Page 51 of Reckless Woman
Looking up at her through blurred vision, I take in her brown cowboy boots, tight black jeans and a white T-shirt with the tails of some intricate green and red tattoo peeking out of one capped sleeve. Her skin is tan, and her loose hair covers her shoulders in wavy black silk. She’s hot as hell, but she’s burning up with trouble.
I know a threat when I see one. Not to my marriage, but to the life we’ve carefully constructed.
Why has Dante allowed her into our home?
I can’t stop thinking about the two-tone rose from my dream as her head turns toward Ella again.
“Let my daughter sleep,” I beg her.
“She’s adorable.”
She’s mine.
Something lurches inside me, like a ship going down in a storm. A beat later, warm liquid is gushing down my legs and onto Ella’s rug, and the urge to push is so overwhelming I let out a scream.
“Eve!”
Dante’s voice comes bellowing up the stairs, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps.
The woman retreats back into the hallway, leaving me with a spicy scent that turns my stomach to thorns. “It’s going to be okay, Eve,” she croons, blasting me with her insincerity, but I’m too focused on not giving birth in front of my daughter to care anymore. “Her waters just broke,” she informs Dante as he strides past her and into the room with a face like homicide.
“Ella,” I croak.
Our daughter has woken up from all the commotion and is wailing noisily.
Scooping her out of bed, he holds her close to his chest, and murmurs more of those Spanish endearments—moving so naturally, he’s contradicting his dark legend again. She responds, as she always does in his arms, with giggles and smiles. His hands can kill and soothe in equal measure.
The stranger can’t take her eyes off him. It’s not lust, though, I realize. It’s shock. As for Dante, he doesn’t seem in the least bit surprised to find her here.
“Oh Dios mío!” Sofía cries, rushing onto the scene, still wiping her hands on the front of her blue dress.
“Take Ella downstairs,” he orders, and I moan again, this time in relief.
“I’ll go get some towels or something,” says the stranger, drifting away.
“Bed,” he snaps at me, his strong arms lifting me up. I’m trying so hard not to push, I’ve bitten through my bottom lip.
“Who the hell is that woman?” I gasp out, as he helps me onto the mattress.
“Lie back.”
“I’m serious—”
“Try expending some of that fucking curiosity on this birth. You’re going to need it.”
His flat cadence fills my chest with panic. There’s no light in his expression. No sweet promises of painful retribution if I misbehave.
“Where’s Whit? Where’s the Obs. guy?” I cry, balling my fists around the white bedsheets as he grabs Ella’s pillows and slides them under my head.
“He’s not coming.”
Panic moves up to my throat. “W-what do you mean?”
There’s a pause. “The plane went down soon after take-off.”
“Down?” I whisper, horror-struck.
“All five onboard were killed.”