Dante's Honor-Bound Husband (9 page)

“This I can see.”

“I'll start a pot of coffee,” Constantine said, and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

She didn't know which was worse. The fact that he'd deserted her. Or the fact that—from her grandfather's perspective—he was familiar enough with her home to fix the coffee. Not that he was. But it certainly must seem that way to Primo. Warmth burned her cheeks and she avoided his gaze.

She trailed after Constantine like a caboose on a runaway train, helpless to prevent it from careening onward to its predetermined destination. She didn't have a hope in hell of preventing the coming disaster. Still, she was driven to
try. “Just so you know, this isn't what it looks like,” she said, in an attempt to divert the impending train wreck.

“It looks like Constantine has spent the night.”

Gianna reddened. Sharp curve ahead! “Well, yes, he did. But not the way you mean.”

“And which way is that,
chiacchierona?
” he asked gently.

“He…we…I—”

“Cream? Sugar?” Constantine interrupted.

Primo waved aside the offer. “Black. And strong enough to grow hair on my chest. At my age I could use some.”

Gianna decided to give up on trying to explain the situation to her grandfather. There was no excuse Primo would find acceptable to explain Constantine spending the night with her. “Please don't take this the wrong way,” she said to him. “But what are you doing here?”

“Constantine called me.”

Shock froze her in place for an instant as her train jumped the track and completely derailed. She stood amidst the carnage and swung an outraged look in Constantine's direction. “You. Called.
Primo?
” Didn't he understand the ramifications of that?

Apparently he didn't because he appeared neither concerned, nor the least apologetic. “Yes. I explained about d'Angelo. It was my duty.”

“Now that Constantine is your fiancé, it is only proper that he discuss such matters with me,” her grandfather informed her. He turned his attention to Constantine. “I have made some phone calls. My understanding is that d'Angelo has left the country. The claim is urgent business.”

“I'm not surprised.”

Primo nodded in agreement. “Nor am I.”

Gianna held up her hands. “Wait a minute. Wait just one
darn minute here. Could we forget about David? If he's left the country, he's not of immediate concern.”

“He's of concern to me,” Constantine retorted.

“I am also concerned,” Primo added with a nod.

She refused to allow them to sidetrack her. Her gaze narrowed on her grandfather. “First, Constantine is
not
my fiancé. And second, it was my place to tell you about last night, not his. I'm not some delicate piece of china to be placed on a shelf while the men take care of business. I'm a woman in charge of her own destiny.”

Primo gestured toward Gianna's mug. “More sugar,” he instructed Constantine. “And for the sake of your marriage, I warn you to avoid conversation with our Gianna until after she has had a full cup of sweet coffee. Better if it is two.”

She gritted her teeth to keep from saying something she'd regret. “Primo—”

“
Ascoltare me,
Gianna Marie Fiorella.”

“Little flower?” Constantine murmured, his eyes filled with laughter. “Somehow I never thought of you that way.”

She shot him a smoldering look before returning her attention to Primo. “I'm listening.”

Her grandfather's index finger thumped against the table. “In the eyes of your family, you are engaged to this man. He proposed to you last night in front of us all. And he has now spent the night with you.”

“But we didn't—”

“He was in your bed?”

Color burned across her cheekbones. “Primo,” she muttered.

“I'll take that as a yes.” He nodded as though that sealed the deal and drank a long swallow of coffee. “I will speak to the priest and discuss dates while you and your mother attend to such matters as the dress and flowers. Your babbo
will have a conversation with Constantine about his duties as a husband. Are we clear on this matter?”

She waited a split second to see if Constantine planned to say something helpful. Anything. Apparently he didn't, since he simply stretched out his long legs and buried his smile in the steam rising from his coffee mug. Gianna shot to her feet, tightening the belt of her robe with a swift jerk that nearly cut off her circulation.

Fine. She'd just claimed she was a woman in charge of her own destiny. Time to prove it. “I understand why you think we should marry, Primo. But you can't force me to the altar.” She glared at Constantine. “None of you can. I'm not Luc and Téa to be threatened into a marriage I don't want.”

“Who says you don't want it?” Constantine spoke up for the first time. “You know perfectly well this is where our relationship has been heading. There was never any doubt about that.”

“
What
relationship?” she shot back. “We felt a few sparks. Exchanged a few kisses. But we don't know anything about each other. Certainly not enough for marriage.”

“You have felt The Inferno with this man?” Primo broke into the conversation.

She'd never been able to lie to her grandfather. She doubted she'd be able to this time, either. She came as close as she could manage. “Maybe.”

Constantine held out his right hand, palm up. “Definitely. We felt it the first time we touched.” At Primo's lifted brow, he added, “Ariana's wedding.”

“So many months ago?” her grandfather marveled. “And you have not acted in all this time? How is this possible?”

Gianna stabbed a finger in Constantine's direction. “My point exactly. How can it be The Inferno? If it were, he never could have stayed away. Certainly not this long.”

A hint of anger sparked in Constantine's gaze and he slowly climbed to his feet, towering over her. “You know damn well why I stayed away.” It was a darn good thing she could speak Italian considering he used it every time he got angry. Which, it would seem, was often. “I had no choice.”

“You did have a choice. You
chose
to stay away,” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest. She didn't care if it made her look defensive. She felt defensive.

“Chose?” Anger flashed, caught fire. “I had nothing to offer but my name.”

“That would have been more than enough for me,” she retorted.

“It would have dishonored me to live off my wife's money and provide nothing in return,” he shot back. “For the past nineteen months I have worked day and night to build a business. And I succeeded. I succeeded well enough to move here. Did I ask you to come to me in Italy? No. Because I know how much your family means to you. Instead I opened my business in San Francisco so we would have each other
and
your family. And what do you tell me when I arrive?” Fury ripped through his voice. “You tell me you've moved on.
Moved on!
”

“It had been nearly two years,” she protested. “Was I supposed to wait forever?”

He kept going as though she'd never interrupted. “You had moved on to that bastard d'Angelo. A man without scruples, without honor. A man who tried to drug you in order to force you into marriage.”

“If he'd succeeded—” and just the thought had her breaking out in a cold sweat “—I would have told him the same thing I'm telling you. I won't be forced into marriage. Not by anyone, for any reason.”

“I don't understand. If you don't want marriage, then
what the hell
do
you want from me, Gianna?” Constantine demanded. “Why am I here? Or have these past nineteen months been a waste of my time?”

Good question. She planted her hands on her hips and spared her grandfather a swift glance. He continued to drink his coffee, watching the drama unfolding with an expression of utter delight. Honestly. There were times her family drove her crazy. She looked at Constantine uncertainly. “Are you interested in marriage?”

He swore. “Why do you think I returned? Why do you think I'm listening to this craziness instead of carting you off to bed and spending the next week compromising you so thoroughly you'll have no choice but to marry me?”

Color darkened her cheeks. This time she didn't dare look at her grandfather, though she heard his soft, choked laughter. She held up her hands. “Enough, already. If you're serious about a relationship, then you'll have to go about it the normal way. The old-fashioned way.”

That stopped him. “What are you talking about?”

Exasperated, she said, “I'm talking about dating, Constantine. I'm talking about going out to dinner and getting to know each other. Learning each other's likes and dislikes. Figuring out whether or not we're actually compatible.” She shoved her palm in his direction and shook it at him. “This isn't any guarantee of happiness. I happen to know that for a fact.”

Silence reigned at the end of her tirade.

“Exactly how do you know this for a fact,
chiacchierona?
” Primo asked, the question dropping into the abrupt silence.

Oh, no. She refused to go there. Refused to share the secret she'd kept since her thirteenth birthday. Her entire family believed implicitly in The Inferno, believed that it was permanent and everlasting. No way would she be the
one to disabuse them of a legacy they celebrated and cherished.

She folded her arms across her chest and—for once in her life—closed her mouth and kept it closed.

To her profound relief, Constantine inadvertently came to her rescue. “Gianna has a point,” he offered, albeit reluctantly. “Even though we've known each other for more than a year and a half, we've only been together for a handful of days.”

“What do you suggest?” Primo asked.

“Time,” Gianna immediately replied. “Time for the two of us to become better acquainted. To look before we leap.”

Primo didn't want to agree, she could see it in the brilliant gold of his eyes. After a moment's reflection, he nodded, also reluctantly. “Very well. I will say nothing of what I have learned here this morning while I give you this time.” He fixed Gianna with a cool, pointed stare. “One month,
chiacchierona.
After that you marry, willing or not, even if I have to carry you down the aisle, myself.”

T
he instant Primo left, Gianna retreated upstairs, no doubt to change. Constantine followed. He wasn't about to give her the opportunity to fortify her barricades or find a loophole buried within Primo's ultimatum.

“I need to change,” she informed him the instant he entered her bedroom.

He made himself comfortable on her chaise lounge. “I'm not stopping you.”

She turned on him, planting her hands on her hips. “What is it with you? Last night I practically threw myself at you and you wanted nothing to do with me. This morning you won't give me an inch to breathe.”

“You have an inch.” He eyeballed the distance between them. “By my calculation, you have quite a few inches.”

“You know what I mean.”

She must have realized he had no intention of leaving. With a sigh of irritation, she spun on her heel and crossed to
her closet, flinging open the door and disappearing inside. Curious, he followed.

“Madre di Dio,”
he murmured faintly.

“I don't want to hear a word about it,” she retorted, her back to him.

He thought he caught a defensive edge in her voice. “Just out of curiosity, how many pairs of shoes do you own?” he asked.

She turned, clutching a pair of heels. “Not enough.” She glanced at the huge rack of tidily shelved shoes which covered every spectrum of the rainbow. “Besides, they're not all mine. Some of them are Francesca's. We discovered a while back that we wear identical sizes.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Should I assume that if some of these are hers, she has some of yours?”

She waffled for a second, before conceding, “Maybe.”

Oh, yeah. Definitely defensive. He examined the closet and shook his head. “What did you do, convert an adjoining bedroom into a closet?”

The blush sweeping across her elegant cheekbones gave him the answer. “Not that it's any of your business,” she muttered.

“It will be when we marry.”

She held up a hand. “Okay, stop right there. There is no ‘when.' There is only a very shaky ‘maybe.'”

He crowded her against a row of silk business suits. “You heard Primo. You have one month of ‘maybe' and then it's a lifetime of ‘when.'”

A deeply feminine confusion crept across her face. “Why are you going along with this? It's ridiculous.”

He fisted his hands around the lapels of her robe and drew her to him. “You started this, Gianna, when you decided to infect me with The Inferno. You can't blame me if I finish it. What choice did you leave me?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Infect?”

He gave it to her straight. “Sometimes it feels like that, particularly since I had no choice in the matter.”

“It wasn't deliberate,” she insisted. “It's not like I can control it. It just happens.”

Well, at least all the Dantes were telling identical stories. “Your brothers said the same thing. I'm not sure I believe them.” He watched her closely. “Did you Inferno d'Angelo?”

She shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

“And yet, you continued to go out with him.”

Her chin shot to a combative angle. “Maybe The Inferno is smarter than I am.”

“Maybe it's smarter than both of us.”

He reeled her in by the lapel of her robe. They stood shoe-to-bare-toe for an endless moment. Unable to resist, he slanted his mouth over hers and slammed them both into a whirlwind of desire. He still wanted her with a desperation every bit as fierce as when they'd first met. It hadn't diminished. Not over time. Not over distance. And definitely not with her winding her arms around his neck and surrendering herself unconditionally to the embrace. He heard the high heels she held hit the carpeted floor one after the other.

Want exploded between them, hot and heavy. More than anything he wished he could sweep her into his arms, carry her back to bed and make love to her for the rest of the weekend. If he did, it would force her to commit. Her family wouldn't give her any other option.

But then, he'd be no better than David.

Her lips parted beneath his and she made a low, hungry sound that threatened to steal every last vestige of his self-control. He yanked at the knot holding her robe together. Stripping away the binding, he slid his hands beneath the
heavy velour and over her shoulders. The robe dropped at their feet, leaving her standing there in nothing but the thin cotton shift she'd worn to bed.

“I want you,” he said between fierce, biting kisses. “It eats at me, never going away. Never easing.”

“I know, I know. I'm sorry.” Her arms tightened around his neck and her head fell back, giving him greater access to the long sweep of throat and shoulder. “It's the same for me. I thought I could push it away or ignore it. But it's too strong.”

He hooked his fingers in the bodice of her shift in order to slip it downward at the same instant she pulled back. The thin cotton split, the sound of rending cloth harsh in the confines of the closet. For a split second, they both froze. The tattered remains of her nightie hung from her arms, exposing her breasts and belly. He'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He started to reach for her, to touch her.

Then an image of David flashed through his mind. Dear God, what had he been thinking? Swearing, he released her and drew back. Without another word, he turned and stepped from the confines of the closet.

“Get dressed.” His voice escaped, low and guttural. “I'll wait for you downstairs.”

“Constantine—”

He refused to look back. That way led to disaster. “I'm not David. I swear to you I'm not.”

“I know that. Of course I know that.” Concern mingled with the frustrated hunger underscoring her words. “You never could be. This was an accident.”

He fought for control, fought with every ounce of strength he possessed. “Which is why I'm going downstairs. Before I do something I can't live with afterward.”

“But—”

He spun around, pushed to the limit of his endurance. “What are you saying, Gianna? That it's acceptable to sleep with me, but I'm not someone you'll marry?”

She drew back in alarm, clutching the remnants of the shift around herself. “No! Of course I'm not saying that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

She closed her eyes. “I want you,” she confessed.

“And I want you. But I won't use you like some sort of one-night stand. How could I face Primo if I did that? How could I face your brothers?” He softened his tone. “Let's slow down and do what you suggested. Let's get to know each other better.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

His mouth curved upward in a dry smile. “As soon as you're dressed we'll leave, since clearly, Primo was right.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, he usually is.” She glanced at him hesitantly. “And after we leave? What then?”

“We'll get to know each other better.”

Her brows shot up. “We're going out on a date?”

“Nothing so formal. I thought I'd show you around Romano Restoration. It took a lot of work to put everything in place without you being any the wiser. But I wished to surprise you by having it fully operational when I arrived. It helped that Ariana was in Italy so she didn't accidentally let it slip.” He glanced down at himself and grimaced. “Going to Romano's will also give me the opportunity to change since my apartment is above the office complex.”

He didn't dare remain in her bedroom a moment longer. He retreated to the kitchen where he leaned against the counter and drank a second cup of coffee. Maybe it would help him regain his self-control. Because if he planned on spending any time around Gianna, he'd need every bit of
it. To his relief, she didn't keep him waiting for more than ten minutes.

She appeared downstairs wearing a casual pair of camel-colored slacks and a cream silk blouse. Not as attractive as the shift, but definitely safer. She'd secured her long, gold-streaked brown hair with a simple clip, the curls rioting down her back in joyous abandon. Her makeup was minimal, a touch of mascara and lipstick. She'd used a heavier hand with the blush, no doubt to hide the lingering paleness resulting from the events of the night before.

“I'm set,” she announced brightly. Her gaze swept over him and a broad grin spread across her mouth. “My, aren't you looking…dissolute.”

He glanced down at the dress shirt and tux jacket he'd rescued from her bathroom floor. He suspected the wrinkles might be permanent. “It's the new me. I call it my morning-after look. What do you think?”

“Very sexy.” She actually sounded like she meant it.

He dumped the dregs of his coffee in the sink and rinsed the mug. Turning, he held out his hand. She didn't hesitate, but laced her fingers through his. Their palms melded and the burn from The Inferno flared to life, creating an undeniable heat, tightening the bond that had been created when they first met. Together they headed for the garage.

A few minutes later they were moving easily through the Sunday morning traffic toward Romano Restoration. He found a parking spot on the street, though he could have used the underground lot that serviced the building. This was just more convenient. They entered through the front door of the office complex and took the private elevator to the floors housing his company.

The doors parted and he gestured for her to take the lead. “Romano Restoration occupies the top four floors plus the building's penthouse suite,” he explained. “The
lower floors handle the business side of the company—accounting, contracts, that sort of thing. The upper two levels deal with customer relations, and the more creative aspects. like architectural and interior design.”

A handful of lights sent a soft glow across the pearl-gray carpet, the cloudy morning leaving the remainder of the floor in silky shadow. Even in the dim light Constantine could see the questions building in Gianna's expression. He kept his distance, careful not to touch her. If he made that mistake again, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her. And from there it would be a short, sweet step to making her his in every sense of the word.

“It's very elegant,” she offered without hesitation. “I love the openness and the understated elegance. It really showcases your business.”

“Thanks.” He gestured toward the corner office. “That one's mine.”

She immediately crossed to look. “Mmm. Nice.” She took a deep breath and swung to face him. He could see her steeling herself to say something, something he wouldn't like. “Just one question…”

He tempted fate by taking a step in her direction and cut straight through to the heart of the matter—the issue that had hovered between them like an angry, black cloud ever since his return. The issue that had driven her into d'Angelo's arms and come so close to ending in disaster.

“Why did I wait so long to return to you?” he asked. “Is that what you want to know?”

The question provoked an immediate reaction. The anguish filling her eyes threatened to snap his control. “You said you'd come back.”

“And I did.”

She shook her head, her mouth tightening. “It took too long. Far too long.”

“I came as soon as I could,” he argued.

“You never responded to my emails or phone calls. You actively discouraged our communicating and you flat-out refused to let me visit you in Italy.” She stepped closer. “Couldn't we have done that much, at least?”

“I warned you about that. You agreed to it.” Didn't she get it? “I didn't dare communicate or visit. I sure as hell couldn't have you with me in Italy. It would have distracted me and I'd never have gotten my business off the ground.”

Gianna swept a hand through the air to indicate the plush area around them. “You had time for this, though. You had time to build Romano Restoration into a going concern.”

“And why do you suppose I did that?” His accent thickened, just as his voice lowered. Darkened. “Why do you suppose I left you?”

“You said…” Her chin wobbled precariously for a brief instant before she clamped down on the helpless betrayal. “You claimed you weren't in a position to support a wife, but that would change. I understand that you wanted to bring more to our relationship than just a name. I really do get that.”

“If you get it, then—”

She cut him off with a swift, chopping sweep of her hand. “You said soon.” Anger warred with her tears. “Damn it, Constantine, it's been more than a year and a half. That isn't soon.”

He couldn't argue her point. Each month he'd been away from her had felt like a year. “I know, sweetheart. I really do. It couldn't be helped. If there had been any other way—” he stopped her before she could speak “—any other way that I could have lived with, I'd have taken it. Please believe that.”

“I just wanted to be with you. We could have found a way, either in Italy or here.”

Gianna took another step in his direction, and Constantine clamped down on the clawing need to settle this once and for all in the most basic way possible. “As much as I wanted to be with you, I am not the sort of man who can live off the generosity of others. I watched my—” He broke off, switched gears more roughly than he'd have liked. “I've seen others live that way. But I won't. Ever. You do understand that, don't you?”

Her chin shot upward. “Do I understand that your pride is more important than anything else? You made that abundantly clear.”

His anger broke free. “How do you think I spent the past year and a half? When Lazz and Ariana married, I'd just scraped together enough money to launch my company in Firenze. I worked day and night to build a small, modest business into something prosperous enough that I could afford to relocate here. Do you think such a thing happens overnight? Do you think it easy to acquire the contracts necessary to give me the start I needed over here? Do you think I could have accomplished such a thing in nineteen short months if I hadn't funneled every ounce of drive into my business?”