Dante's Honor-Bound Husband (5 page)

“So, is it over between you and Romano?” David pressed.

“I'm not sure,” she admitted honestly.

It certainly hadn't felt over, not after that kiss. Her palm itched and she curled her fingers inward, wishing she could ignore the sensation. How many Dantes had described that exact same reaction and attributed it to the connection formed when they'd first touched their soul mate? Every last one of them. She closed her eyes. Since Constantine's return, the itching had grown progressively more noticeable. She could sit here with David and deny it until dawn broke across the horizon, but it wouldn't change the facts.

She and Constantine were connected in a way she and David weren't…and quite possibly never would be, no matter how hard she'd tried to ignite that connection.

“Finish your drink, Gia, and then let's go.”

The clipped order caught her off guard. Had he seen the regret on her face? “Go? Go, where?”

“For a drive. We need to talk and I'd rather not do it here where Dantes or Romano could burst in on us at any moment.” She caught the gleam of his smile in the darkness. “Besides, it will give everyone time to cool off. Don't you think that's the smartest choice?”

Gianna weighed her options. If they stayed, chances were excellent that her family would appear within the next ten minutes with some excuse or another, no doubt one related to business. She toyed with her wineglass and grimaced. Particularly if they tasted the champagne. She didn't have a single doubt that Constantine would head the parade of invaders. He wouldn't be able to help himself. She closed her eyes, an unexpected wave of exhaustion settling over her. She couldn't deal with any of that tonight, she really couldn't.

“Finish your champagne and let's go,” David prompted again.

“Okay.” But instead of drinking, she set it aside. She could tell her actions didn't please him and wasn't quite certain if he objected to her contrariness or the fact that he'd gone to the trouble of bringing her a drink she hadn't bothered to finish. She touched his hand to distract him. “But then you'll explain about you and Constantine and whatever this old history is between you, right? His sister, Ariana, is married to my cousin Lazz, remember? And I flat-out adore her. I don't want your disagreement with Constantine to interfere with my relationship with her.”

“Of course not.” He stood and held out his hand. “Why don't we slip out the back way?”

“If it'll avoid a confrontation, I'm all for it,” Gianna agreed.

 

“Why didn't you tell me they were dating?” Constantine demanded of Gianna's brothers.

Luc shrugged. “Didn't know it had anything to do with you.”

Draco frowned. “And just out of curiosity, why does it have anything to do with you?”

Time to make one thing crystal clear to all the Dantes. Constantine folded his arms across his chest and eyed them one by one. “From now on everything about Gianna has to do with me,” he stated.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Rafe held up his hands. “I know you two met at Lazz's wedding. But when the hell did it go from how-do-you-do to she's-mine-let's-kill-the-competition? Not that I mind, you understand. I'd just like you to fill in a few of the blanks.”

How could they even ask that question? They knew how The Inferno worked. They must know what Gianna had chosen to do to him. “It went from one to the other as soon as we shook hands.”

Luc's brows shot upward. “The Inferno?”

“She Infernoed you?” Rafe burst out laughing. “Way to go, little sister.”

“This is not a laughing matter.” Constantine could hear his accent deepening and fought for control. “It might have been polite to ask before she…Infernoed me.”

Draco gave him a sympathetic slap on the back. “Yeah, sorry about that. Doesn't really work that way, I'm afraid.”

Constantine's eyes narrowed. “When we have more time, perhaps you would be so kind as to explain exactly how it does work.”

“Hell, if any of us knew that we wouldn't all be standing here with a ball and chain manacled to our ankles,” Rafe said cheerfully. He shot out his hand and captured his
wife's wrist, reeling her in. “Isn't that right, my sweet little chain?”

“You just said that because you knew I was standing there, didn't you?” Larkin demanded crossly.

“If you can't handle the truth, don't eavesdrop.” Her mouth opened to give him a piece of her mind and he took immediate advantage. They both reemerged a moment later, a bit bewitched and bewildered. He cupped his wife's face and gazed down at her with unmistakable adoration. “Just so you know, I've never been more grateful for that chain or the fact that it goes both ways…and I always will.”

 

A short time later, Gianna found herself in David's car, pulling out of the Dantes' garage. He gave the Jaguar its head, the powerful car eating up the hills of the city a little faster than she'd have liked. He was so different from Constantine. It was almost as though David had something to prove. As though he were trying to show her that he was the better man. Instead of being impressed, she found his actions vaguely sad.

She yawned. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular. I just thought we'd take a drive out of the city, then park and talk.”

He sped through a yellow light and she touched his arm. For some reason it took serious effort, almost as though her limbs had turned to lead. Preparing for the gala must have worn her out more than she realized. “Pull over for just a minute.”

“Wait until we're out of the city.”

“No, seriously. Pull over. I want you to do something for me.”

He spared her a brief, impatient look, then braked a little harder than necessary and rolled to a stop in a red
zone beside a fire hydrant. “Okay, I've pulled over. Now what?”

“Would you kiss me?”

A streetlight cut across his face, giving the illusion that his pale eyes were translucent. She could still read his reaction—a mixed one. Part of him wanted her with a deep, primal hunger that he didn't bother to disguise. Another part, one she suspected he would have hidden from her if he could, hesitated. She knew why. He'd guessed she wanted to compare his kiss to the one Constantine had given her. And he'd be right.

The time for pretense was over. She needed to know the truth, once and for all. Either she had serious feelings for David or she didn't. For the past three months she'd thrown herself into the relationship, hoping against hope that desire would flare to life. That The Inferno would strike with him, the way it had with Constantine. She knew for a fact that could happen. Even so, she couldn't create a fire without combustible materials. At the very least she should feel as if she'd struck a match when they kissed. Generated a hint of smoke. Created a flicker or two of flame. Something. If not, the only honorable course was to end things between them.

David took his time. Reaching for her, he drew her as close as possible given the console between them. He cupped her face and leaned in, taking her mouth slowly, then more passionately. His breathing grew ragged as the moments slipped by and his fingers thrust into her hair so he could control and deepen the kiss.

It took every ounce of self-possession to keep from jerking free of his hold. His touch felt wrong. Wrong on every conceivable level. No matter how hard she attempted to fight it, there was only one man for her. And he wasn't the one kissing her.

Even so, she didn't fight him or pull back, despite the muffled instinct urging her to do just that. For some reason it felt as though she'd left her brain on the terrace at Dantes, trapped within that dense summer fog. More than anything she wished she could curl up and go to sleep. Maybe a drive wasn't the best option.

It wasn't until he groped for the fastening of the halter top of her gown that she stirred. “No, David.” He pulled back, a protest blazing across his face. Before he could say anything, her cell phone rang, loud and strident within the confines of the car. It cut through the drag of exhaustion, giving her a moment of clarity. “I need to get that.”

“No, you don't,” he argued. “For once in your life, ignore your family.”

“I'm a Dante, David,” she explained gently. “You know it doesn't work that way. They'll worry if I don't answer.”

She took the call, but instead of one of her brothers as she expected, it was Constantine who spoke. “Where are you,
piccola?
” he asked.

“With David. We're going for a drive.”

A brief silence, then, “Tell him to take you straight home.”

“Is that an order?”

“There's something you should know about David, Gianna. It's important. I wouldn't ask if it weren't.”

She might have argued, but with David sitting there listening to every word, she decided to choose prudence for once in her life. “I'll call you later when it's more convenient.”

“I'm leaving Dantes in another few minutes. I'll wait outside your place until I hear from you.”

She sighed. “It might be a bit. David and I…” She spared her date a brief glance, not the least surprised by the anger sparking in his gaze. Could he hear Constantine's voice,
tell it wasn't one of her brothers who'd called? Or had he guessed what was happening based on her responses? “We need to talk.”

“Going to dump him?”

“That's none of your business.”

“Everything about you is my business,” he responded with devastating simplicity.

She flipped the phone closed and dropped it in her purse. “David—”

“Don't.”

She fought through her exhaustion, attempting to find the kindest, gentlest words possible. “David, let's be honest with each other. We've been dating for three months. If we shared something that could have become permanent, we'd have felt it by now.”

“We have felt it,” he argued. “You can't deny you feel something for me. You've just allowed Romano to confuse you. Give me a chance, Gia. Give
us
a chance.”

It was truth time. She would never want this man. Not the way a woman should want the man who hoped to share her bed. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how she attempted to lose herself in David's embrace, some part of her remained remote and untouched. That secret part of herself flinched from allowing any other man to hold her. Touch her. Kiss her. Only one man had that right. She closed her eyes, caving to the inevitable. There wouldn't be a private weekend in New York. Or a romantic suite at the Ritz, not to mention an engagement.

Nor would she ever share David's bed.

“I have given us a chance,” she told him as compassionately as she could manage. She fought back another yawn. The fog returned, relentless, rolling toward her at breakneck speed. “It's not working.”

“I'll make it work.” He turned a knob on the console
which put the Jag in gear and fishtailed away from the curb. “Lean back and close your eyes, Gia. We'll be there before you know it.”

She shook her head, but it didn't help. The fog descended, consuming her, and she tumbled into its cold gray embrace. “What's wrong with me?” she murmured.

“Put your seat back and go to sleep. When you wake it'll all be over.”

What would be over? But it took too much effort to ask the question. And she slept.

“S
he's not at her house and she's not answering her cell.” Constantine paced up and down the sidewalk for the umpteenth time. After twenty endless minutes, he knew every crack and stain by heart. “That can only mean one thing. D'Angelo has her. There's no other possibility.”

Luc sighed. “He doesn't
have
her. They're simply out together. I hate to say this, Constantine, but they've been dating for a couple of months. She's a grown woman. If she isn't answering her cell it's because she doesn't want to talk to you. I'm sure she'll be in touch in the morning.”

“No,” Constantine snarled into his cell phone. Every instinct he possessed screamed in protest. He had to find her.
Now.
“If we wait until morning, it will be too late. He knows I am on to him. He'll have to move tonight if he has any hope of keeping her from me.”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Luc snapped.

Constantine forced himself to explain in a calm, crisp manner that didn't sound like
he
was the deranged one, rather than d'Angelo. “D'Angelo has drugged at least one other woman in the past in order to take advantage of her.
Attempted
to take advantage of her. I stopped him in time.”

“Dear God.
That's
what he meant about your timing leaving something to be desired?”

“Yes.” Constantine checked his watch, also for the umpteenth time. “If d'Angelo wishes to do this to Gianna…if he wishes to drug her and take advantage of her, where would he take her?”

There was a brief silence and Constantine could practically hear Luc mentally sorting through the possibilities. “He's renting a suite at one of the hotels here in the city while he waits for escrow to close on the mansion he's purchased. I don't remember which hotel, though I could probably find out. One of the pricier ones, I'm sure.”

Constantine considered for a moment, then shook his head. “No, he wouldn't take her to his hotel. Too many witnesses. It would be someplace private.”

“Let me check around.” Sick tension bled across the airwaves. “I'll get back to you.”

“Make it fast,” Constantine advised. “The clock is ticking.”

“Romano—” Fear ripped apart Luc's voice.

“Remain calm. I'll find her. And I'll be in time.”

For the sake of his sanity, he didn't have any choice.

 

Gianna stirred, slowly surfacing, vaguely aware that the Jaguar was slowing. The wipers were on, swishing softly while rain pelted against the windshield. Were they home? She must have fallen asleep during the brief drive, she realized groggily. How strange. Her head lolled toward the
window and she squinted at the darkness that consumed the car. No, not home, she realized. They weren't even in the city.

“David?” she murmured sleepily.

“Almost there. I hadn't planned to make this trip tonight, so I need to stop for gas. Then it's not much farther.”

“Where are we?”

“A little north of Calistoga.”

The information filtered through with sludgelike speed. When it did, the confusion clouding her mind began to clear.
Calistoga?
It took her a moment to place it. When she did, her breath caught. That was a solid hour outside of the city at the north end of the Napa Valley. Why in the world would he have driven so far? It didn't make sense. “I don't understand. What are we doing in Calistoga?”

He spared her a brief, impatient look. “You should have finished your champagne. You were supposed to sleep until we reached the lodge.”

Once again it took time to sort through his comment, but little by little she could feel the sluggishness fading away. She didn't understand the wine comment and focused instead on his second statement. Lodge? What lodge? “I'm not going to any lodge with you. I want you to take me home.”

“I'll be happy to.” He paused a beat. “Tomorrow.”

She shook her head in protest, shocked by the weight of it. Why was it so heavy? She could barely hold it up. “Something's wrong with me,” she said. “I feel so odd.”

“You're just tired. Put your seat back and go to sleep.”

He'd said that to her before. This time it wasn't a request, but an order, so firmly delivered, she almost didn't resist. More than anything she wanted to obey him and surrender to the darkness just waiting to consume her once again. The champagne. He'd said something about the champagne.

“You drugged me.” She didn't pose it as a question.

Instead of protesting, he grinned like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Maybe just a little.”

Fear, sudden and abrupt, coursed through her system burning through the remaining mists blanketing her thoughts. He'd drugged her. Dear God, he'd actually drugged her. She attempted to moisten her lips but found it impossible. Her mouth and throat had gone bone-dry.

“Why?” she managed to ask. “Why would you do that to me?”

He shrugged, taut muscles rippling beneath the impressive expanse of his dress shirt. He must have removed his tux jacket at some point while she slept. She shuddered. What else had happened while she'd been unconscious?

“Because I want you,” he admitted, as though that were explanation enough.

And maybe it was, for him. She'd always been aware that he possessed an overdeveloped sense of entitlement. More than once she'd heard him excuse the occasional excessive indulgence with the excuse, “But I deserve…” Whether a suite at the Ritz-Carlton or a third Rolex or a fully loaded Jaguar, David always felt entitled to the best. Apparently he'd now decided that he “deserved” her. Anger ripped through her, combating the drugs, as well as her fear. Well, not if she could help it.

“It doesn't bother you that drugging and kidnapping me was the only way you could achieve your ends?” she asked. Maybe if she kept him talking, it would give her time to think…and plan a way out of this.

“Drugging you wasn't the only way, just the most expeditious.”

He took his eyes off the road long enough to frown in her direction. It occurred to her that if she had any hope of escaping her present predicament, she'd be wise to pre
tend the drugs had a stronger hold on her than they did. Otherwise, he might decide to administer a little more and she'd never get away. She closed her eyes with a soft sigh and allowed her head to roll to one side.

“So sleepy,” she murmured.

He trailed the back of his hand along the curve of her cheek and it took every ounce of self-control to keep from flinching. “Trust me. By morning you'll wonder why you held me off for so long. And by tomorrow afternoon…”

“By tomorrow afternoon…?” She deliberately yawned out the question.

“We'll be engaged.”

She lifted a hand to her forehead. “I…I don't understand.”

“Once I explain what happened to your grandfather, abashed and contrite that we allowed passion to overcome Dante propriety, your family will demand I do the honorable thing and marry you. In fact, I'll insist it's the only reasonable solution.”

She stiffened in outrage. What the hell did he know about honor? She almost asked the question, keeping her mouth shut at the last instant. Being a
chiacchierona
as her family affectionately called her—a chatterbox—wouldn't help in her current situation. Restraint and discretion would.

“I seem to remember hearing that Luc and Téa found themselves in a similar predicament—caught in the act—and Primo insisted they marry immediately,” David continued with a pensive air. “I'm sure he'll be even more insistent with his only granddaughter, if only to uphold the family honor.”

“And if I tell my grandfather you drugged me?” She fought to keep the sharpness from her voice and ask the question in a vague, confused manner.

He chuckled. “You won't remember that, any more than you'll remember this conversation.”

He pulled into a gas station, the only spot of brightness along the remote stretch of road. Darkness poured from the interior of the cement block storefront. No help there. Nor from the closed and padlocked service bay doors. But the pumps were lit and available for credit card purchases. Maybe someone else would stop for gas. Someone who could help her.

He turned in the leather seat to face her. “Before you fall back asleep, I have one final question for you.”

“Can't. Too tired.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolded, giving her a little shake. “You can sleep after you answer my question.”

She made a feeble gesture for him to continue before allowing her hand to flop back onto her lap. “What?” She deliberately slurred the word.

“Where's Brimstone?”

She blinked, staring at him blankly, unable to make sense of the words. And not because of the drugs. “What?”

“The Dante fire diamond, Brimstone. Where is it?” he asked urgently. “My sources tell me it disappeared. What happened to it?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

He swore in Italian. “Don't give me that. It's practically a Dante legend. My father told me all about it and he got it straight from Vittorio Romano.”

Vittorio. Constantine's father. “I…I don't know anything about it.”

“It was supposed to go to the Romanos after your cousin and Ariana married. But it never did.” He paused, speaking more to himself than to her. “Unless that bastard, Constantine, financed Romano Restoration with it. I can't imagine any other way he could have done it in so short a
time. Not with my father blocking his every attempt to get a loan.”

She forced out a yawn. “I'm so tired…I don't understand a word you're saying.”

He took a moment to think it through. “If Romano has the diamond, he wouldn't be here, sniffing after you. And despite what my sources say, you don't just lose a fire diamond as valuable as Brimstone. Which means…” His focus returned to her. “Does your family still have the diamond? Is that why Romano's here? That's it, isn't it? He's hoping to romance it out from under you by marrying into the family.”

“Never heard of Brimstone,” she mumbled.

And she hadn't. But she sure as hell intended to ask about it the minute she got herself out of her current predicament. She shuddered. Assuming she could. Please, God, let someone come.

His gaze pinned her in place, sharp and ruthless. “Fine. Pretend you don't know. It won't change a thing. Once I've married into the family, it won't matter, anyway.”

“'Kay.” She closed her eyes and slumped in her seat.

“Gia?”

She didn't so much as twitch.

“Gianna!”

She kept her breathing slow and deep. She never realized how much effort it took to feign sleep when her heart galloped like a racehorse and panic threatened to consume her. She must have convinced David, though. She heard him push a button near the steering wheel which she gathered released the gas tank cover, then he opened the car door and exited. Peeking from beneath her lashes, she held her breath while he circled to stand at the rear of the car with his back to her and removed his wallet from his pocket, extracting a credit card.

She wouldn't get a better opportunity. She'd watched him start the Jag any number of times. It didn't require a key. She simply had to apply the brakes, then push the “start” button on the console between the two seats. Once the engine fired, a knob popped up which controlled the gear settings. After that, matters might get a bit more dicey.

The instant David inserted his credit card in the gas pump, she moved, slinging her legs over the center console and sliding into the driver's seat. She jammed the door release lever with her elbow, locking all the doors. Next she hit the brake with both feet and slapped the start/stop button on the console. The Jag purred to life. Just as she'd seen countless times before, the gear knob released.

Behind her, she heard David shout. Not that she listened. She turned the button from P for Park to D for Drive. Now for the tricky part. To drive a car for the second time in her entire life. Taking a deep breath, she hit the gas.

The Jag responded with a throaty roar of enthusiasm and leaped forward, careening across the cement lot toward the road. She fought to contain the power, jerking the wheel one way and then the other. The Jag responded to every movement—and then some. She attempted to compensate for her oversteer, overcorrected instead, and the back of the vehicle fishtailed, the tires screaming at her mistreatment.

Slow down, slow down!

But for some reason she couldn't peel her foot off the accelerator. She was too desperate to escape to let up. Just before she reached the road the right side of the car hit a curb, sending it spinning. It made a half dozen 360s across the two-lane road before clipping a tree with its rear end. Metal shrieked, airbags exploded around her. Then silence descended.

The Jag had come to rest facing the gas station. She'd
made her escape, all right. She'd gotten a solid two hundred yards down the road. For a split second, she and David stared at each other. Then with a shout of fury, he charged in her direction.

Gianna fought for breath. This was not going to end well.

 

“Calistoga?” Constantine punched the name into his GPS. “Where the hell is Calistoga?”

“This I do not know,” Vittorio Romano responded. The connection faded for a brief moment then kicked in again. “The business associate mentioned a fancy lodge that the d'Angelo boy owns near this Calistoga. He uses it to entertain clients.”

For once, the nine-hour time difference between Italy and California had worked to Constantine's advantage. It might be after midnight for him, but it was bright and early in the morning at the Romano palazzo. “A suite at the Ritz. A mansion. A Jag. Now a lodge. I have to tell you, Babbo. All these years we've been doing something wrong.”