Sandra's Classics - The Bad Boys of Romance - Boxed Set

by Sandra Marton

  She’d left a note in the kitchen, tucked beneath a carafe of orange juice, but she wanted to be there when he awakened. It would be nice to have a breakfast of fresh coffee and warm beignets on the terrace. The sun and the soft morning air might be the best kind of medicine.

  ‘So what do you think, Gaby? Shall we?’

  Gabrielle blinked. Her assistant was looking at her, eyebrows raised.

  ‘I’m sorry, Alma, I guess I was daydreaming. I didn’t hear you.’

  Alma sighed. ‘I was saying’ there won’t be any business to speak of today. We only have two bouquets to deliver and then we might as well close up shop—if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘That’s fine. In fact, I was going to suggest it myself.’

  ‘Good. I’ll call Billy and tell him to come in early for the deliveries. Oh, and I’ll give my cousin a ring, too. Carolyn and I always do the town together come Mardi Gras.’ She eyed Gabrielle speculatively. ‘Why don’t you come with us? You two would get along fine.’

  Gabrielle shook her head. ‘Thank you for asking. But I can’t.’

  ‘Mardi Gras isn’t any fun if you’re alone.’ Alma’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re plannin’ to stay home all weekend.’

  There was no getting around the truth. Gabrielle took a deep breath.

  ‘I might. But not for the reasons you think.’

  Alma put her hands on her hips. ‘Nonsense. The reasons are always the same—you just don’t want to meet people. I know you told me to mind my own business, but’

  ‘It isn’t that.’ The words were out before she could stop them. Alma looked at her in surprise, and Gabrielle touched her tongue to her lips. This was the first time she’d ever tried, to answer the familiar accusation. ‘It isn’t that,’ she said again, this time more softly. ‘I—I want to meet people. It’s just that—that there are things that happened back in New York....' She fell silent.

  ‘I wasn’t tryin’ to pry.’ Alma’s tone was gentle. ‘But I hate to see you alone all the time. If some man broke your heart back home...’

  ‘It wasn’t what you think. Things happened to me, and...’ She paused and her eyes met her assistant’s. ‘People use people.’

  Her voice faded. What had ever possessed her to say that? It was as if meeting James was making all her care­fully maintained defenses crumble.

  ‘Gaby,’ Alma moved closer and put her hand on her friend’s arm, ‘you have to forget. Learn to trust again.’ Gabrielle smiled. ‘I have,’ she said. ‘I trust you.’

  ‘But not James?’

  She hesitated, and her smile wavered a little. ‘Re­member when you asked how I managed to find James a hotel room?’

  ‘Yes. But what does that have to do with trust?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t find one. I mean, I couldn’t. There wasn’t a room anywhere.’ She paused, then hurried on. ‘So I took him home with me. James is staying at my house.’

  ‘James Forrester? You took him...’ Alma's eyes widened. ‘I don’t believe it!’

  Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t believe it, either,’ she said with a forced laugh, ‘but that’s what I did. There didn’t seem to be any other way.’

  Alma raised an eyebrow. 'Uh huh.'

  ‘We spent hours trying to find him a room,’ Gabrielle said defensively. ‘What else could I have done? He was hurt and exhausted and...’

  Alma threw her arms around Gabrielle and gave her a quick hug. ‘I’m so glad.’

  A scarlet glow crept into Gabrielle’s cheeks. ‘It’s not what you think. It’s just that James needed me. I couldn’t turn away from him, could I?’

  Alma’s smile grew gentle. ‘No, of course you couldn’t. And how is he feelin’ this mornin’?’

  The image of James lying sprawled across the narrow bed, his skin tan against the white sheets, flickered in Gabrielle’s mind again.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, looking away from Alma’s steady gaze. ‘He was still sleeping when I left.’

  ‘Well, then, you’d better hurry home before your patient wakes and finds his nurse isn't there.’

  Gabrielle turned towards her.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind? I can call James and tell him I’ll be a while.*

  The older woman shook her head.

  ‘Go on,’ she said gently. ‘Get back to your patient before he wakes and finds his nurse gone. Here,’ she added, plucking a rose from the vase beside her, ‘give him this on his breakfast tray.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Just be sure and tell him it’s from me.’

  Outside, the sun beat down as if determined to make up for the recent days of poor weather. The early morning streets were unusually crowded as people gathered to begin the long holiday celebration.

  Gabrielle almost regretted running this morning.

  When she’d awakened, she’d dressed automatically in shorts, T-shirt, and running shoes, but by the time she went down to check on James she’d begun to think about cancelling the run. Driving to the shop would be quicker.

  But then she’d quietly pushed open his door and looked into the room.

  James had been lying on his belly, naked to where the blanket lay tangled across his hips. One leg—the injured one—was thrust out, tan against the white sheet. Pale sunlight dappled his skin, dusting his flesh with gold.

  Her mouth had gone dry.

  Quickly, she’d stepped back into the hall and pulled the door shut. And then she’d scribbled a hasty note and let herself quietly out of the house, hoping that running would bring back her sense of equilibrium.

  She wasn’t naive. She had attended an exclusive girls’ day school. Her classmates were the daughters of wealthy men—bankers, lawyers, politicians—some of whose photos hung on Uncle Tony’s walls.

  ‘Respectable people,’ he’d said with a throaty laugh as he wrote out the first tuition check and handed it to her father. ‘Nothing’s too good for our Gabriella, hey, Giovanni?’

  The school prided itself on protecting its young charges from the real world. But its curriculum was thoroughly modern. Even the health classes offered the most up-to- date texts and films, and her teacher had been frank to the point of embarrassment.

  ‘Your body readies itself slowly—we’re more fortunate than men when it comes to such things. A knowledgeable young woman can never be rushed into something she’ll later regret.’

  It had all sounded reasonable, if somewhat mechan­ical.

  And it had proved accurate. Gabrielle had dated— a classmate’s brother, a couple of boys she’d met at school dances, a few of the men at work—and she’d always had the time and the will to push away from their goodnight kisses before they deepened.

  The kisses, and the furtive touches of their hands, had been pleasant at best, but never anything more.

  That wasn’t the way things had been last night. Reason had fled while she was in James’s arms, and there’d cer­tainly been nothing slow about her body’s reactions.

  Desire had been a white-hot flame, burning out of control. Gabrielle had dreamed about those moments all night, and then this morning, seeing him asleep...

  She stumbled over a crack in the pavement. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why hadn’t she telephoned home from the shop?

  Waking James at a discreet distance would have been sensible.

  Well, it wasn’t too late. The bakery was just ahead. She’d order coffee and the cakes, and while the clerk was filling the order she’d call James. There was a public phone just outside the shop...

  Yes, but it was out of order.

  So much for her clever scheme, Gabrielle thought a little later as she let herself quietly into the still silent house, the bakery bag clutched in her arms.

  She started to ease the door shut, then thought better of it and let it slam like a clap of thunder. She waited, heart racing. But the hall filled with silence.

  She sighed as she walked into the kitchen.

  The juice and note were on the counter, untouched. All rig
ht, she’d make coffee and put the cakes in a warm oven. Maybe the smells of breakfast would awaken James. If not, she’d shower: the plumbing in the house was venerable and moaned and gurgled with age. If all that noise didn’t do the trick, well, then she’d have no choice but to awaken him.

  She worked quickly, measuring the coffee and pouring boiling water through it, setting out a basket for the cakes. Every now and then, she lifted her head and listened for sounds from the spare room, but there weren’t any, and gradually her disappointment at his not being awake turned to worry.

  Suppose James was ill? Suppose he had a fever? Suppose he’d got up while she was out and fallen?

  Her heart tripped. Something terrible might have happened to him and here she was, hiding in the kitchen. Quickly, she hurried down the hall.

  His door was still shut. Carefully, holding her breath, she opened it and looked inside the room.

  James seemed to be sleeping soundly. He was lying on his back, both arms thrown above his head, his chest rising and falling steadily.

  Gabrielle’s gaze moved swiftly over the patches of dark hair in his armpits, to the mat of it across his chest, then to the flat ridges of muscle in his abdomen. A shadowy arrow led down from his navel, dipping below the blanket that lay across his groin.

  ‘James?’ Her whisper hung in the still air. She cleared her throat. ‘James?’ Her voice was louder this time, but he didn’t move.

  What now? The answer was obvious. Now, she had to cross the room to his side, put her hand on his arm, touch him...

  ‘No!’

  She started, shocked by the raw sound of his voice. The word sounded as if it had been torn from his throat.

  ‘No,’ he cried again. His eyes were closed tight, his face contorted. Suddenly, his arms shot into the air, his hands closing on something unseen. ‘Gabrielle. Gabrielle!’

  She reached him just as he sat up abruptly, his back against the headboard.

  ‘James. James, wake up,’ she said, putting her hand on his shoulder.

  His eyes opened. His stare was empty and unfocused. Then, as she said his name again, he turned towards her and his gaze steadied.

  ‘Gabrielle?’ he said in a hoarse whisper.

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘It’s all right, James. You just had a bad dream.’

  He stared at her, then ran his hand through his hair, pushing the dark locks back from his brow.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It’s still early. How does your knee feel?’

  James shifted his leg free of the sheet. ‘I think the swelling’s gone down. Why don’t you check?’

  Later, she wanted to say, I’ll check later, when you’re out of bed and safely in the kitchen, when you’re dressed, when my heart isn’t skittering so crazily.

  But the innocent look on his face couldn’t hide the laughter in his eyes. He was teasing her, and she was deter­mined not to give away anything more than she already had.

  ‘I’ll be glad to.’

  James let go of her wrist and she leaned forward and gently began unwrapping the bandage that covered his knee.

  She tried not to touch him, but it was impossible not to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers.

  Her hand shook as she pulled the last of the bandage away—and then the sight of his swollen, discolored knee drove everything else from her mind.

  The memory of that single moment in the car the .day before, when she’d looked at him and wondered if his pain was really as bad as it had seemed, rose in her throat like bile.

  ‘Oh, James,’ she whispered, ‘it looks awful.’ Her eyes met his. ‘It must hurt something fierce.’

  He put his hand to her cheek. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he said softly. ‘It always looks a hell of a lot worse than it feels.’

  ‘Are you sure? Did you use the ice pack I gave you last night? Let me refill it and get you some aspirin. Let me call the hospital and ask’

  ‘Gabrielle, I’m fine, really.’ Her eyes spoke her doubt, and he smiled. ‘Watch,’ he said, and in one swift motion he swung his legs to the floor, the sheet falling carelessly across his loins.

  His face paled beneath his tan. Gabrielle put her hand on his arm.

  ‘You’re pushing things. Stay in bed for a while. I’ll bring your breakfast to you.’

  ‘No.’ His voice was hard; he drew a breath, then let it out slowly. ‘No,’ he repeated, this time with a tight smile. ‘The best thing is exercise. If I baby it, my knee will just freeze up.’

  ‘Are you sure?’'

  He nodded. ‘What I need is coffee. The smell of it’s driving me crazy.’

  His color was returning. Still, Gabrielle hesitated. ‘Can you get yourself dressed?’

  James laughed. ‘What would you do if I said I couldn’t?’

  She felt a rush of heat to her cheeks, but she met his gaze. ‘I’d call my neighbor,’ she said evenly. ‘Miss Toner is seventy years old, but she’d be glad to help.’

  He grinned. ‘We’ll let Miss Toner off this time. I’ll manage by myself. I think I’ll even try the shower.’

  ‘Just be careful, James. Please.’

  He nodded as he wrapped the sheet around him and knotted it at the hip. ‘If you’d just hand me those crutches—that’s it.’ He stood up carefully. ‘Stop looking so worried. I promise, I won’t slip and drown.’

  Gabrielle smiled. ‘You’d better not. I can just see myself trying to explain that to Nurse Ramrod.’

  James’s laughter echoed after her as she walked from the room and closed the door after her. It was an in­fectious sound, and by the time she climbed the stairs to the next floor and her own room she was laughing too.

  It was the first time she’d begun the day with laughter in longer than she could remember.

  When she came downstairs again, her hair still damp from the shower, Gabrielle was dressed in a loose white cotton pullover and white cotton drawstring trousers. James was in the kitchen, one crutch tucked beneath his arm, wearing faded jeans and an equally faded sweatshirt.

  He smiled as she entered the room.

  ‘See? I managed the shower and the clothing, but shaving is some­thing else.’ He winced as he touched his fingers to his bruised jaw. ‘Can you survive the sight of me with a beard?’

  Her heart leaped as she looked at him. He looked sexy and dangerous. It was a combination she had never thought she’d face over the breakfast table.

  She turned away quickly and reached for cups and saucers.

  ‘No problem,’ she said lightly. ‘What do you think about having breakfast on the terrace?’

  ‘I’m one hobble ahead of you, landlady.’ James grinned and motioned to the door that led outside. ‘I’ve already set the table. And before you ask, I downed two aspirin with my juice.’

  She smiled. ‘Good. I was going to threaten not to let you have any beignets unless you did.’

  James grinned wickedly. ‘Too late. I sneaked a couple while I was waiting.’ His smile faded as his eyes moved over her. ‘The waiting was worthwhile,’ he said softly. ‘You look beautiful.’

  Her hand went to her hair in a self-conscious gesture. Their eyes met and she touched her tongue to her lips. ‘Thank you.’

  He smiled, but his eyes were solemn. ‘You’re welcome.’

  Gabrielle swallowed drily. ‘Why don’t you—why don’t you go on outside? I’ll bring the coffee and the cakes.’

  The terrace was small and very private, shut off from the rest of the courtyard by a high brick wall overgrown with ivy. James had set out china and silver, even linen napkins he’d found in the drawer. Alma’s rose stood in a goblet in the center of the table.

  ‘I see you found Alma’s gift.’ Gabrielle nodded at the flower as she poured coffee. ‘She says to tell you she hopes you feel better soon.’

  ‘Nice lady,’ he said with a relaxed smile, and then he took a sip of coffee. ‘Umm, this is good. Is it the chicory blend?’

  ‘Yes. Do you like it?’


  He nodded. ‘Very much. I could get used to New Orleans cuisine without any trouble at all.’

  Gabrielle smiled. ‘Good, because I’m going to try my hand at jambalaya tonight. I’ll go out later while you nap. I’ll pick up some shrimp and tomatoes...’

  ‘No.’ She looked up in surprise. James’s voice was as hard as his eyes. He drew a breath, then smiled tightly. ‘Not without me, I mean. You don’t think I’m going to stay cooped up during Carnival, do you?’

  ‘But your knee, James. The hospital said you were supposed to rest.’

  This time, his smile was the boyish one she remem­bered. ‘Well, I did. I rested all night.’ He put his cup down and sat forward. ‘If you’re determined to make an invalid of me, we’ll drive. That way I can sit and still see what’s going on.’

  ‘The traffic will be impossible. Alma says’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. We’re not in a rush, are we? And if we see something that looks interesting, we’ll park and take a closer look.’

  Gabrielle looked doubtful. ‘You’re forgetting about my little Toyota, aren’t you? After an hour, you’ll probably beg me to drop you off at the hospital.’

  James grinned. ‘Which is why I telephoned the car rental people while you were upstairs.’ He bit into a cake, then swallowed. ‘Would you believe they’ve agreed to let me try my hand at auto demolition again?’

  She laughed. ‘No, I would not.’

  ‘Well, they did. I explained that I needed a car, that it would be hard to get to them with my knee all banged up, and they said not to worry, they’d have someone deliver a car to me here this morning.’

  Gabrielle looked at him warily. ‘Hertz is going to do that?’

  James looked down at his coffee. ‘Sure. Why not?’

  ‘You’re a terrible liar, James Forrester.’

  His head came up and he stared at her. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘You could probably charm the catfish out of the Mississippi if you wanted. Just look at the scam you pulled on the hos­pital.’ She laughed softly. ‘Letting them think I was going to take care of you—honestly, James, that was awful.’

  He leaned back in his chair and smiled. ‘Not so awful. Look where it got me.’

  ‘Yes, look where it got you.’ She laughed again. ‘In other words, deceit does pay.’