Mistresses: After Hours With The Boss: Her Little White Lie / Their Most Forbidden Fling / An Inescapable Temptation

His breath stalled in his throat, got trapped there. “I don’t know any lullabies,” he lied.

“Oh … that’s okay.” She patted Ana on the back. “I tried to sing and she just cried harder so I thought maybe you could …”

“Sorry,” he said, curling his fingers into fists, fighting the urge to run from the room.

For that reason alone he had to stay. Dante Romani did not run. He would not.

Ana hiccuped, her tiny shoulders jerking with the motion. Her cries slowed, quieted, until they became muffled, sporadic whimpers.

He watched her for a few moments, silence settling between them as Paige continued to rock Ana until the whimpering ceased altogether.

“See, she was just crying,” he said, trying to sound certain. Trying to feel some control over the situation when the simple fact was, he had none. There was a nursery in his home. There was a baby here. A woman. She had her things in his closet.

No, nothing was in his control anymore.

“I guess she was,” Paige whispered.

She got up from the chair and walked over to the crib, placing Ana gingerly onto the mattress, then straightening, freezing for a second while she waited to see if the baby would wake up.

The room stayed silent.

“She seems like she’s asleep now,” Paige whispered.

“You should sleep, too,” he said. She looked tired. Sad.

She wrapped her robe around herself, a little tremor shaking her body. “No. I don’t … I don’t think I could sleep right now.”

The desolation in her tone did something to him. Made his stomach feel tight.

“Hungry?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not really. But do you have chocolate?”

He let out a long, slow breath. Paige was upset, obviously, and while he would usually walk away and get back in bed without a twinge of guilt, he couldn’t do that now. He wasn’t going to take the time to analyze why. “We’ll have to go raid the cupboards and find out. I’m not certain.”

“How can you not be sure if you have chocolate?” They walked out of the nursery and left the door open so they could hear Ana if she woke.

“I’m not accustomed to raiding my kitchen at odd hours.”

“I guess that’s why you have washboard abs and I don’t.” Her eyes were trained meaningfully on his bare torso. Her complete lack of guile amused him, and aroused him. She didn’t try to hide her open appraisal of him. And yet, it was different than the sort of open gazes he was used to seeing. There was no extra motive with Paige, only admiration.

He looked back at her, treating her to the same, intense study she’d treated him to. Her T-shirt molded to her breasts, her pajama pants sitting low on her hips. Too baggy for his taste. He wanted to see the curves beneath. “I have no complaints about your figure.”

She stopped and turned sharply. “Oh, really?”

He shouldn’t have said that. There was no point in fostering the attraction between Paige and himself. It wasn’t good for either of them. She did something to him. Tested him in ways he’d never been tested before.

Detachment was normally simple for him. This time, not so much. But he couldn’t pull the compliment back now. He wasn’t the sort of man to lie to a woman, or charm her to get her into bed, but he still knew enough to know that this was a subject to tread carefully with. Could sense that the wrong words could break her, or lead her to believe he could give things he simply could not.

“Every inch of you is beautiful,” he said. It was the truth, not flattery. Though why he was compelled to speak it in that way, he wasn’t certain.

She flushed scarlet. “You haven’t seen every inch of me.”

“Yet,” he said, the word escaping without his permission and hanging between them, heavy and, he realized in that moment, stating the inevitable.

“No,” she said, turning away from him and continuing down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“No?”

“You and I both know it would be a very bad idea.”

“Why is that, Paige?” he asked. “What harm could come from a bit of fun?” There was so much wrong with that sentence. He knew exactly what harm resulted from sex and passion. Which was precisely why his sexual encounters were void of passion. Passion wasn’t required for release. It was perfunctory. The right contact in the right place and his partners found their pleasure, then he was free to take his. Find a moment of blinding oblivion. But it had very little to do with the woman he was with, and even less to do with feeling.

And fun was a word he wasn’t sure he put any stock in. He wasn’t sure if he ever had any.

“Quite a few bits of harm, I think,” she said, crossing to the stainless-steel refrigerator and opening the freezer, rummaging through the contents. “What ho! Chocolate ice cream!”

She pulled the carton out and held it high like a frozen trophy before setting in on the granite countertop. “Get spoons,” she said. “And bowls.”

“And the previous discussion is closed?”

“Yep.”

He complied with her order and produced bowls and spoons. He set them out and scooped them both some ice cream. He pulled up on the edge of the counter and sat, and Paige did the same on the counter across from him.

“Maybe I won’t be such a terrible mother,” she said, eating a spoonful of ice cream.

“You won’t be. But what has led you to the conclusion?”

“I used my stern voice and got you to change the subject and dish my ice cream,” she said, her grin impish. But the impishness didn’t reach her eyes. She still looked sad. Scared.

“I want to tell you something,” he said. He lied. He didn’t want to tell her what he was about to say, but it seemed important. It was all he had to offer.

She nodded and took another bite of ice cream, her eyes trained on his.

“Do you know what I remember about my mother?” he asked.

She blinked hard, her eyes glistening. She set her bowl and spoon down on the counter beside her. “No.”

“I was six when she died. But I do remember her. How good it felt when she put her hand on my forehead before I fell asleep. The way her voice sounded, soothing, kind. The way she sang to me.” He cleared his throat. “It’s not about getting everything right. It’s about those things, those small things. That’s all that matters. You do that for Ana. You may make mistakes, but you’ll be the constant, comforting presence in her life. That’s what matters,” he repeated.

He remembered more about his mother. Her fear. When his father would come home from work in a dark mood. Her tucking him in, locking his door with a key. So he couldn’t get out and see. So his father couldn’t get in and cause him any harm.

And he remembered her lying on the floor, too still. Too pale. The sparkle gone from her eyes forever.

He remembered lying with her on the floor and singing her a lullaby until the police came. His hand on her head, stroking her hair, like she had always done for him.

Stella, Stellina. Star, little star.