DINNER WAS a lackluster affair, and their conversation throughout was largely kept off anything personal. They talked about the clinic and the work that was being done there, the surrounding countryside, various old colleagues from Boston. All of it was very polite, all very neutral, almost to the point of being clinical. It certainly wasn’t what he’d expected from his evening. No, he hadn’t planned on their brief time together turning into anything like they’d had before. But he’d expected much more than this.
He thought back to their first evening…he hadn’t planned on it being romantic for a first date, but what he’d got had been a shocker. No candles and soft music. No champagne and caviar. He recalled pizza, no meat to suit Catherine’s vegetarian diet. And white wine…from her paper cup into his lap. They’d eaten out of the cardboard box, cross-legged on the floor, looking across the coffee-table at each other. Her medical texts books had been spread out everywhere, as had medical journals and magazines. Her flat had been testament to the fact that she was serious about what she did, and Catherine had literally taken her hand and brushed a stack of books off the coffee-table so they could eat. Brushed them right off onto the floor onto a pile of other books. And he’d loved it! Loved that spontaneity.
But Catherine’s wall had been up from the moment she’d walked into his suite this evening until the moment she’d walked away, never relaxing even a little. Such a disappointment, although he’d told himself he had no expectations. That he was as wrong for her as her husband had been.
Now it was an hour after that ordeal was over, and Dante was left to wonder why he’d even bothered.
“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Marco said, sitting back in the overstuffed wingback near the window in Dante’s suite. He was eating leftovers from the crudités Catherine had barely touched—a culinary offering not easy to find at this time of the year in an area such as this. Especially the Belgian endive and the fennel bulbs. Her favorites. Odd tastes, but Dante had remembered that, and he’d hoped Catherine might at least have mentioned it. She’d regarded that effort with all the interest of someone choosing an ordinary cracker out of a tin, though, and hurried on to the main course.
Talk about a hint. Nobody had to hit Dante over the head with a plate of eggplant involtini to make that message perfectly clear. She hadn’t wanted to be there, and to prove that, she’d come and gone in less than an hour. And now his father was reaping the benefits of a meal Dante had thought would break a little of the ice between him and Catherine.
“It was worse. She ate three bites, then left. And I think if she could have eaten less and got out of here quicker, she would have.”
“And where was that Baldassare charm? I’ve seen you charm the ladies, Dante. You don’t have to work so hard to get what you want. It was only, what, three months ago, that you had that hot little duchess hanging on your arm? She would have appreciated this evening you laid out for Dr Wilder, and been eager to show her appreciation.” He took a bite of the endive and turned up his nose. “Appreciated everything, except this.”
“She wasn’t a duchess. She was a distant relative of one. The third cousin of a third cousin.”
“OK, OK, so not a duchess. But she had a royal lineage and she was definitely interested in your lineage, among other things.” He gave his eyebrows a wicked arch. “A Baldassare man knows these things without being told.” Tossing the endive back on the tray, he shook his head. “Or he should, but I’m beginning to wonder about you.”
“She was twenty-one, Papa. I was old enough to be her—”
“Lover,” Marco supplied, his eyes twinkling as he dragged one of the teardrop tomatoes through the balsamic dip, popped it in his mouth, then nodded his head in approval. After he’d swallowed, he continued, “And the one before that…she was that famous author. Best-seller lists, Dante. Your mama has read her books, and let me tell you, the way that woman writes those sexy love scenes…they make your mama blush. You should be so lucky to have a woman like that author.”
“I was research for her,” Dante quipped. “Racing research,” he clarified quickly. “For another book she’s writing.”
“It doesn’t matter why. All that matters is that you had your chance with her, like you had your chance with the duchess, and with all those others, any one of them begging to be a Baldassare woman. And here you are, going crazy over the one who must be crazy herself for not wanting you. It doesn’t make sense, Dante.” Marco faked a shudder. “She must not understand what it is to be wanted by a Baldassare.”
“Actually, I think she does understand. Which is why she wants no part of it. Or us.”
Marco turned a quizzical stare on his son. “Which is why you want her, no? It’s always such a challenge, isn’t it, to want the one you can’t have?”
Dante shook his head without answering.
“When you had an affair with this woman…” Marco started, but Dante held out his hand to stop him.
“I’ve never said anything about having an affair with Catherine,” he snapped.
“Let me finish before you snap at me again. What I was trying to say was that, when you had an affair with this woman—and you did have an affair with her, Dante, I can see it in the way you two look at each other—I believe it was an affair of the heart. I believe you fell in love with her. Am I wrong?”
“How long did it take for you to fall in love with Mama?” Dante asked, partly because he wanted to know and partly because he wanted to avoid answering the question. It was too complicated, too loaded with emotions he didn’t want to feel again.
“I fell in love with your mama in the time it takes to blink. I saw her, I blinked my eyes to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, and when I looked again she had my heart. Is that how it is with you, Dante? Because Baldassare men are very passionate that way when they find the one they love. It grabs on, and doesn’t let go.” He grinned. “Baldassare men are born with hot blood!”
Dante had blinked that first time he’d laid eyes on Catherine. Oh, how he’d blinked. Although he wasn’t sure how hard. The problem was, Catherine hadn’t blinked. Not then. Not now. And it didn’t make a bit of difference how passionate this particular Baldassare man was when he fell in love—the woman didn’t love him back. Maybe she might have all those years ago, if only in a very small way. But he’d ruined that completely, and now she was making it perfectly clear that nothing from that time had smoldered, waiting to rekindle again. Nothing at all.
So much for the Baldassare charm.
“Have you looked in on Gianni tonight?” Cristofor asked, stepping out of the smaller guest room in the suite, where he’d been checking on the boy. “He seems a little warm.”
“He had a good workout in the pool,” Dante commented. “He was a little cranky when I helped him get ready for bed an hour ago, but nothing out of the ordinary. I think he was tired. Lots of exercise combined with being away from his normal routine.”
“Except the boy doesn’t have a normal routine,” Marco snorted over a helping of the eggplant involtini.
Dante regarded his father for a moment, opened his mouth to say something but instead answered Cristofor. “This is the way he acts when he’s tired. Nothing to be concerned over.”
“Except that he’s restless. Tossing and turning. Throwing off his covers.”
“He’s probably catching a cold,” Marco offered as he poured himself a glass of champagne. “It’s a wonder he doesn’t get sick more often, with all the things he’s exposed to when he’s not at home.” He took a sip, savored it for a moment, decided it was good then went back for a second, larger sip before he spoke again. “When I raced, you boys were raised in a proper home with a good mother taking care of you. I didn’t allow all this running around the way you do, Dante. All over the world, never sleeping in the same bed…” He clucked his tongue. “God only knows what kind of food that boy is eating. Probably something to make him sick like he is now.”
Again, Dante fought back the urge to reply. They’d had this argument before. Get married and give Gianni a real home, traditional life. Tired, old arguments and most of the time Dante merely turned a deaf ear. Sometimes, though, that wasn’t so easy.
“Children get sick, Papa,” Cristofor interjected. “I don’t think it matters where they are. It happens.”
“But maybe not so much if they…”
Instead of staying there listening to the same things he’d heard dozens of times before, Dante spun around and wheeled into the guest room, straight over to the bed, where Gianni was, indeed, tossing and turning. “You feeling OK?” he asked, as he laid the back of his hand across Gianni’s forehead. Definitely hot. Not burning up, but hot enough that his skin was a little damp.
Gianni nodded, but didn’t answer.
“Mind if I take a look at you?” Dante asked, taking hold of Gianni’s wrist to feel for a pulse. Quite normal. So were his lymph glands, Dante discovered as he prodded below Gianni’s jaw. No discomfort in his belly, either. Skin was fine. Eyes were fine. It was a little frustrating that he couldn’t do a better examination, but come morning, if Gianni wasn’t feeling better, he’d get Catherine to take a closer look. Or loan him the instruments so he could do it himself.
Ten minutes later, after a favorite bedtime story, Gianni finally drifted off to sleep. Dante returned to the main room of the suite, shutting the bedroom door behind him. “He’ll be fine,” he said.
“I think we should call one of the doctors here,” Marco countered. “Let them have a look.”
Dante gave him an odd look, and drew in a sharp breath. “I’m a doctor,” he said, gritting his teeth. It may have been a while since he’d practiced, but he was certainly still capable of diagnosing a simple case of too much excitement. After good night’s sleep Gianni would feel better in the morning. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind about this, or he would have called another doctor.
“But not for a long time,” his father argued. “I think we should—”
Enough of this. He was tired of it, and at the rate things were deteriorating between him and his father, he was afraid he’d say something he’d regret later on. So better to end the evening now, before that happened. “I think you should go to your hotel,” Dante said, fighting for self-control. “And leave Gianni’s care up to me.”
“The boy needs a home, Dante. I’ve told you that before. Home, stability…a mother. Someone like that Dr Wilder. I know you love him, but dragging him around with you everywhere the way you do…”
“And what would you have me do? Give up racing?” And marry Catherine? She didn’t want children. Hell, she didn’t want home or stability, either. But there was no point arguing that with his father. “I gave up one career already, Papa. Isn’t that enough for you?”
Cristofor stepped up behind Dante and laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “I think a good night’s sleep is what we all need.”
Cristofor, always the diplomat in the rather opinionated, stubborn family. And the Baldassare family was all that, and more. Close, loving, and always very outspoken about what they wanted. Dante lifted a hand to pat his brother’s, and nodded. “I think you’re right. How about we make it a late morning tomorrow—that will give Gianni time to rest. Maybe meet in the solarium at noon?”
Marco gave a grudging nod of his head and stormed out the door. Cristofor lingered behind. “You know he doesn’t mean anything by that, don’t you?”
“Sometimes it’s hard to know what he means,” Dante said. “He’d have me married only because Gianni needs a mother. But I’m not ready to rush down the aisle only for the sake of…well, it would only be for the sake of pleasing Papa, wouldn’t it, as I’m not keen on getting married just yet?”
“He’d have you married because he wants to see you happy, Dante. I think he worries as much about you as he does Gianni because you don’t have much of a life for yourself. Which, you don’t.”
“I’m a good…father.” Sometimes it still felt odd to say that, because he was not the boy’s father, and he did want Gianni to remember that he’d had a father. Although Gianni had no recollection of Dario other than what Dante had told him.
“You are. And the way you raise him works fine for both of you. For now. But Gianni’s still young. Children that age don’t have so many needs. Still, you’ve got to realize that he’s growing up, Dante. Think about how you were where you were a little older than Gianni is now. Think about the things you did, the things you counted on in your life—regular school, regular friends, the same bed every night. You always had that. No matter how busy Papa was, no matter how often he traveled, we always had the things Papa wants for Gianni. So don’t get angry with him because, in his heart, he means well. But he’s…” Cristofor laughed “—a Baldassare.”
“You’re the baby of the family,” Dante said. “You shouldn’t be the smartest.” Admittedly, all those things Cristofor said did worry him, too. He’d thought about them more than once. But there wasn’t a good solution right now. Not if he wanted to stay on the race circuit, which he did. After all, he’d started late trying to make it through the ranks, from the small circuits to the top, where he was now. Now that he was where he needed to be, there weren’t so many racing years ahead of him. That was always the consolation. There was plenty of time ahead, after he quit driving. But then Dario would always come to mind, and he’d wonder if his brother had thought the same thing. Always enough time. The truth was, for the things in life you wanted and loved most, there was never enough time, and it didn’t matter if you stepped into a race car every day or a surgical theater. “You go and calm Papa down,” Dante said. “I’m sure he needs it. And I’ll see you both tomorrow.” He chuckled. “If he’s speaking to me by then.”
Cristofor laughed. “He gets angry fast, but doesn’t stay that way long. Like you!”
“Another curse of being a Baldassare,” Dante said.
“Or the joy of it,” Cristofor replied.
Catherine stepped inside the instant Dante pulled open the door. “Why didn’t you call me?” He’d obviously been asleep. His hair was mussed, his eyes not quite open. And his pajama top had been thrown on hastily. He was a patient, for heaven’s sake, and she shouldn’t be looking at him this way, yet this was everything sexy she remembered about Dante, and for a moment she was caught off guard.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped.
“Gianni. Your father came to my cottage a little while ago. He said Gianni was sick, and needed some medicine. He asked me to come over and take a look.”
Dante shook his head, then ran an impatient hand through his hair. “Gianni’s fine. It’s one of those childhood things…you know, they get over-tired, cranky. Nothing to worry about.”
Actually, she didn’t know, she’d had so little experience with children. Except for a short rotation through pediatrics, she’d never worked with children at all. Even here, when a child came into rehab, she didn’t take the case as they had a pediatric specialist. “He’s in the waiting room, waiting for my report,” she said.
“Who?”
“Your father.”
“Damn it,” Dante snarled. “I told him Gianni was fine, but he won’t listen to me. He thinks I’m not—”
“A doctor?”
“Four years of medical school, more than that in my residency, and to my father, that means nothing.” He moved aside and motioned Catherine in. “I’m sorry he dragged you into this. My father and I have a difference of opinion when it comes to the way I raise Gianni, and he shouldn’t have got you involved.”
“I can take a look,” she offered, holding out her medical bag. “Maybe it will make him feel a little better.”
“Nothing’s going to make him feel better until I…” He stopped. Got married? That’s what his father wanted. That’s what all good sons of good Italian fathers did, wasn’t it? Except he wasn’t a good son in this. Not even close to being a good son. “Sure. What the hell? Take a look. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ve been out of medicine too long to be a doctor.”
“I doubt that, Dante. You don’t lose the gift you had because you haven’t used it for a while.”
He smiled up at her. “Sometimes I overreact.”
“Like your father does?”
Catherine slipped into the guest room and watched Gianni sleep for a moment. He was so peaceful it was almost a shame to disturb him. Such a beautiful face…so like Dante’s. She couldn’t help but think that if things had gone differently for them, she might have a child who looked like this. She’d never thought much about being a mother, but when she looked down at such an angelic face, it made her heart ache. And yearn.
“He’s fine,” she said five minutes later. “Temperature’s normal, no congestion in his lungs. He says his stomach doesn’t hurt. So I think it’s exactly what you said. He was a little out of sorts because he was tired.”
“He’s asleep again?”
Catherine nodded, a gentle smile sliding its way across her face. It was the perfect sleep of a child, she thought. “He barely woke up.” Under different circumstances, she might have stayed there a while, simply watching. But the longing for what she didn’t have had crept in so acutely, so unexpectedly, she had to leave before Dante saw what she was feeling. And he would.
Sighing, Catherine started for the door, but as she approached it she stopped for a moment, thought about the way she’d acted earlier, the finally turned round to face Dante. “Look, I want to apologize for this evening. It seems like I’m always apologizing to you for something, doesn’t it? But I know you went to so much trouble having the dinner catered, especially with the fennel and endive. They can’t be easy to find here, and I appreciate it. I was terrible company, Dante, and I’m sorry.”
“You were,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “But apology accepted.”
She frowned, wrinkling her nose. “We don’t go well together, do we?” They should, because they had. But this time it was different. Her stomach was in knots all the time now, all over the prospect of a chance encounter in the hall, or a spur-of-the-moment meeting in the therapy room. If she dwelt on it, as she tended to do, she even got to the point where her hands shook. “I’m sorry about that too, Dante. It’s my fault. You’re my patient, and as your physician I should be doing better by you, but—”
“Then you’re fired,” he said, his voice totally void of emotion.
In spite of his flat words, his eyes sparkled. That dark glint gave him away. Always had. “Just why would you do that now?” she asked, taking a step backward as he rolled a few inches forward. “Especially after I’ve asked several times before, and you’ve refused me?” She did know, actually. Which was one of the reasons for the current butterflies in her stomach. And they weren’t fluttering—they were tramping.
“Because it’s not professional.” He moved forward again, causing her to step back enough so that her back was pressed firmly to the door.
“What’s not professional? Me treating you now, with the relationship we’ve had in the past? Because that’s what I’ve been saying all along, and—”
“What’s not professional is what I’m about to do, Catherine. Unless you open that door and run away, what’s going to happen between us should never happen between Doctor and patient. Bad medical ethics and all.”
Her breath caught in her throat. This was what she’d wanted, and what she’d feared. “And what do you intend to do? Remember, Gianni’s on the other side of that door.” She pointed a wobbly hand in that direction, then drew it back before he could see how badly she was shaking. She’d thought about this moment. Wondered if it was inevitable. Feared it was more her own delusion than anything else. But now…she didn’t know. Another fling with Dante might be pleasant for a while. For sure, she knew what she was getting. Knew every nook and cranny of it.
Of course, she’d known all that last time too, and look how that had turned out.
So, could she keep what was about to happen in its proper place? Relegate it to a causal fling and walk away unscathed when it was over? Or come away with a broken heart yet again?
Catherine drew in a pensive breath. She did know what she wanted, and what she’d do. Which was a problem. A bigger problem by far, though, was that she wasn’t allowing common sense to order the situation. In fact, she was keeping it as far away from this as she could.
“I intend to do this,” Dante said, as he locked the wheels of his chair and rose slowly to his feet.
She watched him stand, amazingly steady on his feet, but her gaze was not that of a Doctor watching, with rapt attention, her patient’s progress. Rather, she was caught up as a lover might be, anticipating what would come next, thinking ahead to what would come after that and after that. And remembering…Dear God, how she remembered.
She wanted Dante to stop this. Right here, right now. But she couldn’t find it in herself to make that demand, and there wasn’t an ounce of will in her that could stop it herself, or even send her running out the door. “Dante, I…”
Finally all the way up, he laid his finger to her lips to silence her. “No words, Catherine. Not now.”
But there were so many words, words that should have been spoken last time, words that had built up over the years. Words, she feared, that would only hurt her again. Yet this was Dante. “We shouldn’t,” she gasped, tilting her face to meet his, even though she knew she shouldn’t. Perhaps even feeling a pinch of the inevitable regret that was sure to would follow.
He ran his thumb over her lips, tracing a delicate line across them then back. “You always had such soft lips,” he murmured. “Soft, kissable…” Then he bent to kiss her there, a kiss even more delicate than his touch.
Catherine remembered that touch. Loved that touch. Craved it like she’d craved nothing in her life. “Dante, I don’t…” Her voice trembled, not on the verge of tears but with nervousness infused with desire—a desire that was winning fast.
“You don’t what?” he asked, his breath drifting warmly over her ear as he reached behind her neck to twine her hair through his fingers. “You know how good we are. And I know what you like.”
His touch caused her to shiver, and she brushed his hand away. But he was persistent, not to be dissuaded yet, pressing himself to her as he skimmed his hand underneath her sweater, only to find that she’d neglected to wear a bra for this house call. “What’s this?” he asked, chuckling. “You were expecting this?”
“I was in a hurry.” A lie. She had deliberately not put on her bra when she’d dressed to come and see Gianni. She’d told herself it was because she was in a hurry, and for a while she’d even believed that. But now…”Had to come see Gianni…” His hand slid up her left breast and his fingers sought her nipple. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, making it hard, and all the while never took his eyes off hers. Not even as she sucked in a sharp gasp, partly from the sensation, partly from the memory.
“We were good this way,” he whispered, moving his fingers down her belly, tracing the line of her ribs to her waist and round to the small of her back. “You know this was always one of my favorite spots,” he said, applying gentle pressure there as he kneaded with his thumbs.
Catherine fought back the moan begging to escape her. Yes, that had always been one of his favorite spots, and one of hers. And what came after…what always came after…. She arched into him, pushed herself against his body and raised her hands to his head, wove her fingers around his neck and entwined them in his hair. The embrace was all-encompassing. She felt the strain of his erection pressed to her belly, heard the moan catch in his throat as his fingers moved over her hip. “Dante,” she whispered, not sure if that was a sign to stop, or go.
“You can still run, Catherine,” he whispered, his voice raspy. “It’s not too late.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, sliding her hands down his back. It was but a heartbeat later that his lips were on hers, pressing hard until his tongue was inside her mouth, flirting, stroking, then finally dominating. The kiss was so blatantly sexual, so powerful she didn’t pull away. Couldn’t pull away no matter what he offered.
This was the fantasy she’d dreamt for such a long time and had never thought she would have again. Yet this might be a one and only for them, the last time, the farewell they hadn’t had before. An empty spot she’d buried deep inside for so long pleaded with her to make this moment linger, to give herself over to it. Which she did. Willingly.
As she continued her journey over Dante’s back, he took hold of her left hand and pulled it forward, then placed a kiss in the palm. She shuddered, withdrawing her right hand and offering it up to him for the same. She fully expected he would take them both then lead her off into the suite’s master bedroom, lock the door behind and…
But Dante surprised her. He placed her right hand on his heart. “It’s not too late, Catherine. I’m sure of that.” Then he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. A kiss that was new to her. One that melted her down to her soul.
After that, he withdrew his hand, backed up, stepped away, then braced himself against the wall for support. “You were wrong, you know,” he said, his voice still raspy and now a bit winded.
“About what?” she said, too confused by what had happened, and not happened, to make much sense of this.
“About us. We do go well together, Catherine. Very well.”
She studied him for a moment, her tingling senses still not abating. “Is this some kind of a game, Dante? Did you want to get me into this position to see how far I would go? Because you know what? If it’s a game, you win. I would have done it again with you. Nothing held back.” Including her heart. “So you’ve proved yourself now. Are you happy? You’re a heartbreaker, a real love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy. Nothing’s changed, has it, Dante? You’re still the same bastard who did this to me five years ago then cheated on me with another woman.”