His voice was rough, his face white with unconcealed anger.
“I beg your pardon?”
Mouth set, he clasped her arm and marched her past the doorman to the penthouse elevator.
“I asked you a question. Where the hell were you? You should have been here an hour ago.”
She swung toward him, her temper rising to match his as he pushed her, unceremoniously, into the car.
“I should have been here an hour ago?” Tally slapped her hands on her hips. “Are you out of your mind? I don’t have to answer to you!”
“You left the office at six. An hour late.”
“How nice. You have people spying on me.”
“And turned down the use of my car.”
“Is your driver a paid informer?”
