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

by Sandra Marton

  She waited for his answering smile, but it never came. Instead, he tucked the crutch beneath his arm, got to his feet, and hobbled across the terrace to stare over the wall at the courtyard.

  ‘If there’s no other choice, it does,’ he said, his voice flat.

  ‘Hey,’ Gabrielle said softly, ‘I was only teasing.’

  James turned towards her. ‘Sometimes the end jus­tifies the means,’ he said, watching her. ‘I mean, if something is important enough, the way you get it doesn’t really matter.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You can agree with that.’

  She looked at him questioningly. The conversation had somewhere taken a turn. They’d gone from pleasant banter to dark riddles, although she had no idea why.

  ‘James? What is it?’

  He stared at her, then looked away again. ‘Nothing. I’m just tired.’

  Gabrielle rose slowly. ‘Maybe you injured yourself more than you realized.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Did they do X-rays and blood tests?’

  ‘Believe me, the doctors examined every inch of my body.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  He smiled. ‘Yes. And Nurse Ramrod checked again, just to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. That woman knows more about me than my mother.’

  ‘Which puts her light years ahead of me.’ Gabrielle drew a breath. ‘I don’t know anything about you.'’

  He hobbled back to the table and sank into his chair. ‘OK,’ he said easily, ‘what would you like to know?’

  ‘Well, you never mentioned why you were in New Orleans.’

  ‘Didn’t I?’

  Gabrielle shook her head. ‘No. I assumed you were on vacation, but...’

  He sat back and smiled at her. ‘Good assumption. I am on vacation—I always wanted to see Mardi Gras. What else?’

  She gave him a quick smile. ‘I don’t know exactly. Little things. Where you’re from. What you do for a living...’

  His eyes met hers. ‘I’m disappointed, Gabrielle.’ ‘Disappointed? Why?’

  ‘Such prosaic questions,’ he said, reaching for her hand and lifting it to his lips. ‘I was hoping you’d ask about the important things?’

  ‘The important things?’

  The ghost of a smile tilted across his mouth. ‘Of course. Do I have a wife? Do I have the requisite one point five kiddies and a cottage in the suburbs?’

  It was impossible not to smile in return. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘do you?’

  ‘Do I what?’ he asked, feigning an expression of innocence.

  Gabrielle laughed. ‘Do you have a wife, one point five kiddies, and a cottage in the suburbs?’

  He grinned. ‘No, no, and no. And—just to save you the trouble of asking—all my parts are in good working order, except for this damned knee, I like spring picnics and summer rain, I think whoever invented opera did it just to confuse good music and bad theatre, and no one’s painted anything worth a damn since Degas.’ His fingers laced through hers and he looked into her eyes. ‘And I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Now, is there anything else you need to know?’

  Gabrielle felt dazzled with happiness. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t think there is.’

  Suddenly, lines appeared beside his mouth, and his expression grew grim.

  ‘Promise me you’ll always remember that.’

  Her smiled dimmed. ‘I don't understand.’

  ‘Promise me,’ he said urgently.

  She looked at him, seeing once again the dark shadows and the livid flesh beside the stitches across his cheek, and she nodded.

  , ‘I promise.’

  James stared back at her, then leaned across the table and kissed her. His kiss was tender at the start and then, with a swiftness that left her breathless, he cupped her face in his hands and his kiss deepened, became more impassioned and somehow more poignant than she’d ever thought a kiss could be.

  An explosion of light blossomed behind her closed eyelids. She felt it shimmer like a white flame that in­vaded her mind and body.

  Her lips parted beneath his; she moaned softly and wound her arms around his neck, whispering his name against his mouth like an incan­tation for the spell she was falling under.

  The shrill ring of the doorbell shattered the magic and they separated. James’s eyes held Gabrielle’s as he smoothed dark strands of silken hair from her cheeks.

  ‘Who...?’ She swallowed. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone.’

  ‘It’s probably for me. The car rental people said they’d make delivery within the hour.’ He kissed her and got to his feet. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  Gabrielle nodded. She watched as he hobbled into the kitchen, watched until he vanished into the shadowy hallway, and then she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

  A little while ago, she’d told Alma she’d taken James in because he needed her.

  The truth was more complicated.

  A few days ago, James had been a stranger to be feared and avoided. Now, it was she who needed him. She longed for his kisses, for his presence—and for the moment she could tell him she was falling in love with him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A fire-engine red Corvette was parked at the door of the carriage house.

  James was straight-faced when he marched Gabrielle to the curb and showed the car to her, but the laughter in his eyes gave him away.

  ‘The boy who dropped it off said the manager told him to say they were awfully sorry, but they were out of sedans.’ He smiled and looped his arm lightly around her shoulders. ‘I told him we’d do our best not to be too distressed.’

  ‘It’s a lovely car, James. But your knee—are you sure you’re up to a drive?’

  He smiled. ‘When I injured it in college, my mother was determined to take me home and keep me in bed until it was healed.’ He shifted the single crutch he was using, and he and Gabrielle started slowly through the courtyard to the house. ‘My father insisted I stay at school and keep moving. I preferred my mother’s plan, of course...’

  ‘Of course?’

  There was a brief silence and then James laughed.

  ‘My father was—is—a man who believes you measure success by how many awards you’ve won or how many dollars you’ve earned. I was up for an athletic trophy and he was sure I’d lose it if I gave in to the injury.’

  Gabrielle looked at him as they entered the house. ‘So you stayed at school?’

  ‘No. I went home. And after a couple of days of being pampered, the knee froze up completely. So I took my father’s advice, went back to school, and kept moving—all of which would have been fine, except it meant admitting he’d been right in the first place.’

  ‘And that was hard to do,’ Gabrielle said with a ques­tioning smile.

  He nodded. ‘We’re different people, the old man and me. We have different goals and...’ He paused and looked at her ‘... and it still amazes me when I realize that, in many ways, he’s known me better than I’ve known myself.’

  A curious flatness had crept into his voice. ‘James? Is something the matter?’

  His eyes met hers, then slid away. ‘No. No, nothing. It’s getting late, that’s all, and if we’re not careful this special day is going to slip by.’ Smiling, he opened the door to his room. ‘You have five minutes to get ready, Nurse Shelton. Can you manage?’

  Gabrielle laughed and touched her hand to her hair. ‘Not if I’m going to put on some make-up and fix my hair and...

  James’s eyes darkened.’ What could make you more beautiful than you already are?’ he said softly, and the door closed quietly after him.

  An hour later, he'd traded his crutches for a cane. ‘These things have to go,’ he’d said impatiently as he settled behind the wheel of the Corvette. ‘They’re much too restrictive.’

  Gabrielle smiled at him. ‘You’re not likely to play football today,’ she said gently.

  There was no answering smile.

  ‘You never know wh
at you’re going to have to do,’ he said tersely, pulling out from the curb. ‘Just tell me where I can find a surgical pharmacy.’

  It took time to find a cane long enough to suit his height, but, once he’d found the right one, he was sur­prisingly agile. His knee hurt despite all his bravado—Gabrielle saw the skin whiten around his mouth when he first put his weight on the injured leg—but after a few steps he was smiling.

  ‘See? I’m good as new. Now, where would you like to go?’

  ‘Some place where you won’t do any walking,’ she said quickly. ‘Please, promise me that.’

  She needn’t have worried. The streets of the city were thronged with revelers. The French Quarter was all but impassable, by car as well as on foot. The crowds were thick along the Rampart Street parade route.

  ‘No crowds,’ James muttered, and Gabrielle breathed a sigh of relief. He tapped his fingers lightly against the steering-wheel, then turned to her. ‘Any suggestions?'

  ‘We could go back to the carriage house,’ she said, 'or we could get out of the city altogether. Alma once mentioned River Road—she says there are some beautiful plantations along the banks of the river. I’ll bet they’re all but deserted today.’

  ‘Plantations?’

  Gabrielle laughed. ‘That’s exactly what I said to Alma. But she swears they exist.’

  ‘Well, let’s go find out.’

  The River Road followed the twists and bends of the sluggish Mississippi. It was an old highway, one that had in past times wound its way from plantation to plan­tation, and, as Alma had promised, many of the big houses were still standing, some in majestic splendor, others in brooding decay.

  ‘After a while, you’ll expect to see Rhett Butler, waitin’ at the side of the road,’ Alma had said, ‘a mint julep in his hand and his eyes smilin’ just for you.’

  Gabrielle glanced across the car at James. Never mind the mint juleps or Rhett Butler, she thought with a little shiver of excitement, the man beside her was all she wanted.

  The day was warm.

  Out here, near the river, the air was hot and humid, thick with the promise of sum­mertime.

  James had taken off his tweed jacket and tossed it into the back of the car.

  He’d changed his sweatshirt for a long-sleeved, cream-colored shirt which he wore with the sleeves rolled up. Sunlight danced along his muscled forearms. The top buttons of the shirt were undone, and she could see dark whorls of hair curling out from beneath the soft fabric.

  He was wearing the mirrored sunglasses that had so angered her when they’d first met, but now they only added to the aura of rugged masculinity that emanated from him.

  The car windows were open, and the breeze played with his hair, tossing the dark locks across his forehead.

  He was as handsome as any wicked-eyed riverboat gambler from the past, a dazzling combination of charm and good looks, strength and gentleness. He was a man women dreamed of, and he was here, with her, smiling at her, talking to her, touching her hand as it lay in her lap.

  The thought of it took her breath away. When had she last felt this happy?

  Not in years, she thought, putting her head back and closing her eyes, not even before her father’s illness or the nightmare that had followed. She’d never smiled as much, or laughed as much—not since she was a little girl.

  She’d been happy then. Her growing-up years had been filled with laughter, despite the fact that she’d lost her mother. Her father—and Uncle Tony—had been all the warm and loving family she’d needed.

  But as she’d grown older, her life had undergone a subtle change.

  She had been excluded from the little cliques and secret sororities at school.

  She knew it had had something to do with her father’s connection with Vitale, but there was nothing she could do about it.

  Her father had explained things to her. Powerful men, like Tony Vitale, were envied and feared.

  It was as simple as that. It had to be. Because if it wasn’t, if there was a shred of truth to the rumors, then what did that make of her father?

  ‘Gabrielle?’

  She started as she felt the weight of James's hand on hers. It seemed to take great effort to open her eyes and look at him.

  His gaze moved over her face. ‘What’s wrong? You seem so far away.’

  She felt .the harsh pressure of past unshed tears in her eyes and she turned her head before he saw them, too.

  ‘I was just thinking,’ she said slowly. ‘This morning, when you talked about your father, you said he knew you better than you knew yourself.’ She paused, swallowed, then looked at him again. ‘But what about knowing him? I mean, do you really know the kind of man he is?’

  His jaw tightened. ‘I thought I did,’ he said after a while. ‘But I’m beginning to think I was wrong.’ He glanced at her and smiled tightly. ‘When you’re a kid, you see things in black and white. Fathers are good or bad, that’s all. It’s only when you grow up that you re­alize they’re people, that they can be both good and bad, just like the rest of us.’

  A sob caught in Gabrielle’s throat. James looked at her, then drove to an easy stop on the shoulder of the road. She came into his arms in a rush, her face buried against his chest.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded, tilting her face up to his and looking into her eyes. ‘Gabrielle?’

  She shook her head. ‘I just thought about my father. I wish I could tell him I love him again, that nothing could ever make me stop, no matter what he—no matter who...’

  A muscle moved in James’s jaw. ‘I’m sure he knows that, somehow.’ He bent to her and kissed her mouth. When he drew away, she sighed and smiled tremulously.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I haven’t thought about the past at all, and suddenly, today...’

  James put his hand lightly over her lips. ‘This isn’t the time to talk about the past.’

  ‘But you said...’

  His mouth narrowed. ‘I know what I said. But today— today is special. It belongs to us.’ He stared into her eyes, and finally a smile eased across his face. ‘And you know what? Let’s begin living it to the hilt right now.’

  A ferry took them across the river to an old plantation called Belle Helene. They walked the grounds of Nottoway Plantation and then, in the late afternoon, they drove slowly along narrow back roads.

  Cultivated fields stretched away on either side; cabins stood half hidden in groves of live oak trees, smoke rising lazily from their chimneys.

  Dogs rushed out, barking furiously; strangers smiled and waved as if Gabrielle and James were old friends.

  The Corvette had become a time machine, taking than back to gentler days, to a past that seemed simple and without blemish.

  But the present was different. What would James say when he found out that the woman beside him was really Gabrielle Chiari, a woman hiding a tangled past? Would he look at her differently?

  When dusk fell, they pulled up before a graceful plan­tation house set well back from the road. White columns rose from its porch to its roof; soft strains of music drifted on the still-warm evening air.

  Gabrielle looked at James as he shut off the engine. ‘Where are we?’ she whispered, as if a too loud voice might break the spell.

  ‘Tara, for all I know. There’s a discreet sign that says this is a restaurant. Shall we try it?’

  She looked doubtful. ‘What about the way we’re dressed?’

  His eyes darkened as he looked at her. ‘I’ll put my jacket on,’ he said, and he laid his hand against her cheek. ‘As for you—you’re far too beautiful to be turned away.’

  A smiling woman dressed in a nineteenth-century hoop-skirted gown led them to a secluded table in the far corner of the main room. Candles flickered every­where, their dazzling golden light reflected in the bubbled glass of the old mirror above the marble fireplace and in the Moet et Chandon champagne James ordered.

  When the waiter brought th
em menus, Gabrielle shook her head.

  ‘You choose for me,’ she said to James.

  His eyes met hers, and a strange half-smile twisted over his mouth.

  ‘Are you sure you want to entrust yourself to me?’

  Her heart turned over. They were talking about much more than dinner, she thought, and she wanted to reach across the table and put her hand against his lips.

  Instead, she nodded.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and even the waiter smiled.

  She had no idea what it was she ate. It was all de­licious and elegantly served, but Gabrielle had eyes only for the man opposite her.

  Everything James said was clever, every motion of his hands graceful. The sound of his voice touched her with pleasure.

  ‘James.’ He looked at her and she touched her tongue to her lips. ‘I just wanted you to know how happy I am. Thank you. For doing that for me.’

  His eyes grew dark. ‘Don’t.’

  The anguish in his voice startled her. ‘Have I embar­rassed you? I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘God, no. You haven't embarrassed…" He drew in his breath and pushed back his chair. "Dance with me.’

  ‘We can’t,’ she said, ‘your knee...’

  She looked into his eyes, then took his hand and walked with him to the empty dance-floor. James’s arms went around her and she settled against him, her head pressed to his shoulder, and they swayed slowly to the music.

  ‘Gabrielle.’

  There was an urgency in his voice, and she looked up at him, trying to read his eyes, but his face was in shadow.

  ‘What?'’

  His arms tightened around her. ‘I just wanted to say your name and tell you again that this day has been special.’

  Special. A special day for Gabrielle Shelton and James Forrester. But she wasn’t Gabrielle Shelton, and it was time he knew that. It was past time.

  ‘James,’ she said, her voice slurred with her need to strip away the falsehoods that separated them, ‘we have to talk.’

  His mouth narrowed. ‘No.’ His voice was terse. ‘Talking’s the last thing we want to do.’

  ‘We have to, James. Please.’

  He put her from him. ‘No.’ His tone was sharp, and, when she looked at him in surprise, he drew a breath and turned away from her. ‘It’s getting late,’ he said. It’s time we left. Give me a moment to settle our bill.’