CS-Dante's Twins Read online

  His eyes were shadowed with fatigue, his mouth bracketed with lines of frustration. Unable to help her-self, she leaned across the desk, intending to stroke back the hair from his forehead. But the way he abruptly swiveled away again, without once making eye contact with her, tightened her misgivings into a knot of anxiety lodged just beneath her breastbone.

  Slipping out of the chair, she went to stand at the other window in his corner suite. Outside it was beautiful, one of those early west coast April mornings full of plum blossoms, tulips and promise of sultry summer days to come. The mountains reached snowy tips to the north. To the west, the waters of Georgia Strait reflected a sky of such primary blue that it might have been lifted straight from a child’s paint box. Sandwiched between the two, the office towers of downtown Vancouver

  picked up the mirror image and flung it back as though to challenge nature with their own brilliance.

  It was, quite simply, an exceptional setting in which to welcome home an exceptional man. A day which

  surely could only get better as she renewed acquaintance with her lover, and she was letting her imagination get the better of her by supposing otherwise.

  From all accounts, pregnant women were at the mercy of their hormones and apt to be irrational at times. He was tired and distracted, that was all. Wasn’t it?

  The phone receiver clicked into place on its console almost as sharply as he rapped out, "You wished to see me?"

  His tone was so cold that her first thought was that someone else had entered the room without her realizing it. But then she saw that there were still just the two of them and he was not approaching her or giving any in-dication that he was glad to see her. Instead he remained behind his desk, leaning back with his hands resting on the arms of his chair and his expression, which moments before had reflected irrita-tion with company concerns, now betrayed nothing but the stony indifference of a man annoyingly importuned by a stranger.

  To the casual observer his behavior might have been passed off as the result of business woes or jet lag, but a lover’s intuition was too finely attuned to be so easily reassured. Even without the corroboration of Carl Newbury’s self-satisfied smirk minutes earlier, Leila knew that her first instincts had been correct.

  Something was terribly wrong. Where before warmth and incorrigible passion had flared between her and Dante, a frigid calm now ruled, turning the knot of trep-idation still snagged near her heart into a certainty as hard and immovable as a stone.

  "Of course I wish to see you, Dante," she said, dis-may leaving her breathless. "I’ve missed you. The last four weeks have seemed interminable."

  "You surprise me," he said. "I wouldn’t have thought you’d find enough hours in the day to attend to your many… affairs."

  Where other men might wound with words, he man-aged to sear with silence. That telling little pause before he said "affairs" imbued the term with such a wealth of contempt that she flinched.

  Of course, she guessed at once what he meant. "When will you tell Dante?" her mother had asked that morn-ing, referring to the situation with Anthony.

  "The very first chance I get after his plane lands," she’d replied blithely. "There’s no keeping it a secret even if I wanted to, and I’d hate him to learn about it from someone else."

  But he’d arrived home hours ahead of time and she knew she had not, after all, been the one to break the news to him, just as surely as she knew who had. Still, she tried to bridge the chasm of his hostility by appealing to him with her hands held out and saying softly, "If you’re referring to Anthony Fletcher-"

  His brows shot up in mock surprise. " If?" he echoed scornfully. "You mean there are others besides him?"

  "Don’t do this, Dante," she begged, cut to the quick by his sarcasm and his absolute refusal to acknowledge her efforts at conciliation. "At least let me explain the situation before you judge me and find me guilty."

  "What’s to explain?" he shot back. "It was all spelled out in last week’s paper, complete with very ex-plicit pictures."

  "I was hoping we’d have a chance to talk before you saw that."

  "And I was willing to give you just such an oppor—

  tunity. I waited here all day Friday, expecting you to show up. It seemed a reasonable enough assumption, given that you’re being paid to put in a full week’s work. But you chose not to make an appearance? His smiled coldly. "Or else you forgot. I guess anyone might when a lost fiancé suddenly resurfaces to remind a woman of where her future is likely to be best served."

  "Wait a minute!" she cut in, caught off balance yet again. "You were here on Friday? I had no idea."

  "Clearly not."

  "Why didn’t you call me at home?"

  "I did, several times. There was no answer."

  "No," she said, "Of course there wasn’t. We—my mother and Cleo and I—"

  Had gone to see the doctor: a straightforward excuse that could easily be verified, but not one she felt inclined to divulge just then. He was in no mood to learn she was expecting his baby. That magical recognition of two souls destined for one another, that spark of instant, ir-refutable physical attraction which they’d known on Poinciana, appeared, at least for him, to have died as swiftly as they’d arisen. The way he was looking at her now, with such withering scorn that she wanted to crawl into a dark hole and hide, spelled utter disillusionment for everything she represented.

  "We went out for lunch," she said lamely, deciding half a truth was better than none. "I had to explain to them—about Anthony."

  "And my mother?" he blazed. "Did you bother to explain to her? Or did you think it was quite okay for her to draw her own conclusions when she found the whole sordid story splashed all over the front page of the local rag?"

  Dots of perspiration beaded along her hairline at the realization that, in all the uproar of the last three days, she’d completely overlooked the impact the news would have had on Dante’s family. The enormity of her over-sight was, she knew, inexcusable.

  "Dante," she said, retreating before his justified wrath, "I’m so sorry! I didn’t think·-"

  "Yes, you did," he said, almost exploding with rage.

  "Whatever else you didn’t do, you thought! What I mis-took for charming reticence was nothing more than a calculated cover up on your part."

  He struck a pose and mimicked, "‘Oh, Dante, let’s be more discreet. Let’s keep our affair secret.’ Well, no wonder! I was just an amusing diversion, wasn’t I?

  Something to keep you entertained until Mr. Right floated back on the scene. How convenient that we con-ducted our little romance on a private island miles away from here. Now that all the dots are connected, it makes for a far different picture from what I’d originally imag-ined."

  "Stop it!" she cried. "You know that’s not how it was!"

  "Bull!" he sneered. "That’s exactly how it was. And I guess the laugh’s on me for being so readily taken in by a woman who apparently believes in keeping a stash of men in reserve in case the candidate of choice doesn’t quite pan out as she hopes, but that doesn’t prevent me from finding you despicable?

  With each word he stalked her until she was pinned against the far wall like a butterfly. His anger scorched the air from the room and left her panting as if she’d run a mile uphill during a heat wave.

  The nausea she’d thought was under control rose up with renewed vengeance.

  "You couldn’t be more wrong," she said weakly, plucking at the collar of her blouse in an attempt to fan a cooling draft over her skin. ‘‘Dante, you have to know you’re the only man who has my love and loyalty.

  Anthony and I were involved for a time before I met you, but never the way the newspapers made it seem."

  "Then I feel very sorry for Anthony. I know exactly how he must feel."

  The room was growing darker around the edges and his voice was fading in and out in rhythm with the wa-vering shape of "No, you don’t," she panted. "If you’d just let...me explain, you might view him and me...in a
more compassionate light."

  From a very great distance, Dante said, "I doubt it, honey. I sincerely doubt anything you—"

  His sudden silence, coupled with the penetrating stare of his eyes, so deeply aquamarine that she could feel herself disappearing into their depths, washed over her in blessed relief.

  And then his voice began again, closer, touched with a different kind of edge. ‘‘What’s the matter with you?" She dared not answer. She was afraid that, if she opened her mouth, she’d be sick all over him. Only the darkness promised relief and all she wanted was to sink into the oblivion of its silent embrace.

  He would not let her. Gripping her upper arms, he hauled her to one of the couches and forced her head down between her knees. "Meg, get in here," he shouted.

  Leila heard the door open, and footsteps. Saw the thick, unlovely ankles of his assistant, whose sweetness of temperament more than made up for her physical im-perfections. "Take a deep breath, Leila’’ she crooned, placing a cool hand on the nape of Leila’s neck. "That’s the way. Now another."

  At length the shifting pattern of the rug beneath her feet grew still enough that Leila dared lift her head. Dante loomed on the periphery of her vision.

  "Can’t you see she’s about ready to pass out, Dante?" Meg said sharply. "Don’t just stand there, for heaven’s sake! Bring a glass of water."

  "No." Bracing both hands on the couch, Leila strug-gled to stand up. "I don’t need anything.’’

  It wasn’t quite the truth. She needed Dante, but not like this. Not with his eyes full of suspicion and every line of his body rife with bitter resentment.

  "You don’t look too swift to me," Meg said. "What happened? Did you forget to eat breakfast?"

  Leila shuddered. If only people wouldn’t keep refer-ring to food!

  "Drink the damned water," Dante snapped, shoving a glass into her hand so abruptly that drops showered over her skirt.

  "No wonder you decided to take the import world by storm," Meg informed him. "If this is your idea of a bedside manner, you’d have made a lousy doctor." Scowling, Dante said, "Get back behind your desk, Meg. The crisis appears to have passed."

  "Yes, sir, Mr. Boss! " She saluted and marched to the door where she stopped just long enough to add saucily,

  "Don’t let him fool you, Leila. This is just his way of covering up the fact that he’s scared spitless at the thought that his special lady might be ill. These strong, silent types are all the same-prepared to wrestle a tiger with their bare hands but useless in a minor crisis. He’s probably afraid of the dentist, too."

  Beyond a towering glare, Dante let the observation pass and waited until Meg had closed the door behind her before addressing Leila again. "If that little effort was a ploy to gain sympathy," he said, "I can tell you now that it didn’t work."

  She stared at him, too depleted in body and soul to muster the energy to defend herself against this latest attack. "I’m not that good an actress, Dante. And even if I were, I don’t feel I have to resort to cheap deception to justify myself in your eyes. Believe what you will. It’s clear you’ve already judged me and found me

  guilty!

  He watched as she set the glass on his desk. Thanking providence and Miss Carstairs who’d been her governess and who’d believed that good posture, like cleanliness, was next to godliness, she held herself erect and walked out of his office. Not by so much as a blink did she betray the fact that her knees had turned to jelly and her legs felt weak as water.

  But once in her own office she literally crumpled, shaken not just by the evaporation of all her dreams and hopes but by what now struck her as a lamentable lack of judgment and intelligence.

  Her mistake had not been in allowing Dante to beguile her. Even in her present dire misery, she knew the odds were slim that she’d ever have found the strength to withstand his seduction. But how could she have known that what had struck her as the love of a lifetime just two short months ago could wither in the virtual blink of an eye? As easily as stepping on a bug, Dante had ended it and she had been foolish beyond words to allow him such free access to her heart.

  And to her body. May God forgive her, she’d con-ceived a child by a man who despised her! Oh, if only she could turn back the clock"!

  Covering her face with her hands, she rocked back and forth in her chair and let the tears she’d suppressed in front of him run free. She’d known sadness before. Her father’s suicide, the poverty and loneliness to which her mother had been reduced, even Anthony’s disable-ment: each had caused its share of grief and misery. But none compared to the gaping hole left by Dante’s de-fection. Eventually, though, the tears dried up. A person could cry for only so long before she realized that it didn’t change anything. The original problem still remained and no amount of cataclysmic weeping eased the pain of a broken heart.

  Somehow she had to drum up the strength to go on; to take control of her life again. Work was supposed to help, she’d heard, and heaven knew she had plenty to keep her occupied. Her shipment of samples had arrived and needed to be unpacked and set up in the main floor showroom.

  So she worked all morning with an energy bordering on fever, stopping for nothing, not even lunch. The tea Gail brought her around one remained untouched on her desk. In the afternoon, she tackled the paperwork so that, by five when everyone else went home for the day, her files were up to date, all the messages from Friday re-turned, all the forms required by customs’ brokers at-tended to. If anyone had looked in her office, they’d have seen a woman apparently too engrossed in cataloging differ-ent qualities of Korean celadon pottery to realize the working day was over.

  Only when the special silence of a building empty of all activity closed over her did she shut down her com·

  puter. Only when she was sure no one would witness the collapse of the facade she’d presented did she lean her head against the back of her chair, close her eyes and confront a future vastly different from the one she’d foreseen when she’d stepped out of bed that morning. She was going to bring a baby into the world who would not know its father. Through her own willful self-indulgence and blind carelessness, her son or daughter would be deprived of every child’s birthright: a normal home with two loving parents.

  Always assuming he recognized the baby as his, in-stead of sharing the joys and pleasures of parenting, she and Dante would divide them. There would be holidays spent apart from her child; birthdays and Christmases when her only contact might be through a phone call. She had lived in Canada long enough to know that was how things were done when adult relationships came to an end, and she found the idea insupportable. Whatever her father’s ultimate shortcomings, he had never let her down when she was young as she would be letting down her child.

  "Oh, I could learn to hate you, Dante," she sighed brokenly, choking back a fresh onslaught of tears.

  "The feeling’s mutual, I assure you." His voice lanced her from across the room, unex-pected and devastating in its impassioned certainty. Startled, she shot bolt upright in the chair and found him leaning in the doorway, watching her.

  "What are you doing here?" she snuffled, groping for the box of tissues in the top right-hand drawer of her desk. "Everyone else has gone home."

  "I could ask you the same thing," he said, shoving himself away from the door frame and strolling into the room with one hand jammed into the pocket of his gray flannel slacks.

  "Is this why you came looking for me, Dante?" she said wearily. "So that we can go ’round in circles, toss-ing the same question back and forth between us and getting nowhere? Haven’t we done enough of that for one day?"

  "I’d say we’ve done plenty."

  "Then what do you want?"

  His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Truthfully?

  I don’t know."

  Against her better judgment, a spark of optimism sprang alive inside her. Maybe it was the dejection in his posture, or the pain darkening his eyes that made her dare suggest, "Could it be that perhaps y
ou’re ready to hear my explanation before you consign me—us—to the garbage heap?"

  He sighed then, the way a man might when he sees that if he’s ever to know peace of mind again, he’s going to have to swallow his pride and admit to the facts, no matter how unpalatable he might find them. "Okay, I’m listening," he said.

  So she told him everything that had happened in the last few days, leaving out nothing except the part about the baby. She would not, she vowed, barter her child to win his belief or forgiveness. On that point there would be neither negotiation nor compromise.

  "I visited the Fletchers several times since Anthony came home," she finished, "and eventually straightened everything out."

  "How did they take it?"

  ‘‘It wasn’t particularly easy or pleasant for any of us.’’

  Pleasant? It had been an occasion only slightly less horrendous than Dante’s even more volatile reaction!

  Gloria Fletcher had not taken kindly to the idea that anyone, particularly a woman whom she perceived to be of inferior social rank, should decline to have her name linked to the Fletchers.

  As for Anthony…! Poor man, he had been utterly be-wildered and devastated.

  "But," she told Dante, "to tell them anything less than the absolute truth struck me as immoral and inhu-mane."

  "All very plausible and praiseworthy, I’m sure," he said, "except for one thing. Fletcher’s head injury might have addled his brains, but the last I heard, amnesia isn’t contagious. So how come his parents had conveniently forgotten you and he were no longer an item?"

  ‘‘Because he never told them otherwise. It could have been that he left the country the day after we broke up and had too many other things on his mind, or else..." She hesitated, unsure how much to reveal of that last meeting with Anthony, the night before he flew to Croatia. He’d driven her up one of the local mountains and with the whole city spread out at their feet, he’d asked her to marry him as soon as he came home again.