by Maya Banks
“You could put engravings on the bark.” Matilda’s voice was a monotone now as she addressed Dante, talking like a salesperson delivering her pitch. “Or hang some mirrors and pictures, perhaps put down a blanket and have a crib for her dolls...”
“She loves it,” Dante broke in, the emotion that was usually so absent in his voice rolling in the distance as he sat down on the mossy ground, watching as his daughter stared up at the twinkling lights, her hands held in the air, fingers dancing along with them. “It is the first time I have seen her happy in a long time.”
“Not so bad for a stupido garden?” Matilda said, and if she sounded bitter, she was: bitter for the way he had treated her; bitter for all they had lost. But because Alex was present, Matilda swallowed her resentment down, instead giving Dante the information he would need if the garden she had planted was to flourish. “I’ve just got to clean up and attend to a few minor details tomorrow, but I’ll be gone by lunchtime.”
“By lunchtime?” There was a tiny start to his voice, a frown creeping across his brow, which Matilda chose to ignore. “I probably won’t catch up with you tomorrow, but I’ll write up some instructions for your gardener and run through a few things with you now. Know that the whole garden will improve with time.” Picking at some moss on the ground, Matilda continued, “Every day you should see some changes. The paths are littered with wild seeds—buttercups, daisies, clover—so you shouldn’t mow too often...”
“Matilda?”
“There are no sharp edges.” Ignoring him, she continued, trying to get through her summing-up, knowing this was one job she wouldn’t be following up, knowing she was seeing it for the last time. “And no plants that can hurt, no thorns that could scratch, nothing that might sting—she should be perfectly safe here. This garden is what you make of it—you could pick marigold leaves with Alex to add to your salad at night—”
“Matilda, we need to talk,” he interrupted again, one hand creeping across the ground to capture hers. But she pulled away, determined to see this last bit through with whatever dignity she could muster, yet unable to stop herself from looking at him for what was surely going to be the last time. Her final instructions to him were laced with double meaning, littered with innuendo, and from Dante’s tense expression she knew he felt each one.
“No, Dante, you need to listen. This garden may look beautiful now, but tomorrow when I’ve cleaned up and gone, you’ll come for another look and see its apparent faults. Tomorrow, in the cold light of day, you’ll wonder what the hell you paid all this money for, because the lights won’t be on and the bushes will look a bit smaller and sparser than they do tonight. You’ll see all the lines where the turf was laid and the sticks holding up the plants and—”
“It will still be beautiful to me,” Dante interrupted. “Because it’s already given me more pleasure than I ever thought possible.” And, yes, he was talking about Alex, because his hands were gesturing to where his daughter sat, but his eyes were holding hers as he spoke and she knew that he was also referring to them. “Yes, it might just take a bit of getting used to, but I can understand now that in the end it would be worth it...” She stared back at him for the longest time, swallowing hard as he went on. “That if I nurture it, care for it, tend it...” With each word he tempted her, delivering his veiled apology in a low silken drawl. “Then it will reward me tenfold.”
“It would have,” Matilda said softly, watching his wince of regret at her refusal to accept it, actually grateful when Katrina and Hugh ducked inside the emerald canopy and broke the painful moment, because whatever Dante was trying to say it was too little, too late—even a garden full of flowers wasn’t going to fix this.
“Join us for a drink,” Hugh offered. “Dante’s just about to put Alex to bed...”
“I’ve got too much to do here.” Matilda smiled as she shook her head. “But thank you for the offer.”
“I think we might have to stay over.” Katrina pretended to grimace. “Hugh’s had a couple too many champagnes to drive.”
“I’ve had one,” Hugh said, but Katrina had clearly already made up her mind. Matilda was tempted to tell her that she needn’t bother, that Dante didn’t need to be guarded on her final night here, but instead she offered her goodnights and headed to the mountain of tools that needed to be sorted.
“You really ought to think about finishing up,” Dante called. “There’s a storm brewing and with all these cables and everything it could be hazardous.”
She didn’t even deign a response, grateful when they left, when finally the garden gate closed and she was alone.
* * *
Despite her utter exhaustion, working a sixteen-hour day, when finally Matilda showered and fell into bed, sleep evaded her, the body Dante had awoken then tossed aside twitching with treacherous desire. Lying in the darkness, she gazed out over the bay, watching the dark clouds gathering in the distance, the ominous view matching her mood as she listened to the talking and laughter coming from the garden below. Katrina’s grating voice telling tales about the wonderful Jasmine did nothing to soothe her and she wished over and over that she’d managed to avoid Dante tonight.
Reluctantly she replayed his words in her mind. With total recall she remembered the look on his face as he had spoken to her, and she knew that she’d almost forgiven him, that had he touched her, she’d have gone to him.
A whimpering cry carried down the hallway and Matilda listened as Alex called out in her sleep. Her first instinct was to go to the little girl, but she stayed put, knowing that Dante would hear her on the intercom. She waited for the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, but they never came. Alex’s cries grew louder and more anguished and Matilda screwed her eyes closed and covered her ears with her hands in an attempt to block them out, knowing that it was none of her business, while praying someone would come soon.
“Mama!”
Alex’s terrified little voice had Matilda sitting bolt upright in bed, the jumbled babbles of a child’s nightmare tearing at her heartstrings until she could bear it no more. The sensible thing would have been to go downstairs and alert Dante, and she had every intention of doing so, even pulling on a pair of knickers for manners’ sake! But as she padded down the hallway in her flimsy, short nightdress, as the screams got louder, instinct kicked in, and pushing open the bedroom door, she called out to Alex in the darkness, gathering the hot, tear-racked body in her arms and attempting to soothe her, trying not to convey her alarm as Alex sobbed harder, her balled fists attempting to slam into Matilda’s cheeks.
“Shush, honey,” Matilda soothed, capturing her wrists. Instead of holding her away, she brought a hand up to her face, controlling the movement, stroking her face with Alex’s hand as over and over she told her that everything was OK, relief filling her as gradually the child seemed to calm.
“It’s OK, Alex.” Over and over she said it, even letting go of Alex’s wrist as finally the little girl started to relax, rocking her gently in her arms.
“What happened?”
She’d been so focused on Alex, Matilda hadn’t even heard him come in, but as his deep-voiced whisper reached her ears, for Alex’s sake she forced herself not to tense, just carried on rocking the child as she spoke.
“She was screaming. I was going to come and get you, but...” Her voice trailed off. How could she tell him that she’d been unable to just walk past? “I thought you’d hear her on the intercom.”
“It’s not working—there’s a storm
coming so it’s picking up interference.” He was standing over her now and she assumed he’d take Alex from her, but she was wrong. Instead, he gazed down at his daughter, his hand stroking her forehead, pushing back the damp blonde curls from her hot, red face. “She was really upset,” Dante observed, then looked over at Matilda. “And you managed to calm her.”
“I just cuddled her,” Matilda said, “as you do, and spoke to her.”
“No one can usually calm her.” Dante blinked. “No one except me and sometimes Katrina.”
They stood in silence for the longest time, a deep, pensive silence broken only by the fading sobs of Alex, until finally she was quiet, finally she gave in. “I think she’s asleep,” Matilda whispered, gently placing Alex back in her cot, grateful she’d remembered to put on knickers as she lowered the little body.
“It’s hot in here,” Date said, his voice not quite steady. As he opened the window a fraction more, the sweet scent of jasmine filled the air. Matilda stepped back as Dante took over tucking the sheets around Alex, tears filling her eyes as he placed a tender kiss on his daughter’s cheek until she could bear it no more, the agony of witnessing such an intimate scene more than she could take. Matilda headed out into the hall, wiping the tears with the backs of her hands, cringing as his hand closed around her shoulder, as Dante tried to stop her.
“Matilda...”
“Don’t,” Matilda begged, because she knew what was coming, knew he was going to apologise again, and she was terrified she’d relent. “Just leave me alone, Dante.”
“I cannot do that.” His hand was still on her shoulder but she shook it off, turned her expressive face to his, the anger that had never really abated brimming over again. Aware of Alex, she struggled to keep her voice down.
“Why me?” she whispered angrily, tears spilling down her face as she glared at him. “Why, when you could have any woman you wanted, did you have to pick on me?” Her hoarse whisper trailed off as she heard Hugh and Katrina at the foot of the stairs. Horrified, she stared at him, excruciatingly aware of her lack of attire, knowing how it would appear and not up to the confrontation.
His reflexes were like lightning. His hand closed around hers and in one movement he opened a door, practically pulling her inside, but she was plunged from desperation to hell. The mocking sight of his bedroom twisted the knife further, if that were possible, and she let him have it, her fists balling like Alex’s, pushing against his chest as she choked the words out. “You knew what this would do to me. You knew how much this would hurt me in the end. So why did you even start it, why, when you could have anyone, did you have to pick on me?”
“Shh,” Dante warned, the voices on the other side of the door growing nearer, but Matilda was past caring now.
“Why,” she said nastily, “are you worried what Katrina will say?” She never got to finish. Both his hands were holding hers so he silenced her in the only way he could, his mouth pressing on hers, pushing her furious body against the door as she resisted with every fibre of her being, clamping her mouth closed, trying not to even breathe because she didn’t want to taste him, smell him, didn’t want to taste what she could never have again.
“’Night, Dante...”
A million miles away on the other side of the door Katrina called to him. Warning her with his eyes, he moved his mouth away, his breath hot on her cheeks, his mouth ready to claim hers again if she made a single move.
“’Night, Katrina.”
And shame licked the edges then, shame trickling in as he stared down at her till the moment had passed, till Hugh and Katrina were safely out of earshot and Dante told her a necessary home truth.
“I do not have to answer to Katrina, but I do respect her, Matilda. She is the mother of my wife and the grandmother of my child. I will not flaunt a relationship in front of her without fair warning.”
“What relationship?” Matilda sneered, but her face was scarlet, knowing that in this instance he was right. “Sex with no strings isn’t enough for me, Dante.” Which was such a contrary thing to say when her whole body was screaming for him, her nipples like stinging thistles against her nightdress, her body trembling with desire, awoken again by the one-sided kiss.
“It isn’t enough for me either,” Dante said softly. “At least not since you came along.” His hands had loosened their grip but his eyes were pinning her now, and she stared back, stunned, sure she must have somehow misheard. She dropped her eyes, didn’t want to look at him when surely he would break her heart again, but his hand cupped her chin, capturing her, ensuring that she remained looking at him, his fingers softly holding her, his thumb catching tears as they tumbled down her cheeks. “A lady who asks me for directions, a lady who steps into a elevator and into my life. It was I who wanted to see you again. Hugh told me to cancel that dinner, it was I was who insisted that we go ahead...” Utterly bemused, drenched in hope, she blinked back at him, struggled to focus as she shifted the murky kaleidoscope of the their brief past into glorious High Definition. “I had to kiss you. I convinced myself that when I did it would be over, but no...” It was Dante who appeared confused how, Dante shaking his head as he recalled. “Like a drug, I need more, we make love and still I tell myself that it is just need that propels me, male needs, that when the garden is finished then so too will we be. I don’t want to feel this, Matilda...”
“Why?” Matilda begged. “Because of Jasmine?”
Pain flickered across his face and for a fragment of time she wished she could retract, take back what she had just said, yet somehow Matilda knew it had to be faced, that they could only glimpse the future if he let her into the past. But Dante shook his head, refuted her allegation almost instantly.
“Alex is the one who has to come first...”
“She will,” Matilda breathed, sure that wasn’t the entire issue, sure that, despite his denial, and his apparent openness, still he was holding back. But as he pulled her into his arms, as he obliterated the world with his masterful touch, she let it go, reassured by his words and a glimpse of the future with Dante by her side and utterly sure she had all the time in the world to source his pain.
One hand was circling the back of her neck now, tiny circular motions that were incredibly soothing but at the same time incredibly erotic. She could feel the steady hammer of his heart against her ear, inhale the unique maleness of him as his gentle words reached her, his lips shivering along the hollow of her neck, moving down to the creamy flesh of her shoulder. His teeth nibbled at the spaghetti strap of her nightdress, his tongue cool against her burning skin, eyes closing as, giddy with want, he pulled the delicate garment downwards, sliding it over her breasts. His hands lingered over her hips as, guided by him, she stepped out of it, facing him now with a mixture of nervousness and raw sexuality, naked apart from the palest of pink silk panties. And the low moan of desire that escaped his lips erased for ever the poisonous roots of self-doubt Edward had so firmly planted, her body fizzing with new hope and desire as he sank to his knees, knowing that to Dante she was beautiful.
His hands were still on her hips but he was kissing her stomach now, deep, throaty kisses that were as faint-making as they were erotic. She could feel his tongue on her skin and it was overwhelming, her tummy tightening in reflex as one hand slipped between her thighs, stroking the pale, tender skin on the inside as his lips moved down. She could feel the heat through the cool silk fabric, his tongue, his lips on her making her weak with want, desperate for him to ri
p at her panties, to satisfy the desire that was raging in her. She gave tiny gasps in her throat as her fingers knotted together in his hair, as still he teased her more, his teeth grazing the silk, his tongue moistening her more, and even if it was everything she wanted, it still wasn’t enough. Realisation hit her that, despite what had taken place in the garden, she’d never seen him naked. Need propelling her, she pulled back a touch, saw the question in his eyes as slowly he stood up. Her fingers, nervous at first, but bolder as desire took over, wrestled with the buttons of his shirt, pushing the sleeves down over his muscular arms. Closing her eyes in giddy want, her pale breasts pressed against his chest. She felt the naked silk of his dark skin against her, skin on skin, as she opened his belt and unzipped his shorts. She held her breath in wonder as Dante now shed the garments that stood between them, and if he’d been beautiful before, he was stunning now.
Never had she seen a more delicious man, his body toned and muscular, his dark, olive skin such a contrast to hers, the ebony of the hair that fanned on his chest tapering down into a delicious, snaky black line that led to the most decadent, delicious male centre. His arousal was terrifying and exciting at the same time, jutting out of silky black hair, proud and angry and alive, and the bed that had looked so daunting was just a tiny breathless step away. As they lay face to face she held him in her hand, marvelling at the strength, the satin softness of the skin that belied the steel beneath it, nervous, tentative at first. But his tiny moans of approval told her she was doing it right. Her other hand was audacious too, cupping his heavy scrotum, holding all of him, and loving it, as his lips found her breasts, suckling on her tender flesh, a tiny gasp catching in her throat as felt him growing stronger, nearer.
“Careful.” His voice was thick with lust as his hand captured her wrist, stopped her just in time, and she was greedy now for her turn, biting down on her bottom lip as he ran the tip of his erection over her panties, could see the tiny silver flash that told her he was near. She almost wept with voracious need as his finger slipped inside the fabric, gently parting her pink, intimate lips, sliding deep inside as still he teased her on the outside, sliding his heat against her till she was frenzied, her neck arching backwards, her whole body rigid, fizzing with want.