‘Say whatever it is you need to say. If you’re going to explode there is no one here to hear.’
There was a hint of defiance in her face as she responded. ‘Doesn’t it ever occur to you that when we got married we never planned, we never spoke about where we would live or anything?’
He dismissed her comment with a flick of his long brown fingers, irritation at her persistence sliding into his eyes. ‘I have homes.’
‘Across the world, I know—the penthouse in New York, the LA beachfront villa, the Paris apartment. Yes, you own endless properties, but not homes.’
‘I am sure you are going to tell me why my real-estate portfolio seems to bother you so much.’
‘Did you plan for your life to change at all? Was I ever meant to be more than a pretty accessory?’
‘Well, my life has changed now.’
‘Because of Carl, and the baby,’ she conceded, dashing a hand across her face. ‘But not out of choice, not because you got married. People who commit plan a future. We never did. That’s all I was trying to say.’
‘You were never pretty. You were, you are, beautiful.’
His voice, low and driven, sent a siren shudder down her spine, and as her eyes connected with the heat in his whatever she had been about to say vanished from her head, leaving nothing but a whisper of smoke.
She squeezed her eyes closed, pushed both hands into her hair as she shook her head to shake free the sensual fog and gave vent to a low groan of frustration, before fixing him with a baleful glare that gradually faded to one suggestive of tired defeat.
‘Please do not change the subject.’
‘I was—’
‘You haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about, have you?’ she said wearily.
‘We—’
‘No, there was never a we.’ She forced a smile, struggling to inject some lightness into this conversation, which she wished she had never started. ‘I was always a bad fit, not just here. I never would have fitted into your playboy lifestyle. I was always pretending to be something I’m not.’
‘In my bed?’
She coloured. ‘No, not there,’ she admitted, her eyes sliding from the suggestive heat in his.
‘Why do I get the feeling that all this is leading up to a declaration of hostilities?’
‘Not hostilities, just a declaration of intent.’
‘You are warning me.’ He sounded astonished at the concept.
‘I’m telling you that I’m not fitting in any more. I’m being me. I owe myself, and this baby, that much. I never want him to look at me and feel ashamed that—’ She stopped, realising a heartbeat after him where she had been going.
‘You’re still very angry with your mother, aren’t you?’
‘No…no…’ she stammered out, disturbed by his perception. ‘Not angry, I just… I don’t want to be her.’
‘You are not her and, for the record, I have no problem with you being yourself.’
She stopped and followed the direction of Dante’s gaze through the tinted window. His eyes flickered to the edifice that dominated the landscape.
‘Home, for me these days be it ever so humble.’ He glanced her way. ‘For us?’
She didn’t react to the question, just nodded. ‘It is beautiful. I always thought that it looked like something from a dream.’
Up close it looked real and solid, but it was not the carved stone that made her stomach tighten with nerves, it was the life inside it. A life she had never fitted into.
She had not married Dante because of his royal connections, but despite them. An inner voice of caution had told her she was playing out of her league, but she’d been too intoxicated by loving this incredible man and the baby they had created together to listen, and anyway he had never traded on his royalty. Dante didn’t need to.
It was not his title, his blue blood or his wealth that made people listen when he spoke. She could hardly deny there was a sexual element to it; his sheer physical presence made an impact, but it was more he had an aura, a natural charisma—he was the sort of man who dominated any space he occupied.
She had turned away from him again but was no less conscious of his presence as she trained her eyes on the massive gates across the arched entrance that slid open as they approached. In profile, the purity of her golden features was quite breath-catching.
‘Dream or nightmare?’ he murmured sardonically.
She smiled faintly, but didn’t turn her head, so he allowed himself the indulgence of allowing his gaze to drift in a slow lingering sweep over her smooth, glowing skin. The resulting tightening in his guts was as painful as it was inevitable.
She turned her head and caught a look on his face that was almost pain. ‘Don’t worry. I will try to make this work.’
‘I never doubted it.’