Her Little White Lie Read online

  “I thought it might.”

  “Then there’s the home study.”

  “You and Ana should move in with me. Soon.” That he said with a kind of grim determination that let her know exactly what he thought of it.

  “I can see you’re completely thrilled at the idea.”

  “I value my own space,” he said.

  “Well, as you mentioned, it’s a big house. I’m sure we won’t be on top of each other.”

  He lifted one dark brow, and horror crept over her as she realized the double meaning of her words. As she pictured just what it might be like to be on top of him.

  Or to have him on top of her.

  Her entire face heated, prickling awareness spreading over her skin. Her heart was racing and she was … turned on. And it was obvious. She was certain it was.

  She was such a dork. A side effect of spending her school years as the funny one. She didn’t know how to be smooth; she knew how to go for a joke. Another side effect of that was that guys didn’t flirt with her.

  Well, that might have also been because of the time Michael Weston had tried to make out with her at a party and had ended up cutting his tongue on her braces. No one had wanted to kiss her after that. Kissing her became a running joke, and very firmly kept her in her place as school screwup.

  Well, after that someone had made her think he wanted to kiss her, and more than that. It had all been a gag, of course. Thinking about that reduced the horror of the situation a little bit, because nothing, nothing in the history of the world, was quite as bad as meeting a guy under the bleachers after prom to … to … and having the popular kids standing by, waiting for just the right moment, waiting for the top of her prom dress to come down, for her “date” to pull her out from beneath the bleachers onto the field so they could throw eggs at her. And laugh. And take pictures of her humiliation for posterity.

  Yes, that put a woman off dating for a while.

  As a result, she wasn’t great at handling men. Unless they were more like buddies. And Dante didn’t feel like a buddy. Not even a little.

  “You know what I mean,” she said. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

  “As for the parent interview …” He neatly sidestepped the moment.

  “What about it?”

  “I don’t see how it will be a problem.”

  “You may have to grow a personality between now and then.”

  “And you may want to tone yours down.”

  “Why because a fun-loving, smiley person might not make a good parent? Do I need to be a bit more dour?”

  “Are you calling me … dour?” he asked.

  “If the scowl fits.”

  “You’re going to have to keep yourself from taking shots at me in the presence of the social worker. Actually, you should probably keep yourself from taking shots at me because I’m your boss.”

  She bit her lower lip. “Yeah. Okay, that could be …”

  “And don’t bite your lip like that.” He leaned forward and extended his hand, putting his thumb on her chin, just beneath her mouth.

  She slowly released her hold on her lip, her heart pounding heavily, butterflies taking flight in her stomach and crashing around, making her insides feel jittery.

  She could only stare at him, at his incredibly handsome face, his dark, compelling eyes.

  “I’ll try not to,” she said, not sure why she agreed with him. She should be annoyed that he was being so dictatorial, and yet she found she wasn’t. But that could be because he was touching her, and men didn’t make a habit of touching her.

  It didn’t mean she didn’t want them to. It just hadn’t really happened for her for many and varied reasons. A huge reason being she was too afraid to let a moment like that happen. Because she was afraid to acknowledge she wanted it, for fear of it all being a joke again.

  “Good. You’re also going to have to work on not blushing like a schoolgirl every time I get near you.”

  “I don’t blush.” She could feel the heat creeping into her face, calling her bluff.

  “You blush more than any woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “I’m very pale. It’s hard to hide when you have no pigment to disguise it.”

  “I imagine,” he said. “Even so, if we were truly engaged we would be well past the point where I could make you blush with just the casual brush of my hands. Unless…” he said, rounding the desk, coming to stand near her. “Unless you were thinking of all the things my hands have done for you.”

  His voice changed, became rougher, more ragged. Something in his expression changed, too. Hardened. Never, ever, ever had a man looked at her like that before. Not even close.

  She wanted to say something to defuse the tension. Something funny, or random, something to break the spell. But she couldn’t. A part of her didn’t want to. She wanted to stand there, and have Dante Romani look at her like she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. She wanted to get closer to him, see if he was as hot as he looked. To see if the fire smoldering in his eyes would burn her.

  “I … suppose that could be a possibility.” She looked down, trying to catch her breath. But her eyes connected with his hands, and that did not help her regulate her breathing. “Subtext, right? Like when you’re acting? You make sure that even your thoughts match those of your character. And … stuff.”

  “Something like that,” he said.

  Of course to really have good subtext she would have to know exactly what he could do with his hands, and frankly, some of that information was a little hazy for her. And she was in no position to change it. Not now, not with him. And, given that she was going to be single mother of a small child for quite a few years, maybe not anytime soon.

  That had never really been her plan. But she’d been too afraid to put herself out there after the way she’d been treated. Too afraid of rejection.

  Dante picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Trevor, I need you to hire some movers. Send them to Paige’s apartment. The address is on file. Personal items only, no furniture, all of the baby supplies. It needs to be done by the end of the day.” He hit the end button on the phone and put it back in the holder on his desk.

  “Did you just … evict me?”

  “You’ll keep the apartment, for later. I assume that’s the place you’ll go back to.”

  “Yeah, I think I’ll need my home. But what’s going to happen with it in the meantime?”

  “There’s no reason to do anything with the apartment. I can handle the rent for you for the duration of your stay at my home.”

  “I pay the rent. I’m not having trouble with the rent—there’s no reason for you to pay it for me!”

  He shrugged. “But I can, so I don’t see why it’s an issue.”

  “Because I can,” she said.

  “Don’t be stubborn.”

  “Me? You’re telling me not to be stubborn? That is funny, Dante, real funny.”

  “This ruse really ought to be easy. In fact, they may assume we’ve been married for twenty years given the way you argue with me.”

  “I argue with you? Hmph.”

  “Yes, you do. Just like that.”

  “Well, I’m annoyed with you.”

  “Then you had better get un-annoyed, cara. Remember, this whole thing is of your making. I never would have sought you out.” His words made her flinch internally. “I will take advantage of the situation, yes, but I would not have sought you out. You’re completely unsuitable, obviously, and if I had felt the need for a wife pressing I would have one already.”

  Stupidly, a little pang of hurt hit her square in the chest, knocking the wind out of her, making her eyes sting. “I’m … unsuitable? Wh-why?”

  She shouldn’t have asked why. Not when she really didn’t want to hear it all.

  “Am I suitable to you?” he asked, his tone incredulous.

  “No,” she sai
d. “No, you’re rude. And obnoxious. And you don’t know how to laugh.”

  He took a step toward her, his dark eyes intent on hers. “And you are disorganized and scattered.”

  “I must not be too bad since you keep me on here. Clearly I know how to do my job.”

  “As do hundreds of my employees, but that does not mean they would make a good spouse for me.”

  She took a step toward him, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “I’m sure they feel the same way about you.”

  He reached out his hand and took a lock of her hair, her pink hair, between his thumb and forefinger. “I would clearly never become involved with a woman who has pink hair.”

  She leaned in, up on her tiptoes, trying to make herself eye level with him. “And I would never become involved with a man who’s more starched than his shirt collar.”

  He reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her up against his hard body. She squeaked as her breasts came up against the muscular wall of his chest. “You think I’m too serious, is that it?” She nodded mutely, no words coming to her. “That I don’t know how to have fun.” His fingers flexed against her back, sending little pops of sensation from the point of contact all throughout her body.

  “Yes,” she managed, heat flooding her.

  He dipped his head so that his lips were nearly touching her cheek, his breath hot on her skin. “I think I might surprise you.”

  She was trembling, actually trembling, and in danger of having a knee-buckling experience. No man had ever held her like this before. With such purpose, with such strength. No man had ever made her feel so wanted. No man had ever made her want to arch against him, press her breasts harder into his body.

  And most especially, no man had made her want to kiss him while she was angry at him.

  But here she was, quivering with the need to touch Dante, even while thinking murderous thoughts about him and his autocratic behavior.

  Dante released her suddenly and she stumbled back, trying hard to catch her breath. She looked at him, searched his face for some sign of what he was thinking. To try to figure out if he was as affected, as shaken, as she was.

  But he wasn’t. He was just standing there, his hair smooth, his suit crisp, as though he had never taken her into his arms. As though he hadn’t just held her so close she could feel his heart beating, hard and heavy against her chest.

  “You had better figure out a way to forgive me,” he said. And that was when she realized that he was affected. Because he might look as smooth as ever, but his voice was rough, his shredded control evident in each word he spoke. “Because at the end of the day, you’re coming home with me.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  DANTE’S home was his most prized possession. The lawn was immaculate, cut perfectly and kept in top condition by his team of groundskeepers.

  The house itself was a triumph of architecture. Clean lines, an open design, windows that made the most of the ocean view. The interior was white, the carpets, the walls, the furniture. Evidence of how orderly it was.

  Evidence of the control he now held over his life.

  And as Paige, with her glittery high heels, walked over the threshold, carrying a bright-eyed baby girl with drool running down her chin, he felt a pang of absolute dread hit him in the gut.

  There was nothing orderly about either of them, and he could feel the hard-won control of his surroundings slipping away from him.

  “This is …” Paige looked around, her mouth open, her blue eyes round. “This is incredible. Gorgeous. I don’t. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I had it built five years ago, shortly after the control of Colson’s passed to me.”

  “I’m thinking the social worker will like this place better than she liked mine.”

  “Probably,” he said, thinking of her cluttered little apartment. “I apologize for my lack of boxed wine. I suppose something from the cellar with have to do.”

  “Now, now, nobody likes a show-off.”

  “That depends on what they’re being shown.”

  “Heh. No, it depends on how much money and power the show-off possesses, and then the person will pretend to be suitably impressed based on how much they figure ingratiating themselves will help them out.”

  “So you think my admirers are merely out to use me for my wealth and fame?”

  She shrugged. “Not so far-fetched, is it?”

  “You’re not very good for my ego, Paige, as you seem to think no one would suffer my company without heavy compensation.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Oh … pfft. I like your house—that’s the important thing right now.”

  “I assume the location of your bedrooms are important, as well?”

  “Bedrooms?”

  “Ana will have a nursery. I called my housekeeper earlier and ensured that all of her things have been put in there.”

  “A nursery?”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “Did you think I would cram you both in the basement to keep you out of the way?”

  “Well, I didn’t know. I didn’t … We really need to discuss this more.”

  “I agree, which is why we’re having dinner together later.”

  “Oh.”

  “Here, so you don’t need to worry about a babysitter. Now come with me.” He started up the stairs and down the hall. He could hear Paige’s footsteps behind him, slow and methodical. He turned and saw that she was practically getting whiplash. “What is it?”

  “Your art!” she said.

  “What about it?”

  “It’s so beautiful. And it really stands out in the white space. You have fabulous taste.”

  “Fabulous? Rarely am I accused of being fabulous.”

  “Well, in this instance, you are. I’m going to have to take the time to study it all later.”

  “So, you like art?”

  She smiled and her entire face brightened, her blue eyes glittering. “Love it. I’m not just into dressing windows. I paint, too. Well, I started with painting. And some sculpture. It was about the only thing that held my attention in school. Unfortunately, one cannot graduate with art credits alone.”

  “I would guess not.” The enthusiasm she felt for the subject, for the paintings—paintings he hardly looked at anymore—was fascinating. She was so different than most of the people he knew. She was open. She wore her passion all over her, for anyone to read. Not just her passion, her anger, her happiness. Everything was just laid bare with her.

  And she evoked something in him. Emotions, things he hadn’t felt in longer than he could remember. As a result, he’d made a mistake in his office earlier, and he didn’t make mistakes.

  But she’d been standing there, all challenge and fire, angry as hell. And she’d made him angry. More than that, she’d tempted him. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from walking forward, from wrapping his arm around her and drawing her body against his.

  She challenged him. No one challenged him. But she did. And she picked at his control, pushing and pushing until he’d been unable to do anything but push back.

  He didn’t like it. Emotion was destructive. Painful. But he wouldn’t give in to it. What he hadn’t lost the day his mother died had been drained from him over the course of eight years in foster care.

  Now, he doubted there was even enough in him to cause problems, even if he wanted it to. No, what had come over him in his office was lust. Pure and simple. Normally, that wasn’t a problem for him, but he was only a man, so it wasn’t too surprising.

  Paige had the added benefit of being forbidden fruit, another thing that had never appealed to him before, but he could certainly understand why it might.

  “Ana’s room is here,” he said, redirecting his thoughts, indicating a door on the left. As he pushed it open, a strange flash of anxiety ran through him. It was unfamiliar. Completely different than it had been that morning when he’d left for work. It gave him a strange sense of being back in his chil
dhood. Opening the door to a new bedroom for the first time, seeing what was there.

  Whether it would be spare, or crowded. Clean or dirty. Nothing that belonged to him.

  The space that had been organized for Ana was immaculate.

  Plain white walls and a double bed had been replaced with an ornate, dark wood crib with pink bedding and a mobile hanging over it. There was a rocking chair, a matching dresser and a closet filled with pink clothes.

  “Oh.” Behind him Paige made a little noise. Then she brushed past him and into the room. “Ana, look. It’s your very own room.”

  His chest seized up tight, his breath locking in his lungs. The light in Paige’s eyes as she presented Ana with a space that belonged to her was … he had never seen anything like it. All of Paige’s unruly enthusiasm was, in this moment, focused on her daughter.

  How anyone could doubt that she would be a good mother was beyond him. It was hard for him to remember his birth mother, hard because thinking about her always dredged up other memories that he wanted to keep firmly locked behind a closed door in his mind.

  Mary Colson, his adoptive mother, had been a firm and constant presence. Both she and Don had invested in him, into his education, into guiding him, putting him on a path that would lead to success. He was grateful to them, and their distant, tough sort of parenting had been ideal for him.

  But for a moment, he wondered if anyone had ever looked at him the way Paige was looking at Ana.

  It didn’t matter. He closed the door on the yawning, empty well inside of him. He wasn’t a child. He didn’t need obvious displays of emotion. Far from it, he avoided them if at all possible. And being around Paige didn’t seem to allow for that. She was constant bubbling energy, and emotion. And glitter.

  “Thank you,” she said, her blue eyes bright.

  “Don’t thank me,” he said, trying to find some way to loosen the knot in his chest. “You’re here under false pretenses, due to a situation of your own making. And it’s hardly permanent, so don’t get too attached.”

  She blinked, a flash of genuine pain visible on her face. So open. So real. Did the woman have no sense? Had she no defenses at all? “Okay, I … I mean I know that, but this is beautiful and I just got really excited and I didn’t mean anything by it.” All of her words ran together, coming faster as she rambled, the tension she was feeling palpable. She projected her feelings. So strongly he felt like he was being hit with a wall.