opened her mouth. Shut it again. What could she possibly tell him? Not the truth. Never that. Never, ever that!
“Perhaps I can help, senhor.” It was the lawyer, looking from one man to the other and smiling nervously. “Obviously, you and the senhorita have met before. In the States, I assume.”
“Senhor de Souza,” Gabriella said, “I beg you—”
“You could say that,” Dante growled, his eyes never leaving the big man who still stood with his arm around Gabriella. Her face was as white as paper. She was trembling. Why didn’t she step away from the greasy son of a bitch? Why didn’t she call him a liar? No way would she have given herself to someone like this.
“In that case,” the lawyer said, “you probably knew her as Gabriella Reyes.”
Dante folded his arms over his chest. “Of course I know her as—”
“Her true name, her full name, is Gabriella Reyes Viera.” De Souza paused. “She is the daughter of Juan Viera.”
Dante looked at him. “I thought Viera had only one child. A son.”
“He had a son and a daughter.” De Souza paused, delicately cleared his throat. “Ah, perhaps—perhaps we should discuss this in private, Senhor Orsini, yes?”
“Indeed you should,” Ferrantes snarled. “There is an auction taking place here, advogado, or have you forgotten?”
“Let me get this straight,” Dante said, ignoring him, his attention only on the attorney. “The ranch, which should be Gabriella’s, will be sold to the highest bidder?”
“To me,” Ferrantes looked down at Gabriella. The meaty hand that rested at her waist rose slowly, deliberately, until it lay just beneath her breast. “Everything will be sold to me. So you see, American, you are wrong. There is no business here for you, whatsoever.”
Dante looked at him. Looked at Gabriella. Something was very wrong here. He had no idea what it was, no time to find out. He could only act on instinct, as he had done so many times in his life.
He took a deep breath, looked at the auctioneer. “What was the last bid?”
The auctioneer swallowed. “Senhor Ferrantes bid two hundred thousand United States dollars.”
Dante nodded. “Four hundred thousand.”
The crowd gasped. Ferrantes narrowed his eyes. “Six.”
Dante looked at Gabriella. What had happened to her? She was as beautiful as in the past, but she had lost weight. Her eyes were enormous in the weary planes of her face. And though she was tolerating Ferrantes’s touch, he could almost see her drawing into herself as if she could somehow stand within the man’s embrace and yet remain apart from it.
“Gabriella,” he said quietly. “I can buy this place for you.”
The crowd stirred. Ferrantes’s face darkened, but Dante had eyes only for the woman who had once been his lover.
“No strings,” he said. “I’ll buy it, sign it over to you and that’ll be the end of it.”
She stared at him. He could see her weighing her choices but, dammit, what was there to weigh?
“Gabriella,” he said, urgency in his tone, “tell me what you want.”
Ferrantes pushed Gabriella aside, took a menacing step forward. “You think you can walk in here and do anything you want, American?”
Dante ignored him. “Talk to me, Gabriella.”
She almost laughed. Talk? It was too late for that. They should have talked that terrible day when her life had changed forever. She had been so alone, so frightened, so in need of her lover’s strength and comfort. She’d phoned his office, found out he was away. He had not told her that. She saw it as a bad sign, but when he called the next evening and said he was back and wanted to see her, her heart had lifted. And that night, when he said he had something to tell her, she’d been sure fate had answered her plea, that he was going to say that he had gone away not to put distance between them but to think about her and now he knew, knew what he felt…
But what he had felt was that he was tired of her.
She would never forget the small blue box. The exquisite, obscenely expensive earrings. And his oh-so-polite little speech including that guilt-driven assurance that if she ever needed anything, she had only to ask.
The pain of his rejection had been momentarily dulled by his sheer arrogance. She could not have imagined ever wanting anything from him.
But the world and her life had changed.
“The fazenda is mine,” Ferrantes growled, “as is the woman.”
Gabriella dragged a steadying breath into her lungs. “Sim. Please. Buy…buy the fazenda for me.” Her words were rushed and desperate. “I will pay you back. It will take time but I’ll repay every dollar.”
Dante never hesitated.
“Five million dollars,” he called out. “Five million, U.S.”
The crowd gasped. Ferrantes cursed. The auctioneer swung his gavel.
And Dante took Gabriella in his arms and kissed her.
DANTE’S kiss was the last thing Gabriella expected.
The last thing she wanted.
Once, his kisses had meant everything. Tender, they’d been soft enough to bring her to the verge of tears; passionate, they’d made her dizzy and hungry for more.
And it hadn’t been only his kisses that meant everything. It was the man.
Deep inside, she’d known it had not been the same for him. She’d never been foolish enough to think it was. He was rich, powerful, incredibly good-looking. Many of the models she knew dated such men. She never had…
Until him.
His initial interest had been flattering. Exciting. She had thought, Why not? She’d promised herself dating him would be nothing serious.
And then, despite everything, she had fallen in love with him. Deeply, desperately in love.
Dante had been magic.
But the magic was gone, lost in the cold reality of the past year. Completely gone, she told herself frantically, when she saw the sudden darkening of his eyes, the tightening of skin over bone, the all-too-familiar signs that said he was going to take her in his arms.
“Don’t,” she said, slapping her hands against his chest, but he was not listening, he was not listening…
“Gabriella,” he murmured, saying her name softly as he used to when they made love. His arms tightened around her, he drew her against him…
And kissed her.
The room spun. The crowd disappeared. All that mattered was the sweetness of his kiss, the hardness of his body, the strength of his arms. Her foolish, desperate heart began to race.
“Dante,” she whispered. The hands that had tried to push him away rose and slid up his chest, skimmed the steady beat of his heart and curved around his neck. She rose on her toes, leaned into him, parted her lips to his just as she’d done in the past.
She felt him shudder with desire at her touch.
He wanted her, still.
Wanted her as if nothing had ever separated them.
The realization shot through her like a drug, and when he groaned, thrust one hand into her hair,