Mistresses: After Hours With The Boss: Her Little White Lie / Their Most Forbidden Fling / An Inescapable Temptation

CHAPTER EIGHT

PAIGE managed to avoid Dante for the next few days. As best as she could avoid someone when she lived with him and drove to work in the same car with him every morning.

She was definitely much more careful when trying to sneak into his room for clothes. Not because she was afraid of him, but because she was afraid of herself.

She’d liked the kiss too much and she was in serious danger of longing after the man. She didn’t do the longing thing. It ended in disappointment. And sometimes humiliation. Whether it was test scores or boys, that had been her experience. Longing just made the impossible hurt more.

There was no time for longing. She had to focus on Ana, not her suddenly perky hormones.

She growled into her empty office and bent down, rummaging through the box of glass, glitter-covered ornaments and gathered a few of them in her arms, taking them over to the work space she had cleared for herself in the back of the room.

The sunlight streamed in, bright and perfect for Paige to get an idea of just how everything would glitter in the windows of Colson’s department stores at Christmastime. The Christmas designs took up so much of her year, because every year there was the pressure to do bigger, better, more intricate. She loved it.

They moved her wooden frame, the same size and shape of a standard Colson’s window, so that it was right in the path of the sun and she started hanging the ornaments from the top with fishing line.

They caught the light, and they glinted. But it wasn’t enough. She needed flash. She needed something no one would walk by and ignore.

She dug through her big box of sparkle, as she’d dubbed it, and produced a canister of silver glitter, one of gold and some deep purple gems. She set to it.

The finished product was much better. They caught fire when the sun hit, and beneath the display lights they would be fantastic.

She brushed her hands on her black skinny jeans and grimaced when she noticed the trail of glitter she’d put down her thighs.

“You’ve been working hard.”

She turned at the sound of Dante’s voice and ignored the fact that her heart had slammed into her chest and then started pounding hard and fast.

“Eh, you know the old joke. Hardly working and all that,” she said. She wasn’t sure why she was so quick to dismiss her work, and yet, she always did. Making light of it seemed to be her default setting. She was only just noticing it, and she didn’t like it.

“Doesn’t look that way to me,” he said, crossing the threshold and moving to her work area. “I like it.”

“There will be more. The mannequins, of course. Plus, about fifty more of these hanging at different heights. Snow. A Christmas tree. This is just for one of the side-street windows. But the main window display is going to be pretty amazing. I’m excited.”

“I can tell.”

“I put a lot of work into it,” she said, for herself more than for him. “And I work really hard.”

“Of course you do, Paige, or you would hardly still be on my payroll. This will be our third Christmas with you at the helm, and everyone has said how much higher the quality has been on the displays since then.”

“Well … thank you.”

“Tell me about the main window.”

“It’s going to be called Visions of Sugarplums. It will be a bunch of Christmas fantasies. And I think I want to have them like they’re sort of springing from a dream. So some mist and icicles and lights. Very whimsical and beautiful.”

“And all the same at each location?”

“I think each one should be slightly different,” she said. “At least the big destination stores in Paris, New York, Berlin, et cetera. So that each one is an attraction.”

“Do you have the budget for it?”

“Um, now that you mention it, I do need a slight budget increase.”

“I thought you might.”

“But you said my displays are high quality.”

“I did. How much more do you need?”

She named a sum in the several thousands and Dante didn’t bat an eye. “All right, if that’s what you need, I will make sure you have it.”

“Thank you,” she said.

She stopped and really looked at him for the first time since he’d walked in. She’d glanced at him, but she’d avoided careful study. She knew why now. Looking at him full-on was a bit like staring into the sun. He was so beautiful it made her ache. She could no more reach out and touch him, have him for her own, than she could claim a star.

It made her feel so achingly sad. Just for a moment. She didn’t have time to worry about Dante or the fact that she had the hots for him. Or the fact that, in all honesty, it felt like more than just having the hots for him.

“Ready for the couples interview?” she asked him.

“Of course,” he said, his tone sounding thoroughly unconvincing. Which was funny, because if Dante was one thing, it was certain.

“What are you worried about?”

He looked at her and arched one dark brow. “I don’t worry, cara mia.”

“About anything ever?”

“No.”

“What are you doing in business? You should be teaching self-help classes.”

He chuckled, a dark sound. “I don’t think I’m in much of a position to be telling people how to help themselves. I’m just very good at ignoring things I don’t want to deal with.”

It was shockingly honest, and it was also something she recognized.

“Yeah, me, too.”

“Something we have in common,” he said.

“Who would have thought?”

“Not me. Do you think it’s enough to play the part of convincing couple?” He took a step closer to her and her stomach quivered. She could taste him on her tongue, the memory of his kiss so strong it was enough to make her knees shake.

Enough to make her take a step toward him. Stupid, really, because she shouldn’t kiss him again. He didn’t even want to kiss her, she was sure. Because that first time had been a mistake. He’d said so.

He tilted his head to the side, his expression intense, as though he was studying her.

“We certainly have chemistry,” he said, his tone rough.

She laughed, shaky, nervous. “You think so?”

He nodded and took another step toward her. “Yes, and it’s a good thing, too. Many things can be faked, Paige, and some of them even quite convincingly. But the heat between us? That’s real. And no one will question it.”

“I don’t really know if one kiss constitutes as heat,” she said. “One kiss that you said was a mistake.”

His lips curved upward. “Are you challenging me?”

“No. I’m not that stupid.”

“No, you are certainly not stupid.” Strange, but that made her chest feel warm, made her heart lift. “But you might be trying to bait me into kissing you again.”

“Why would I do that?” she asked.

“For the same reason I’m hoping you are baiting me. I’d like to kiss you again.”

“You … want to kiss me?”

He nodded.

“B-but last time you said …”

“I said it shouldn’t have happened, because we both have goals to focus on. And I think we might both find it hard to focus while we’re tangled together in bed. And that, Paige, is where a kiss like the one we shared in my bedroom leads.”

“Oh.”

“I’m going to kiss you again.”

“I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

“Perhaps not, but in just an hour we will be interviewed as a couple, and it’s imperative we have no awkwardness between us.” He took another step toward her and she could feel his heat, smell the scent of him. Clean skin, soap. Man.

She took a step toward him. His gaze dropped to her mouth and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

He reached out and put his thumb on her lip. She raised her focus, her eyes clashing with his. “I find I envy your lip,” he said.

He couldn’t possibly mean … She touched her tongue to the tip of his thumb, tasting salt, tasting Dante. Then she took a breath and a chance, and bit him gently. He closed his eyes, a rumble of satisfaction vibrating through his chest.

Emboldened, she repeated the action, biting harder this time.

He moved quickly, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her up against his hard body. She pushed up onto her toes and kissed him. It felt so familiar and so foreign at the same time. So wickedly exciting.

He thrust his tongue between her lips and she reciprocated, the slide and friction sending a shot of heat through her veins. Making her breasts ache to be touched, making her feel hollow.

He put both hands on her hips and gripped her tightly, pulling her against him, letting her feel the hard jut of his arousal against her stomach.

He backed her against the desk and she adjusted so that the edge was just under her butt, supporting her weight. He moved in closer to her, parting her thighs slightly, settling between them.

He pressed his lips to her jaw, her neck, her collarbone.

She never wanted it to stop. She wanted more. And she didn’t want to have to look him in the face when it was over and see the same regret she’d seen last night.

The kissing was safe. The kissing was good. She wanted more of that.

But it ended, and when he pulled away, it wasn’t horror or regret she saw on his face. It was worse. It was nothing. Nothing but a smooth, beautiful, unreadable mask. Like he hadn’t just pushed her to a point she’d never reached before. Like he hadn’t introduced her to a whole new side of attraction.

Like the world hadn’t just tilted on its axis. Her world certainly had.

“That, I think, proves my point,” he said.

She wanted to hit him. Kick him in the shins. Sing a show tune. Something that would get him to react. Because his coolness, his totally unruffled state, was killing her.

“That we have chemistry? Yeah, thanks. I’m really glad I got to be a part of the experiment.” She touched her lips. They were hot. And swollen. Overly sensitive just like the rest of her body.

Dante moved slightly and she caught a glimpse of gold shimmer on his suit jacket with the movement.

She frowned. “Could you move to the light here?” She indicated the shaft of sun coming through the window.

He complied, and the order did earn her a strange look, which, all things considered, she would take and feel somewhat satisfied with.

The light hit his front and a giggle climbed her throat, bursting from her lips. “Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry!”

“What?”

“Your suit.”

He looked down at the spray of golden glitter that was pressed against the entire front of his suit in a little Paige-shaped pattern.

He uttered a curse and brushed his hand over his jacket. Paige tried to hold in her laughter, and succeeded in snorting.

He gave her a dirty look.

“I’m sorry! Oh, brushing it like that isn’t going to help. Glitter is the cold sore of the craft world. It spreads easily and it’s hard to get rid of.”

“Yes,” he bit out, “thank you. I actually figured out the reference without it being explained.”

“You were the one who pulled me all up against you. I was working, as we established, and that involves …”

“It’s fine, Paige,” he said, his annoyance, probably with the whole situation, coming through now.

“I am sorry. Because that suit must have cost …”

“A lot,” he ground out, “but I have a lot so it’s not a big deal.”

Except that he was meticulous with his things to a degree she couldn’t wrap her mind around, so she knew on some level it was a big deal.

“Well, then …”

“I have some things to finish up and then I’ll meet you at the day care to pick Ana up.”

Dante had been forced to walk through the office advertising intimate contact with his own personal glitter fairy. Which, he imagined, he should be somewhat grateful for or at the very least, okay with.

She was, after all, supposed to be his fiancée, and that meant they were expected to touch. To kiss. To have interludes in her office during the workday.

He should be fine with it, but he wasn’t, and it had nothing to do with the possible ruination of his suit and everything to do with the flashing sign on his chest that was advertising his loss of control.

There were only a few minutes left until their interview. He stepped out of a cold shower and into his bedroom. He dressed quickly, ignoring the ache in his body that reminded him that no amount of icy-cold shower could steal the desire he had for her.

He gritted his teeth and turned sharply, hitting the solid wood bedpost with his open palm. The pain, he hoped, would remind him to keep himself under control. A reminder that passion had its price. That any loss of control had a cost.

Nothing was free. Nothing was without consequence.

The sting in his palm reminded him, for a moment, of her teeth grazing over his thumb. Of the reaction that faint pain had had on his body.

He closed his eyes and hit the bedpost again, the hard wood pushing past flesh and making contact with the bone in his wrist. He lowered his hand and shook it.

There was a timid knock on his door. “Come in.”

“Oh, hi. I was wondering if you were ready?” Paige opened the door wide to reveal her and Ana. They were both dressed in pink. Paige in a bright, silk dress and Ana in pale pink one, her chubby legs swinging back and forth.

“I am now,” he said, running his stinging hand over his hair.

“Good, she’s almost here.” Paige turned and flitted out of the room and he followed her. Paige had adjusted Ana so that she was up against her chest, Ana’s bright eyes peeking over Paige’s shoulder. Looking right at him.

He had no experience with babies, and no particular desire to become experienced with them. And this one, this tiny, perfectly formed human, seemed to look straight into him. As if she could see everything. And yet, her expression remained clear and bright. As if she saw it all, and it made no difference.

He realized then that there was one thing that had been neglected. He and Paige were meant to present themselves as a couple, but he’d forgotten that Ana would be with them. That he would have to find some ease with her, as well.

Suddenly, Ana’s little face crumpled and she let out a high-pitched whine. Paige stopped completely, adjusting the baby’s position, stroking her little cheek. It was amazing to see the effect Ana had on Paige. The little whirlwind of a woman was serene with her daughter in her arms. Her focus entirely on her.

Ana squeaked again and Paige started to sing. A soft, sweet sound. A lullaby. Terror curled around his heart, terror he hadn’t anticipated, and couldn’t shake off.

Paige bent forward, her necklace falling toward Ana as she continued to sing.

Cold sweat broke out over his skin, a sick, heavy weight hitting him in the gut and just lying there in him.

He knew one lullaby. And it was in Italian. If he closed his eyes, he could see his mother, leaning over his bed, her necklace hanging down, just as Paige’s was doing now. Singing softly, her hand comforting on his forehead.

Stella, stellina,

la notte si avvicina

Star, little star, the night is approaching …

He shook off the memory, but it tried to hold him, tried to make him see it all. His mother, first alive and so beautiful, and then …

He swallowed hard and took in a breath. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice too rough, too harsh.

Paige’s head snapped up and she looked at him with startled eyes. It made his heart twist. “Sorry,” she said.

He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I am not myself today.”

He wished that were true. Sadly, he feared he was more himself today than he ever usually allowed himself to be.

“Well, get it together. If you blow this … if we blow this … I can’t lose her.”

He looked at the little, fussing baby, and back at the woman who was, in every way that mattered, her mother.

“I know,” he said, teeth gritted, heart pounding.

They couldn’t blow it. Paige couldn’t lose Ana, he knew that. But more importantly, Ana couldn’t lose her. Because he knew, better than most, just how much of a loss it would be.

“Did it go well? I think it went well.” Paige knew she was chattering, but she couldn’t help herself.

The interview was over and they were out on the terrace on the second floor of the house. Dante’s housekeeper had barbecued for them, and they were sitting now, their plates empty, looking out at the ocean. Ana was lying happily on her stomach on a large cushion that had been placed out for her, rocking back and forth and flailing her hands and feet.

“I think it went fine,” Dante said.

There was no sign of the dark, angry man who had been in the hall earlier. There hadn’t been any sign of him from the moment Rebecca Addler had walked through the door.

He’d charmed her, utterly. Clearly, the media’s stories about him hadn’t bothered her in the least or, if they had, Dante in the flesh had erased them in a moment.

He had that effect, that ability to make everything seem fine and easy. He exuded total and complete confidence, no matter the situation. He certainly interviewed better than she did, which was galling, because it showed her just how faulty something like this could be. She was the one who loved Ana, with all of her heart, and yet, he was the one who had charmed the social worker.

Thank God he was on her team.

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling confident.”

“Why worry, Paige, the outcome will be the same either way.”

“Easy for you to say. She’s … everything to me.”

“I know,” he said, his tone serious. “And, I swear I will not let you lose her. Whatever it takes.”

“Really? Why? Why would you … why would you do that?”

“Because I know what it is to lose a mother,” he said, his tone cold. “I know what it is to drift from home to home, no one wanting you. That she is being spared the brunt of it, because of you … I will always have her be spared from it, and if I can help in any way then I will.”

She looked over at Ana, and for the first time, she let the fear that was always ready to pounce on her, overtake her fully. “Can I do this? Am I really the best person?” She looked at Dante. “Tell me. Because I’m scared I’m going to mess it up.”

He looked stunned for a moment. “I … I confess, I’m not the best person to judge how healthy a family is. But you love her. I remember love. I remember when I could feel it. I remember my mother. And the way you hold her, the way she feels when you’re near, that’s what it is.”

A lump in her throat tried to block her words. “But I mess everything up,” she said. “Ask anyone. My family, my teachers, my friends. I always got such bad grades in school. In math and science and history. I liked to read. I did well in English and art. But the other stuff … I could hardly pass a class. I did so poorly that my parents wouldn’t help me get to college. And of course I couldn’t get a scholarship. And no one was surprised. Because they just … expect it from me.” She blinked back tears. “I have messed up about every major life moment a person has. First kisses, prom, getting into college. What if I screw this up, too?”

“You haven’t messed everything in your life up,” he said, taking on that confident tone that was so familiar to her now. “You do well at your job. Exceedingly well. You lost your best friend and you carried on, both with work and with raising her child. Do you know how many people would have been content to simply let the State take over? So many, Paige. And you didn’t do that. You come through when it matters.”

“But I’m scared to want it,” she said. “I’m scared of how much I care for her.”

He frowned and looked out at the sea, the lines by his eyes deepening. “Emotion is the single most dangerous thing I can think of. The kind that controls you. Makes you do things you never thought you were capable of. But … I can see the way it pushes you with her. You told the social worker you were engaged to your boss. You were willing to do anything, take any risk, for her. There is power in that. And your love seems to have power for good. Trust that.”

His words were encouraging in a way, but so laced with a bitter sadness that they settled in her like lead.

“And what about your emotions?” she asked. “What power do you see in them?”

He looked at her, his dark eyes glittering. “I looked in myself, and saw the potential for terrible things. And since that day I haven’t felt anything. I find my power from somewhere else, a place I can control.”

She felt like someone had reached into her chest, grabbed her heart and squeezed it tight. “Dante … you’re helping me. I look in you and I see so much good.”

“Then you are blind.” He stood up and walked off the terrace into the house, and all she could do was stare at his back retreating into the shadows.

She’d seen that emptiness again. That same look he’d gotten in the hall just before he’d snapped at her. That same look he’d had in her office when they’d kissed. She’d taken it for emotionlessness but it wasn’t that.

It was something else. Something worse. Something she was afraid she couldn’t help him with.

CHAPTER NINE

HE heard crying. He moved to a sitting position in bed and swung his legs over the side, his feet planted on the carpet.

Ana was crying.

He stood and walked out of his room, striding down the hall. He opened the door to the nursery, casting a sliver of light into the room. He saw Paige, sitting in the rocking chair, holding Ana, rocking her, patting her back. Ana was crying still. And so was Paige. Glittery tracks down her cheeks.

His first instinct was to turn away. To walk away from the scene as quickly as possible, go back to bed. Shut down the strange emotions that were rising up, pressing on his throat.

“Is everything okay?”

“No,” Paige said thickly. “She’s been crying for an hour and she won’t stop. I’ve tried everything. I fed her, I changed her. I’m holding her. I turned the light on, I turned it off. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing you’re doing wrong.”

“What if it is?” she whispered, despair lacing her voice.

He took a step into the room, ignoring the tightness in his chest. “Babies cry, for no reason sometimes.”

He’d heard that said, though he wasn’t sure where.

“But Ana doesn’t, usually.”

“Does she have a fever?” That seemed a logical question.

Paige put her cheek down on Ana’s head. “I don’t think so.” She smoothed her hands over the baby’s brow. “She doesn’t feel warm to me. Does she feel warm to you?”

He couldn’t bring himself to touch her. She was a tiny creature, fragile. Small-boned. Delicate. He didn’t want to put his hands on her.

“I don’t think she’s warm,” he said.

Paige put her hand on the baby’s forehead. “No, you’re right. I don’t think she is. Could you sing to her?”

“Sing?” he asked.

“A lullaby.”

His breath stalled in his throat, got trapped there. “I don’t know any lullabies,” he lied.

“Oh … that’s okay.” She patted Ana on the back. “I tried to sing and she just cried harder so I thought maybe you could …”

“Sorry,” he said, curling his fingers into fists, fighting the urge to run from the room.

For that reason alone he had to stay. Dante Romani did not run. He would not.

Ana hiccuped, her tiny shoulders jerking with the motion. Her cries slowed, quieted, until they became muffled, sporadic whimpers.

He watched her for a few moments, silence settling between them as Paige continued to rock Ana until the whimpering ceased altogether.

“See, she was just crying,” he said, trying to sound certain. Trying to feel some control over the situation when the simple fact was, he had none. There was a nursery in his home. There was a baby here. A woman. She had her things in his closet.