CS-Dante's Twins Page 4

  He awoke just after seven, feeling as if he’d been hit broadside across the head with a two-by-four, and with a restless dissatisfaction clouding his mind. Not exactly prime condition for a man who prided himself on always being in charge — of himself and of his company.

  But the truth was, he hadn’t been on top of things since that first night when she’d stepped out onto the terrace and stolen his. . .what? Heart or sanity? Because the way he’d been acting was hotheaded to put it mildly, and atypical to say the least.

  The only time he’d known anything remotely like this had been during his senior year in high school when he’d dated Jane Perry.

  "I love you," he’d foolishly told her, the steamed-up windows of his father’s old Chev and his own rampant hormones driving him to indiscretion.

  And for a few days, maybe even a week, he’d believed that he did. Certainly, it had been the right thing to say. Jane had become amazingly compliant and he’d been no different from any other boy his age when it came to experimenting with sex.

  But the blush had worn off pretty damn fast when he’d cornered her at her locker between classes and said,

  "Hey, look, I can’t make it to the movie on Friday."

  “Why not?” She’d pouted, standing just close enough that the tips of her nipples had brushed against his chest.

  ‘ ‘I’ve got a late basketball practice,’ ’ he’d choked out, doggedly ignoring that part of him eagerly rising to the bait she’d so knowingly cast.

  "Basketball?" Her indignation had bounced off the school walls. “Basketball ?”

  "Well, yeah. There’s a big game coming up and the coach wants the team in top form."

  "Oh, fine thing!" she’d snapped. "If you think I’m going to play second banana to basketball, Dante Rossi, you can think again."

  "It’s only for one night, for Pete’s sake! This is im-portant, Jane."

  "And I’m not?"

  "I didn’t say that."

  Her baby-blue eyes had welled with tears. “Prove it."

  "Huh?" He’d been genuinely puzzled. Prove what?

  "Prove that you really love me." She’d planted her fists on her hips and glared at him. “Make up your mind what you want—me or basketball?”

  Well, nice nipples or not, it had been no contest!

  "Okay," he’d said. "Basketball. So long, Jane. It was a blast while it lasted."

  That had been it as far as he was concerned. Girls came and went but in .those clays, basketball was forever. End of love affair—or so he’d thought until Mrs. Perry showed up on his family’s doorstep, weeping daughter in tow, and read the riot act at the callous way he’d behaved.

  "You’ve broken my little girl’s heart, Dante Rossi," she’d informed him and half the neighborhood, "not to mention sullied her good name."

  Because he knew he hadn’t behaved well, he’d re-frained from pointing out that he wasn’t the first to sam-ple everything Jane was so willing to share, nor was he likely to be the last. Instead, he’d learned from the ex-perience and never again made the mistake of confusing lust with love or indulged in a spur—of-the—moment dec-laration that he wasn’t prepared to honor. Instead he kept his feelings on a tight rein and if his hormones weren’t always as firmly controlled, at least he made sure a woman understood the ground rules be-fore she entered into a liaison with him. After that, there’d been no room in his life for long-term commitment. His father and grandfather had earned a living making the best pasta in town for a company owned by other men. But good Italian son though he’d been, Dante had known he’d never follow in such mun-dane footsteps. His priorities had followed a different blueprint, one in which success and personal fulfillment were built upon a foundation of pride and a determination not just to be as good as other successful men, but to be better, stronger, smarter and-ugly though some might find the word— richer. Because another lesson he’d learned well and early in life was that honest labor and pride in a job well done didn’t, by themselves, guarantee the sort of success he was looking for.

  It took more to inspire respect in a man’s peers. It took power, authority and money.

  Without money, a man never amounted to anything but someone else’s patsy.

  Until Leila, he’d found satisfaction enough in such a creed. Until Leila, he had scoffed at the kind of consum-ing romantic passion that afflicted other people and turned their ambitions toward suburbia and babies. Not that he didn’t value family; it was probably his most sacred asset, the motivation that drove him to success. He just hadn’t expected he was as susceptible as all those others. He was Dante Rossi, after all-king of his own corporate empire, too focused and too sophisticated to be blindsided by love.

  He’d spent the better part of the last three days trying to convince himself of that——three days of covert glances, accidental touches that really were no accident at all, and flimsy excuses to strike up conversations with Leila in which the subtext of the words exchanged were charged with a powerful sexual innuendo.

  And the result? Far from burning itself out, the at-traction, the fascination—hell, the emotional involve-ment——had culminated in yesterday afternoon’s interlude in which body and heart had come together to bend his mind in an entirely new direction.

  As they made their way back down the trail to the plantation house after their lovemaking, he’d said, "I want you to meet my family," and waited for the fa-miliar surge of caution to rise up. He never took women home; they seemed too inclined to view the move as the preface to a marriage proposal. He seldom even took them to his apartment.

  “I’d like that," Leila had replied, and once again he’d waited. But all he’d felt was a wave of relief that she hadn’t squashed the suggestion flat, then heard himself making plans for a future that went beyond the next few weeks.

  For a guy who professed not to believe in it, he was showing classic symptoms of a severe case of love at first sight.

  In his present frame of mind, he’d have been happy idling away the day under a palm tree, with Leila beside him and nothing but an occasional swim to distract him from the pleasure of her company. Jeez! If any one of his employees had come to him with such a lame excuse for not putting in a full day’s work, he’d have kicked butt from here to Canada without a second thought!

  Shoving aside the mosquito netting draped over the bed, he staggered to the louvered doors, flung them fully open and stepped out on the veranda, hoping a breath of fresh morning air would restore his sanity.

  From his vantage point, the reef protecting Poinciana from the worst of the surf was clearly visible. Greenish brown and shaped like a boomerang, it separated the indigo blue of the open sea from the pale aquamarine of the shallower water in the lagoon.

  But that bright light glinting off the waves ...!

  He winced at the arrows of pain shooting behind his eyes. The last time he’d suffered a headache like this had been the morning after his brother—in-law’s stag night two years ago. Then he’d been hung over, plain and simple. What ailed him now was anything but sim-ple. In fact, it was damned complicated. Given a choice, he’d have chosen to lay the blame on the rum punch served the night before. At least that wouldn’t have cast doubts on his sanity. But knowing the stuff packed a powerful wallop, he’d been very tem-perate. Pity his restraint hadn’t extended to his behavior!

  Not that he cared for himself what anyone else thought, but he’d picked up enough to realize that Leila had already been put through the gossip mill. She hadn’t needed him to make matters worse.

  Come to that, he hadn’t needed it himself. He was a man who liked to be in charge—of himself, of his sur-roundings, of his fate. And suddenly, he found himself in control of none of them.

  Unsuspecting of the chaos about to assault him, he’d looked up and seen her three nights before, and if he’d been poleaxed smack between the eyes, the impact could hardly have been more acute.

  He remembered wading through the mob of guests toward her, helpless to prevent
himself, yet hoping the whole time that closer inspection would reveal her to have the kind of flaws guaranteed to put him off any notion of furthering the acquaintance. Hoping she’d be so heavily made up that it would impossible to see the real woman underneath; that her voice would make a crow sound musical by comparison, that she’d be vac-uous, silly, or best of all, married. Instead, she’d been perfect. Lovely. Dignified and del-icate. Intelligent and refined. As passionately drawn to him as he’d been to her and, by all accounts, not in-volved with another man. He’d wanted to fall down on his knees and thank God for the miracle of her. Before he’d even touched her, a bonding of souls had occurred from which he had neither the will nor the power to extricate himself. ·

  He ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw. He sup-posed he should be grateful she’d had the wit to turn him down last night because if he’d had his way, she’d be lying in his bed right now and he’d probably be lying on top of her. Not a smart move for a man who prided himself on never mixing business with pleasure.

  He needed to get his mind back where it belonged: on revving up the troops on the feasibility of setting up abase of operation in Argentina. A hot shower, a shave, and a pot of strong coffee should do the trick.

  About to tum back into the room, he stopped, his at-tention snagged by the sight of a figure emerging from the house. It was Leila.

  She crossed the terrace and stepped down to the beach, her small footprints marking a trail through the freshly raked sand. Her swimsuit, a plain black one-piece thing, was modestly cut yet managed to define every curve, every hollow, every inch of her body. She’d tied back her hair so that it hung black and straight halfway to her waist. Her skin glowed apricot gold in the morn-ing light. She dropped her towel just above the high tide mark and waded into the water. When she stood waist deep, she waited a moment, perfectly silhouetted in the sun-shine, then knifed below an incoming wave. Resurfacing another twenty feet out, she headed with smooth, easy strokes for a natural rock arch rising out of the sea at the eastern tip of the reef.

  Dry-mouthed, he watched. And the fever to be with her came sweeping back, all the more compelling for its brief hiatus.

  "To hell with business," he said, moving with a speed he’d have thought beyond him five minutes before and dragging on his swimming trunks. "Argentina can wait."

  CHAPTER THREE

  HER father had taught her to swim when she was only three years old, and it had marked the beginning of a lifelong passion for her. Thoroughly at ease in the water, she’d spent many a happy hour with a mask and snorkel, exploring the secluded bays on the islands lying off the southwest tip of Singapore.

  Although it lay farther north of the equator,

  Poinciana’s warm tropical lagoon reminded her of those times. Even without a face mask she could see schools of fish darting among the coral heads below her: flam-boyant striped angelfish similar to those of her homeland waters, gaudy Spanish hogfish, dramatic black-capped basslet and iridescent blue parrot fish.

  More relaxed than at any other time since she’d ar-rived on the island, Leila lost herself in that quietly alive world. But the fish were shy, elusive creatures, posing no threat to her safety, so when something suddenly wound itself firmly around her ankle and held her im-mobilized, she almost screamed with fright. Kicking herself free, she turned in a tight somersault and came up to find herself treading water next to Dante. Had it been anyone else, she’d have lambasted him for sneaking up on her like that. But how could any woman hang on to her annoyance when she found herself mes-merized by a pair of eyes made all the more remarkable by the color they stole from the sea and sky?

  "I didn’t mean to scare you," he said, cupping the back of her head in his hand and tugging her close. "I happened to see you leave the house and I just had to be with you."

  He sounded almost indignant, as though he resented the impulses driving him. "But you wished you could have stayed away," she said, understanding exactly how he felt.

  He nodded, the motion freeing the drops of water daz-zling the tips of his lashes and sending them flying. Below the surface of the lagoon, his hips brushed against hers, a brief, erotic sweep of flesh against flesh. "Yes, and no. To be honest, I don’t understand a thing of what’s going on. All I know is that I’ve thought of pre-cious little else but you from the moment I first set eyes on you."

  Unable to resist, she slid her hands over the planes of his chest and up around his neck. "I know," she said.

  "It’s the same for me. I could hardly sleep for thinking of you and when I did finally drop off—"

  Inching closer, he smothered the rest of her confession in a kiss. Long and slow and full of sweet fire, it stole her breath away. And just like fire, it consumed her until she was nothing more than one pliant, aching flame that left her professional aspirations in ashes, along with sound judgment and any instinct she might once have possessed for self-preservation.

  He pulled her into a tighter embrace, sliding his hands around her hips and molding her to him. Clinging to-gether, they rode the gentle waves, oblivious to every-thing but the rhythm of their own passion. Caught in a current entirely of their own making, their legs tangled, mating with an intimacy that flooded her with a desire as overpowering as it was alarming.

  What had happened to the woman whose signature trademark had always been the restraint and modesty with which she lived her life? Where had she gone?

  Until Dante, she’d never allowed a fully dressed man to take such brazen liberties.

  Yet here he was now, practically naked and certainly making no secret of his arousal, twining around her with such potent effect that she was ready to offer herself to him without reservation, in full view of anyone who might happen to notice. To beg him to bury himself in her once again and ease the heavy, throbbing ache he’d awakened.

  Before she could act on the impulse he pulled away from her, his eyes darkening with anger. "For Pete’s sake, someone’s watching us through binoculars from one of the front verandas!"

  The blood, which seconds before had run rampant throughout her body, rushed to her face. "Oh, Dante, how mortifying! "

  ‘‘I’d call it pathetic. ’ Furiously he raked his hair back from his brow. ‘‘What the hell kind of nerve does it take for someone to pull a stunt like that?"

  Backing away from him, she circled around until she was facing the shore. "Can you tell which room it is?"

  "No. Whoever it was has gone back inside the house. But if I find out who-"

  She was pretty sure she knew who. This was precisely the sort of action to which Carl Newbury would stoop. He’d justify it as—how had he phrased it?—"running interference…saving Dante from himself" and from a woman "willing to hand it to him on a plate."

  "You won’t," she said, starting back toward the beach. "The kind of person who resorts to voyeurism isn’t likely to come forward and admit it."

  Dante kept pace with her, slicing through the water in a side crawl which, for all its smooth execution, couldn’t disguise the anger coursing through him. His expression, the sparking blue-green of his eyes, the compressed line of his mouth, painted a formidable portrait. In his present mood he was not a man to be crossed. "Well, I’m damned if I’ll tolerate being spied on by my own people, though why anyone cares how I choose to spend my free time, or with whom, is beyond me."

  It’s not beyond me, she could have told him. Men like Vice President Newbury didn’t take kindly to a woman who parachuted over the heads of favored employees to grab a plum overseas assignment, especially if that same woman wasn’t disposed to show a proper appreciation of her good fortune.

  Should she tell Dante how unconscionably his vice president had behaved during those few days she’d spent in the office before she flew to the Far East for her buy-ing trip? Would spelling out exactly what Newbury’s idea of extending a welcome to the newcomer had en-tailed, help or hinder the present situation?

  Had she and Dante not already become lovers, Leila would not have he
sitated. But what she’d found with him—the unexpected, altogether miraculous meeting of heart, body and soul-was too new, too untried, to risk exposing it to the mud Newbury would sling around in a confrontation.

  She’d heard firsthand his opinion of her, yesterday afternoon. But of what use was it to know that his hos-tility stemmed from her sharp reprimand just a few days after she’d been hired when he’d caught up with her in the library after everyone else had gone home for the day? It was unlikely he’d temper revenge with discretion if Dante called him to account on the matter. Hadn’t he threatened as much? ‘

  "You’re making a big mistake, doll," he’d said, when she recoiled at the way the hand he’d slung around her shoulder in a gesture of presumed camaraderie slithered to rest altogether too snugly around her waist. "I pack a lot of power around here and could steer some very nice perks a woman’s way if she chose to cooperate. But in light of your unfriendly attitude...well, let’s just say you’d better not get too comfortable behind

  Hasborough’s desk because I can’t see you warming his seat for very long."

  “I don’t take kindly to intimidation tactics, Mr. Newbury," she’d said coldly, any inclination to over-look the incident vanishing. "And if anyone should be worried, it’s you. I believe there are laws in Canada protecting a person against the sort of harassment you’re perpetrating."

  "What harassment?" he’d said blandly, holding up both hands in mock bewilderment, and she’d noticed that his fingers were like uncooked sausages, short and pale and flaccid. The sight had made her shudder. "I’m just trying to be helpful to a rookie on the buying team, that’s all?”

  "I don’t need your kind of help," she’d said. "And if you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll make sure some-one else is warming your seat in short order." He’d shrugged and smiled. ‘ ‘It’d be your word against mine, doll," he’d sneered. "Sexual harassment cuts both ways and there are enough people around here already wondering what you had to do to land this job. You wouldn’t be the first to try to sleep her way to the top and, as I said, I’m in a position of authority around here so, if it came to a showdown, who do you think would be believed?"