A Moment on the Lips

chapter NINE

TEN o’clock on a Saturday night. Before Dante had met Carenza, he would’ve been working. Maybe in his office, maybe helping out in one of the restaurants, but definitely working. If anyone had told him a few weeks ago he’d be going clubbing with her—and even looking forward to it, just a tiny bit—he would’ve laughed.

You’ll definitely like my dress. And my shoes.

He wondered just what she had in mind. Possibilities bloomed in his head. One thing he did know, he was going to enjoy peeling her dress off afterwards. And so was she.

It still bothered him, the way she’d kissed him goodbye and left on Wednesday. Casual as anything. As if he didn’t really matter to her. Which was ridiculous. He didn’t want a relationship with her. He didn’t want to let her close, let her loosen his control over his emotions.

And yet, if he was honest with himself, part of him was starting to wish for exactly that.

‘Get a grip,’ he told himself sharply as he climbed out of the taxi and rang her doorbell.

The chances were, someone as high-maintenance as Carenza Tonielli would take hours to get ready to go out. Admittedly, she’d never once been late for a mentoring session with him; but this wasn’t one of their normal mentoring sessions. He’d agreed to let her set the agenda tonight. And he didn’t have a clue where this was going to take them.

She answered almost immediately and Dante’s jaw nearly hit the floor. She was wearing the highest heels he’d ever seen, her dress was short and clung in all the right places, and her hair was loose and looked incredibly sexy.

‘Let’s forget the dancing. I’ll tell the taxi driver to go home.’ Even to him, his voice sounded rusty, thick with desire.

She just laughed. ‘No way. I’m looking forward to going dancing.’ Mischief sparkled in her eyes. ‘I told you you’d like my dress.’

‘I’d like to take it off you, even more.’

A dimple appeared in her cheek. ‘Later. You know, patience is a virtue. And a business asset.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ He had a feeling that they’d both be at fever pitch by the time he took her home. ‘Just tell me this club isn’t going to be full of sixteen-year-olds.’

She laughed. ‘Of course not. We’re both too old for that kind of place.’

‘So where are we going?’

‘Somewhere they play decent music.’

She clearly wasn’t going to tell him. Worse still, when he opened the door and ushered her into the taxi, by the time he’d got in she’d already given the driver directions to the club and was chatting to him as if she’d known him her entire life.

Carenza definitely had people skills. He’d take back everything he’d said about her being a spoiled princess who didn’t know her staff or care about them. She might have a carefree attitude, but she cared, all right. And she made the world around her sparkle.

The taxi pulled up outside a shabby-looking building. Not promising, Dante thought, but he was careful to keep his voice neutral as he asked, ‘When was the last time you came here?’

‘About three years ago,’ she admitted. ‘But I did check with Lucia. My best friend,’ she added. ‘Lu says it’s still the same.’

‘So why didn’t you go dancing with her?’

‘Because she’s six and a half months pregnant and she’ll have been tucked up in bed for—’ she checked her watch ‘—about the last two hours.’

He held the door open for her, paid for their admission, and his heart sank as he heard the music. It really wasn’t to his taste, but he’d promised to take her dancing so he’d just have to put up with it. He was relieved to discover that she’d been right about one thing; most of the people there were over twenty-five, so he didn’t feel completely out of place.

‘What can I get you to drink?’

‘Still water, please.’ His surprise must have shown on his face, because she smiled. ‘We’re dancing. I don’t want to get dehydrated.’

‘OK.’ He ordered their drinks.

When she led him onto the dance floor, he could see admiring glances from the men round them, and the envy on their faces when she made it very clear that she was with him.

This really wasn’t something he did. Ever. Even in his teens, Dante had been too busy working and trying to better himself to go clubbing. When he’d bought his first business, most of his time and energy had gone into building up the business a bit more and a bit more still. Sure, he’d dated and gone to the odd party, but he’d kept all his relationships casual and ended them before things got too emotionally involved.

Right at that moment, he felt completely out of his depth.

He wished he’d paid more attention during his teens. He had no idea how you behaved in a club.

Carenza seemed to know. She was smiling, waving her arms about and clearly having a good time. Half the people on the dance floor were doing the same moves that she was; clearly this was a song they all knew and there were set movements to it. He didn’t have a clue what they were. And he felt completely out of place here.

‘Come on, get with the beat,’ she teased. ‘I thought all Italian men had a good sense of rhythm?’

‘Not this one.’ He grimaced. ‘Can we go?’

‘We’ve only just got here, Dante.’ She stroked his face. ‘I know I said we’d leave if you really hated it, but you haven’t given it a chance. Just relax. Go with the flow.’ She drew him closer. ‘Follow my lead.’

Now that was definitely something he wasn’t used to doing, following someone else’s lead. But he watched what she did, copied the moves. And, to his surprise, he found himself enjoying it. The dancing itself he could take or leave, but he loved seeing the sheer joy and exuberance on her face.

So this was what made her tick. What made her shine.

A nagging little voice in his head pointed out that he wanted to make her shine like this, too. That he knew just how to do it.

He rested his hands on her hips and fitted his movements to hers; her smile grew just that little bit wider, and finally he found himself relaxing.

But then there was a cold feeling at the base of his spine. Automatically he turned round to see what was going on. A man by the bar was shouting at his partner; Dante couldn’t hear the words over the volume of the music, but there was an ugly look on the man’s face. An ugly look he’d seen too many times on his father’s face—just before he raised his hand to strike Dante’s mother. Dante’s antennae had become so finely tuned throughout those years that he could spot a situation like this right at the earliest stages.

He glanced round, but couldn’t see any bouncers anywhere.

Hell, hell, hell. He couldn’t just stand by and let this happen.

He leaned forward so his mouth was by Carenza’s ear. ‘There’s a problem—can you go to the door and ask one of the bouncers to come to the bar?’

She looked worried. ‘But, Dante—’

‘Just go, Caz,’ he said, knowing that he sounded abrupt but also knowing that there wasn’t time to argue; he needed to stop this happening.

He reached the couple just as the man raised his hand to hit the woman. ‘Is there a problem here?’

The other man looked at him, curled his lip and swore. ‘Keep your nose out. This is none of your business.’

His voice was slurred; he’d clearly been drinking, and the situation pressed every single one of Dante’s buttons. He’d been there too many times in the past, and if he could stop someone else being there, he damned well would. ‘Correction. It’s my business when a coward starts hitting a woman,’ Dante said. ‘Leave her alone.’

The man stared at the woman and then at Dante. His expression grew even uglier. ‘Are you one of her fancy men?’

‘I’ve never seen your partner before in my life, but that’s not the point. Hitting is wrong.’

The man swore again. ‘She deserves it.’

‘Nobody deserves to be hit. Violence doesn’t solve anything.’

‘Want to make something of it, then?’ The man took a clumsy swing at Dante.

Ha. He’d learned to block blows years and years ago. In a matter of seconds, Dante had twisted the man’s arm behind his back and pinned him against the bar. It would be oh, so easy to twist that arm a little harder, feel it crack, so the man couldn’t use it to hit her again. It wouldn’t be the first time Dante had done it.

But he felt the anger simmering through him and made a conscious effort to hold it in check—and to hold the man immobile rather than hurt. ‘That really wasn’t your best idea,’ Dante said coolly.

A burly man materialised beside him. ‘What’s going on?’

‘The guy’s drunk, and was about to hit this woman.’ Dante nodded at the woman who was cowering by the bar. ‘I think he might need a little time to cool down a bit. Police custody, maybe.’

The bouncer nodded. ‘I’ll deal with it. Thanks for stepping in.’

‘No problem.’ Dante stood to one side to let the bouncer deal with the drunk. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked the woman.

She was shaking. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘But he can’t go to jail.’ She shuddered. ‘Tomorrow …’

‘Look, you don’t have to put up with being treated like that.’ He took a business card from his pocket and scribbled the number of the refuge on the back. ‘Ring this number. Someone will help you. Have you got kids?’

She nodded.

‘They’ll help the kids, too.’

Her eyes filled with tears. ‘He doesn’t mean to be like that. It’s just the drink talking. He’s always sorry the next morning.’

‘And then you tell everyone you walked into a door?’ Dante asked, remembering his mother’s explanations. ‘There’s no excuse for hitting your partner. He needs professional help to get his drinking and his temper under control. Even if you don’t care what happens to you, think of what your kids are seeing. What it’s doing to them.’ He thought of what it had done to him, years of seeing his father hit his mother and knowing there wasn’t a thing he could do about it because he was too young and too small to stop him.

‘I … You’re right.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘I’m just so scared of what he’d do if I ever left him.’

‘That’s what the refuge is for. They’ll keep you safe. Ring them,’ Dante said.

Carenza watched as Dante scribbled something on the back of what looked like a business card, and ice trickled down her spine. But he’d come here to the club with her. He surely wouldn’t be chatting up another woman. She had no idea what kind of problem he’d seen, though clearly something had happened because the bouncer she’d spoken to by the door was frogmarching a man out of the club.

Dante turned around and saw her watching him; he left the other woman without a word and came over to her.

‘Everything all right?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ But there was a tightness in his face that worried her. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘That guy—did he hit you or something?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he said shortly.

So what was wrong? Why did Dante suddenly look so angry? ‘Do you know that woman?’

‘No. Can we please just go?’ His voice was very, very curt.

She subsided and followed him out of the club.

As soon as they were outside, he made a phone call, then frowned. ‘The taxi can’t pick us up for thirty minutes. We’ll walk.’

She blinked and pointed at her shoes. ‘I can’t walk home in these.’ She could dance in them for a while, but if they’d stayed at the club for much longer she would’ve ended up dancing barefoot. And she certainly couldn’t walk back to her flat—or Dante’s—in them.

He stared at her, then impatience flickered across his face and he scooped her up, clearly intending to carry her.

And he was holding her way too tightly for comfort. ‘Ow, Dante, you’re hurting me,’ she said.

As her words registered he went white and immediately set her on her feet. ‘I’m sorry. I …’ He shook his head, words clearly failing him, and a muscle worked in his jaw.

Something was obviously very badly wrong.

‘I didn’t mean to hurt you,’ he said in a whisper.

‘I know you didn’t.’ She rubbed her side. ‘Dante, what’s going on?’

‘Nothing.’

It was the biggest, fattest lie she’d ever heard, but he clearly wasn’t going to talk. Not here. ‘Let’s just get away from the club,’ she said softly, and took his hand.

He walked beside her, but she had a feeling that he wasn’t seeing anything around them. He was lost somewhere else, and she had no idea what was going on in his head.

At the end of the street there was a bar. It wasn’t perfect but at least it would be quieter than the club. She dragged him inside, made him sit down with a glass of sparkling water, and rang the taxi firm she normally used to book a cab home. She reached across the table and laced her fingers through his, willing him to talk to her, but he’d gone absolutely silent. She’d never seen him like this before, and it really worried her.

When the taxi took them back to her place, Carenza knew that if she asked him up he’d refuse; he’d go back to his place and brood, and she had no intention of letting him do that. Whether he liked it or not, Dante was going to talk to her. ‘See me up to my front door?’ she asked.

‘Sure.’

Just as she’d hoped, his impeccable manners made him get out of the taxi first. Before she joined him, she shoved a large note at the driver. ‘As soon as I get out, drive off, please,’ she said quickly.

‘What about your change?’

‘Keep it.’ Money wasn’t important. This was.

‘Thanks, bella.’ The taxi driver did exactly as she asked.

‘What the … ?’ Dante began as the cab pulled away.

‘My kitchen. Now,’ she said firmly. He looked absolutely haunted, and no way was she going to let him go back to his place in this state.

Once he’d sat down at the table, she heated some milk, added a little brown sugar and cinnamon, and then placed the mug in front of him. ‘This is better for you than an espresso at this time of night,’ she said. ‘Drink.’

He made a face, but did so.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

‘I know.’ Just as she hadn’t intended this evening to be such a nightmare for him. She paused. ‘So did you know that woman?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen her before.’

She needed to know the truth. ‘I saw you write something on the back of a card and give it to her.’

Dante looked at Carenza. He had a choice: he could either let her think he’d given the woman his number and he was cheating on her—which would hurt her and wasn’t true anyway—or he could tell her the truth and would no doubt have to field some awkward questions. But there was no demanding, shrewish look on her face; she clearly feared the worst and was trying to bite back the hurt, just as he’d done so often in his life. Which made the decision easy for him. ‘It was the number of a refuge.’

She frowned. ‘How do you know the number of a refuge?’

‘I …’ This was really hard for him to talk about. But he owed her the truth. ‘I support it.’

‘Support?’

The question made him squirm; he hated people banging on about the work they did for charity. In his view, the people who shouted loudest about it were the ones who cared the least; they were doing it to make themselves look good, not because they wanted to make a real difference. ‘Charitable donation,’ he muttered.

‘Why would you support … ?’ Carenza began. Then she remembered what her grandfather told her about Dante having a hard time as a child. The fact that there hadn’t been a photograph of his father in Dante’s flat. And suddenly it all fell together. ‘So that’s why you don’t let people close.’

‘What?’ He stared at her, looking shocked. ‘You’re jumping to conclusions. Wrong ones.’

‘No, I’m not. Nonno said you had a hard time as a child. He wouldn’t tell me any more than that, didn’t break any confidences,’ she reassured him swiftly. ‘But if you support a refuge now, there’s a pretty good chance that you do it because a refuge once helped someone you know. And if it happened when you were a kid, my guess is that it was your mum.’

Hearing it spoken out loud made him flinch. She noticed and took his hand. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to reopen old wounds. I just want to understand what makes you—well, you.’

‘I wish you really were an airhead princess,’ he said. ‘Then you wouldn’t even have noticed, let alone worked it out.’

‘That’s why you went to rescue that woman. Because you’ve seen it happen before.’

‘Yes.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Caz, I really don’t want to talk about this. Back off. Please.’

That last word stopped her asking any more. Instead, she pushed her chair back, walked round to his side of the table and wrapped her arms round him. ‘I’m so sorry that tonight brought bad stuff back for you. It was meant to be fun. You and me.’

‘It’s not your fault. You weren’t to know this would happen.’

‘Do you think she’ll be all right?’

He shrugged. ‘The first step is the hardest. If she just has the courage to ring that number, then she’ll get the help she needs.’

Was that how his family had got the help they needed? she wondered. Not that she was going to ask. This was clearly too painful for him—and he’d asked her to back off. So she just held him, willing him to take strength from her. To let himself lean on her.

And eventually he moved, settled her on his lap and kissed her. ‘Thank you. For not judging. For not pushing.’

His words put such a huge lump in her throat, she couldn’t answer him. All she could do was kiss him. Softly. Gently.

Except, as always, desire flared between them. The kiss turned hot, and the next thing she knew they were in her bedroom and Dante was peeling her dress off.

He flinched when he saw the bruise on her side. ‘Oh, Caz. I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.’

She twisted so she could see the bruise for herself, and sighed. ‘I have my mum’s very fair English skin—bruises show up quickly. Look, Dante, it was an accident.’

But he still looked utterly horrified. Disgusted with himself.

She stroked his face. ‘Dante, I know you’d never hurt me deliberately. It’s like … Oh, I dunno, if I was drying up a glass and the stem broke. It’s a completely different thing from if I’d thrown it at a wall in a fit of temper.’

‘The glass would still be broken,’ he pointed out.

‘But it’s the intent that matters. There was some trouble in the club, you sorted it out, and then you wanted to get me out of there as quickly as possible. You were trying to protect me. And this was an accident.’ She reached up to kiss him. ‘Don’t back away from me now. I think we both need this.’

The expression in his eyes was tortured, but he returned her kiss. And when he finally eased into her it was the sweetest love-making she could remember. Ever. There was a tenderness there that had never existed between them before.

And that was the moment she realised she was falling for him. That this was so much more than just hot sex. Just for a moment, he was letting her close—something she realised now he found so very hard to do—and this was really, really special.

‘Stay tonight?’ she asked softly—and regretted the question immediately, because she could see him closing off again.

‘Best not,’ he said. But his touch was gentle as he stroked her cheek. ‘Stay there. You look comfortable. And cute.’

She could push it, but she didn’t want to break this fragile new understanding between them. She wanted to strengthen it. ‘OK. Call me later.’

‘Yeah.’ Intense yearning passed briefly across his face, but he clearly wasn’t going to let himself give in, because the brooding businessman was back.

As she heard the front door close behind him her heart bled for whatever he’d seen in his childhood. In her view, having a cruel father was much worse than her own situation, growing up with no parents at all but knowing every day how much she was loved. Yes, there was a big hole in her life, and she missed her parents still, but she’d never known anything but love and kindness from her grandparents. Dante’s childhood had clearly been wreathed in shadows. And how she wanted to make things brighter. To fix it.