Dante's Temporary Fiancée (11 page)

The people in his life called him a lone wolf and he'd more than lived up to his reputation, to the point where he believed it himself. But there was something he'd never considered. Something he either didn't know or had forgotten. But she knew. She understood. Because she was as much a lone wolf as he was.

Wolves mate for life.

 

The next week proved one of the most incredible of Larkin's life. Making love to Rafe shouldn't have made such a difference. But somehow it did. Whenever she bothered to analyze the situation—which wasn't often—she realized that it wasn't the sex itself that accounted for that difference, but the level of intimacy. It deepened, became richer, added a dimension to their relationship that hadn't existed before.

They spent hours in conversation, discussing every topic under the sun, except the few she avoided in order to keep him from connecting her to Leigh. Art. Science.
Literature. The jewelry business. It all became rich fodder for the hours they spent together.

How could anyone consider him emotionally distant? Or unavailable? Or even intimidating? It defied understanding. To her delight, he'd taken to Kiko, the two becoming firm friends. Even more amusing, she'd come across him a time or two conducting a lengthy one-way conversation with the animal.

“You will let me know if she answers, won't you?” Larkin teased when she discovered him discussing the merits of raw versus cooked beef with Kiko.

“I don't know what it is about that dog, but she insists on eating her food raw.”

“She likes it the way nature intended. That might not be the healthiest for us, but it works for her.”

He set Kiko's bowl on the ground. “Have you finished packing for the lake?”

“I have. Not that there's much to pack. Even with your mother supplementing my wardrobe, I can still fit everything into my backpack.” She winced. “I think.”

“Mamma does seem intent on filling up your closet.”

Larkin smiled, though it felt a bit forced. “Every time I go in there I find another new outfit.”

“Don't sweat it,” he reassured her. “She's enjoying herself.”

“I realize that.” She shifted restlessly. “But it bothers me because she doesn't know our engagement is a sham. I don't want her to spend all this money on me when I'm never going to be her daughter-in-law. It's not right.”

Rafe turned to face her, leaning his hip against the counter. “We've had this discussion before.” He fixed her with his penetrating green gaze, his expression one
that no doubt sent his employees scurrying in instant obedience. “I don't see any point in having it again.”

It was the second time she'd caught a glimpse of the more intimidating aspect of his personality. Not that he hadn't warned her. She'd just been foolish enough not to believe him. She should have known better. Rafe didn't pull his punches.

“In that case, I'll wear a few of the outfits and leave the rest,” she said lightly. “You can return them after I'm gone.”

He shoved away from the kitchen counter and approached. “Why all this talk about leaving?”

“Well…” She forced herself to hold her ground even though a siren blared in her head, urging a full-scale retreat. “It occurred to me that since everyone's going to be at the lake, that might be a good time to stage our breakup.”

“In front of all my relatives?”

“Bad idea?”

“Very bad idea, since I'm willing to bet that the majority of them would take your side in any fight you might care to initiate.”

She cleared her throat. “I wasn't thinking of a fight, so much as an announcement.”

“I don't do fights or announcements. Not in public. And I sure as hell don't do them in front of my entire family.”

He closed to within inches of her. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't keep herself from falling back a pace or two. Kiko looked on with intense curiosity and Larkin suspected that if it had been anyone other than Rafe proving his intimidation skills, the dog would have objected in no uncertain terms.

“Are you bored already, Larkin? Is that the problem?”

Her mouth parted in shock. “No! How could you even think such a thing?”

If shrugs could be sarcastic, Rafe had it nailed. “Oh, I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with your wanting to break off our engagement after one short week.”

“In case I didn't make it clear enough last night, I'm not bored.” Images of what they'd spent the time doing flashed through her head and brought a telltale blush to her cheeks. “Not even close.”

“I'm relieved to hear it. But if it's not boredom…” He raised an eyebrow and waited.

Naturally, she broke first. Would she
ever
learn to control her tongue? “I'm afraid, okay?”

It was his turn to look shocked. “Afraid?” Shock became concern. “Of me?”

“No!” She flew into his arms, impacting with a delicious thud. “How could you even think such a thing?”

He wrapped her in a tight embrace. “Hell, sweetheart.” He rested his chin on top of her head. “What else am I supposed to think?”

“Not that. Never that.”

He pulled back a few inches and snagged her chin with his index finger, forcing her to look at him. “Then what are you afraid of?”

She didn't want to explain. Didn't want to tell him. But she didn't see what other choice she had. And maybe if he understood, he'd let her go before it was too late.

“It's what we were talking about before. I'm afraid to drag out our engagement,” she admitted. “I'm afraid
that it'll hurt too much when the time comes to walk away.”

Something dark and powerful moved in his gaze. How could any woman have believed for one little minute that he was emotionally distant? It wasn't distance, but self-control. Larkin had never known a man whose emotions ran deeper or more passionately than Rafe's. And because they were so strong, he'd learned to exert an iron will over them to keep them in check. Intimidating? Okay, she'd give Leigh that one. But not distant. Never that.

“I won't let you go.” The words came out whisper-soft and all the more potent because of it. “I can't.”

He didn't give her the opportunity to reply. Instead, he swept her into his arms. Instead of carrying her in the direction of the guest suite, he climbed the stairs to his own bedroom. They'd never made love there before and she'd understood without it ever being said that his inner sanctum was off-limits.

He lowered her to her feet once they were inside and she looked around, curious. If anything, the room confirmed her opinion of him. The furnishings were distinctly masculine, powerful and well built, with strong sweeping lines. But there was also an elegance of form and a richness of color both in the decor and the warmth of the wood accents and trim. If she'd been shown a hundred different rooms and asked which belonged to Rafe, she'd have chosen this one in an instant.

The door swung shut behind her with a loud click and she turned to discover him watching her, the intensity of his gaze eerily similar to Kiko's. “Welcome to my den,” Rafe said.

She attempted a smile, with only limited success. “Am I your Little Red Riding Hood?”

He approached, yanking his shirt over his head as he came. There was something raw and elemental in the way he moved and in the manner in which he regarded her. “Not even close.”

Her smile faded. The wash of emotions thickening the air between them was far too potent for levity. She responded to the scent of desire, to the perfume of want, feeling it stir her blood and feed her hunger. Her body ripened in anticipation, flowering with the need to have him on her and in her. To be possessed and to be the possessor.

“Then what am I?” she whispered.

“Don't you know?” He backed her toward the bed. “Haven't you figured it out yet?”

In that instant she understood. Knew what he was to her and she to him.

She was his mate.

She could see it in his stance and in the possessiveness of his gaze, in the timbre of his voice and the strength of his desire. By bringing her here, he'd lowered his guard and allowed her into the most private part of his home…into the most private part of himself.

Even as she surrendered to his touch, a part of her wept. He'd finally opened himself to her, and in a few short weeks—possibly in just days—she was going to destroy not just his trust, but any hope of his ever loving her.

T
he closer they came to the lake house over the course of the three hour drive, the more Larkin's tension increased. Rafe could feel it pouring off her in waves. It didn't take a genius to guess the cause.

“No one's going to know,” he told her.

She tilted her head to one side and peered at him over a spare set of his sunglasses, since she didn't own a pair of her own. “They're not going to know that we're sleeping together? Or they're not going to know that our engagement is a sham?”

His mouth twitched in amusement at the way the glasses swamped her delicate features. “Yes.”

She considered that for a moment before releasing a low, husky laugh. “You're right. Blame it on an overly active sense of guilt.”

“Guilt because you're sleeping with me, or guilt because our engagement's a sham?”

She shot him a swift grin. “Yes.”

“Let's take care of your first concern.” He spared her a heated look. “Sex.”

“I believe you take care of that on a regular basis,” she responded promptly.

“I do my best,” he replied with impressive modesty. “Fortunately for you, you're about to discover that the engagement ring you're wearing is magical.”

She held it out, admiring the way it caught and refracted the light. “It is?”

“Without question. The minute I put it on your finger, it created a net of blissful ignorance.”

“Funny. I don't feel blissfully ignorant.”

He snorted. “Not you. My family.”

“Ah.” To his relief, she began to relax. “And I assume this magical net keeps everyone from knowing we're sleeping together?”

“Without question. They may suspect, but the ring will cause them to turn a blind eye to it.”

“Even Primo and Nonna?”

“Especially Primo and Nonna,” he confirmed.

“And my other concern?”

That eventuality continued to hover between them like a malevolent cloud. “The reality—or lack thereof—of our engagement is also a nonissue.”

“And why is that?” she asked.

He could hear the intense curiosity in her voice, along with a yearning that he found quite satisfying. “I have a plan.”

“Which is?” she asked uneasily.

He debated for a moment. “I don't think I'm going to tell you. Not yet.” At least not until he figured out how to convince her it would work. It would be a huge
step for both of them. Only time could prove whether that step was the right one. “My plan needs a while to ripen.”

She shifted in her seat, betraying her nervousness. “You do remember that I also have a plan, right?”

“We'll consider that plan B.”

“I'm not sure that'll work,” she murmured.

“Why not?”

She released a sigh filled with regret. “It's sort of on automatic. Eventually it's going to go off by itself.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

But they arrived at the lake before she responded, which caused her as much relief as it caused him annoyance. He filed the information away for a more opportune time to drag out the details. One nice thing about his fiancée was that she found it impossible to keep secrets from him. A single, tiny nudge and it all spilled out.

They pulled up to the main residence, a huge sprawling building. When he'd been a kid, the place had looked far different, more rustic. But in recent years the family had rebuilt and expanded it, cantilevering the newer two end wings out over the lake. They'd also added private cabins, which dotted the shoreline and were better suited for the privacy issues of newly married couples.

Larkin leaned forward, her breath catching. “My God, it's magnificent.”

He smiled in satisfaction. “Maybe you can understand why we all make the effort to come here each year.”

“I'd never want to leave.”

He parked in the gravel area adjacent to the storage
shed and workshop. “We'll be expected to stay at the main house.”

“In separate rooms, I assume.”

“Guaranteed. Don't let it worry you. I know plenty of places where we can find some privacy.”

She appeared intrigued by the possibility. “I've never made love in the woods before.”

“Only because there hasn't been the opportunity until now. I look forward to correcting that oversight.”

She shot him a mischievous look. “So do I.”

The next several days proved enlightening. After an initial shyness, both Larkin and Kiko took to his family with impressive enthusiasm. It made him realize that she never talked about her family, other than the occasional reference to her grandmother, and he couldn't help but wonder why.

Where he had always found his family somewhat intrusive, particularly when it came to certain personal issues such as women and romance, Larkin soaked in the love and attention as though it were a new and wondrous experience. Over the days they spent at the lake, he noted that she blossomed the most beneath the attention of his mother and father and he remembered her mentioning that she'd been brought up by her grandmother. She'd always taken pains to change the subject whenever the conversation turned to the topic of her parents, which raised an interesting question. What had happened to them?

Toward the end of their stay, he finally found a private moment to ask. He'd arranged for a picnic lunch that he'd set up on one of the rafts dotting the lake, this one offering the most privacy from curious eyes. She
laughed in surprised delight when they swam out to the raft and discovered lunch waiting for them.

“What have you been up to, Rafaelo Dante?” She knelt on the raft and opened the lid of the basket, peering inside. Freezer packs kept the chicken and Primo's uniquely spiced potato salad icy cold, as well as the bottle of white wine Rafe had tossed in at the last minute. She rocked back on her heels. “This is… This is amazing.”

Something in her voice alerted him and he took her chin in his hand and tilted her face toward him. Sure enough, he caught the telltale glint of tears. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” she instantly denied. “It's…” She gazed out across the lake, emotions darting across her face, one after another. Longing. Sorrow. Regret. Then they vanished, replaced by a grateful smile. “Thank you for bringing me here. This week has been like some sort of beautiful dream. I've enjoyed every minute of my time here.”

“I gather the ring is working? No one's given you any trouble?”

She stared down at it in open pleasure. “Your family hasn't given me a moment's trouble. And they were all so excited to see me wearing it.” Then the sorrow and regret returned. “I hope they won't be too crushed when our engagement ends.”

Time for the first step of his plan. “There's no rush to end it,” he remarked in an offhand manner. “In fact, I think it may be necessary to continue the engagement for a while longer. Would that be a problem?”

“I—I'm not sure.”

He didn't give her a chance to invent a list of excuses.
No doubt she'd come up with them, but he had a plan for that, too. Hoping to distract her, he filled their plates with food. Then he opened the wine and poured them each a glass.

They sat in companionable silence, soaking up the August sun while they ate and sipped their wine. It gave him plenty of opportunity to admire the sleek red one-piece she wore and the way it showcased her subtle curves. She was beautifully proportioned. Magnificent legs. A backside with just the perfect amount of curve to it. Narrow hips and an even narrower waist. And her breasts, outlined in the thin Lycra of her swimsuit, were the most delectable he'd ever seen. A dessert he planned to savor at the earliest possible opportunity.

“Tell me something, Larkin.”

“Hmm?”

He gathered up their empty plates, slipped them into a plastic bag and returned them to the basket. “Why were you raised by your grandmother? What happened to your parents?”

The instant his question penetrated, she stilled. It was like watching a wild animal who'd caught the unexpected scent of a predator. She didn't say anything for a long time, which was so out of character for her that he knew he'd stumbled onto something important. She pulled her legs against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, her grip on the stem of her wineglass so tight it was a wonder it didn't shatter.

She remained silent for long minutes, staring toward shore where Kiko chased a flutter of butterflies. “Gran raised me because my mother didn't want me.”

“What?”
It was so contrary to his way of thinking,
he struggled to process it. “How could someone not want
you?
”

She buried her nose in her wineglass. “I don't like to discuss it.”

She didn't actually use the words
with strangers,
but she might as well have. If anything, it made him all the more determined to pry it out of her. Hadn't she done the same for him when it came to his relationship with Leigh, as well as those long-ago events at the lake when Draco had broken his leg? He understood all too well what it felt like to have a poison eating away inside. Larkin had lanced his wound. It was only fair he do the same for her.

“What about your father?”

She shifted. “He wasn't in the picture.”

“He left your mother?”

To his relief, Larkin allowed the question, even smiled at it. “My mother wasn't the sort of woman you leave. Not if you're a typical red-blooded male. No, she left my father to return to her husband.”

He couldn't hide how appalled he was, couldn't even keep it from bleeding into his voice. “That's how you ended up living with your grandmother?”

Larkin nodded. “My mother discovered she was pregnant with me shortly after she returned home. She and her husband already had a daughter, a legitimate one. Naturally, he wasn't about to have proof of her infidelity hanging around the house, or have my presence contaminating his own daughter. So Mother kept my half sister and turned me over to Gran. She even gave me her maiden name, so her husband wouldn't have any connection to me. Considering some of the alternatives, it wasn't such a bad option.”

In other words, her mother had abandoned her. He swore, a word that caused her to flinch in reaction. “And your father? What happened to him?”

She didn't reply. Instead she lifted a shoulder in an offhand shrug and held her glass out for a refill.

He topped it off. “You don't know who your father is, do you?”

“Nope,” she confessed. “Barely a clue.”

It killed him that she wouldn't look at him. He didn't know if it was embarrassment or shame or the simple fact that she was hanging on to her self-control by a thread. Maybe all of those reasons.

He took a stab in the dark. “I gather he's the one you're looking for.”

She saluted him with her glass. “Right again.”

“So what's his name? If you'd like, I'll pass it on to Juice and we'll have him tracked down in no time.”

“Well, now, there's the hitch.”

Rafe winced. “No name.”

“No name,” she confirmed.

“I can't think of a tactful way of asking my next question….”

“Let me ask it for you. Did my mother even know who he was? Yes, as a matter of fact, she did.”

“And she won't give you his name?” Outrage rippled through Rafe's voice.

“She died before she got around to it, although she did let it slip one time that he lived in San Francisco. And Gran remembered her calling him Rory.”

“Granted, that's not a lot to go on,” Rafe conceded. “Even so, Juice may be able to help. Was there anything else? Letters, perhaps, or mementos?”

“You don't want to go there, Rafe,” she whispered.

“Of course I want to go there. If it'll help—”

She set her glass on the raft with exquisite care. “Remember when I told you that my plan for an exit strategy from our engagement was on automatic? If you keep asking questions, the countdown begins.”

“What the hell does finding your father have to do with ending our engagement?”

Darkness filled her eyes, turning them sooty with pain. “I can explain, if you insist. But don't forget I did try to warn you.”

“Fine. You warned me. Now, what's going on?”

“My father gave my mother a bracelet shortly before she left him. I was going to use that to try to find him, assuming he wants to be found. It was unusual enough that it might help identify him.”

“Go on.”

“It was an antique bracelet.”

“Great. So we'll give Juice the bracelet—”

She cut him off. “Small problem.” He could see her struggle to maintain her composure. “I don't have it.”

“Did you sell it?”

“No! Never.”

“Then where is it?”

“My sister took it. My
half
sister.”

Son of a bitch. Did he have to drag every last detail out of her? “Okay, I really don't understand. How did she end up with your father's bracelet if he wasn't her father and the two of you didn't grow up together?”

“Every once in a while, Mom would drop by for a visit with my sister in tow. On one of the visits, Mom gave me the bracelet. My sister—
half
sister—was
not
happy. She had everything money could buy, except that one thing. And she wanted it. It ate at her. I realize
now that she couldn't stand the idea that I possessed something she didn't. She threw a temper tantrum to end all temper tantrums.”

“And your mother gave in? She gave the bracelet to your sister?”

“Nope. She dragged my sister, kicking and screaming, out of my grandmother's house. The few times they visited after that everything seemed fine, though one time I caught her snooping around in my room. But years later, long after Mom died, she showed up out of the blue. I thought it was an attempt to mend fences and reconnect.” Larkin's laugh held more pain than amusement. “After she left I discovered that the bracelet had left with her.”