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

by Sandra Marton

  She sighed his name.

  Her arms rose slowly and curled around his neck, her mouth parted to the silken thrust of his tongue.

  James was a candle, she a moth eager for the heated embrace that offered life-giving warmth at the risk of flaming death.

  She moaned softly as his hands moved over her. Her nipples swelled beneath his touch, blindly seeking his caress; her hips moved against his, beginning a pas de deux as old as time.

  He cupped her face and kissed her, deep, passion­ate kisses so hot that they sent a dizzying weakness shooting through her. She fell back against the wall, taking his weight on hers, feeling the muscled power of his body against the length of her flesh.

  She watched through half-closed eyes as he drew back and pulled off his jacket, then his sweater. Moonlight touched his face with ivory magic.

  Her hands lifted slowly to him. He caught his breath when she put her fingertips on his skin, murmured her name when she flattened her palms against him.

  His skin was warm to the touch; it felt like silk that had been heated before the fire, and she made a little sound in the back of her throat when he covered her hands with his.

  ‘Now you,’ he whispered.

  She looked at him and smiled unsteadily. She hesi­tated, but the night fire in his eyes couldn't be denied and she reached for the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head.

  His mouth tightened with desire as he looked at her. She knew how she must appear, her hair disheveled, her breasts clearly outlined beneath her silk chemise, and seeing the effect it had on him excited her.

  Everything that was happening between them was new to her, but the instincts of Eve were in her blood this night; she knew ways to please him, secrets that were as old as lovers and time.

  She put her hands to her breasts. ‘Kiss me, James,’ she whispered.

  He groaned and bent to her, his mouth closing lightly around her silk-covered nipple, his teeth and then his tongue teasing her through the soft fabric. Gabrielle’s head fell back and she clasped his head to her, her fingers tangling in the thick hair at the nape of his neck.

  ‘James,’ she sighed.

  He drew away the rest of her clothing, stripping them from her with hands that trembled as hers did, stopping when she was dressed only in the chemise and lace underpants she wore beneath. Then he caught her hands in his and brought them to his lips, kissing the palms, wetting them with his tongue. .

  ‘Take my clothes off, Gabrielle,’ he said softly.

  Her hands shook as she undid his belt and pulled his jeans from him, leaving him only in dark briefs that clung like skin to his narrow hips. She knelt to ease the jeans down his legs and her breath caught.

  ‘James—your knee. Your poor knee.’ It was swollen and hot to the touch, and her throat constricted. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  He smiled and caught her by the shoulders, lifting her to her feet.

  ‘It’s all right, love.’

  It wasn’t, she knew that. She had hurt him. Worse still, she’d done it trying to defend herself against him. She knew that, too. But James was kissing her again, touching her, stripping away first the chemise and then the panties, seeing her as no man ever had, and reality skittered away, driven out by a desire that thickened her blood.

  The feel of James’s roughened fingertips on her breasts was exquisite, a sensation like none she’d ever known before. His lips followed his hands, and, when he drew first one nipple and then the other into his mouth, she cried out.

  He stepped free of his briefs and took her into his arms again. His erect flesh pressed against her and she felt the room spin away.

  ‘James,’ she said her voice fierce with urgency, ‘James...’

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered, ‘God, yes!’

  They sank to the floor in a tangle of heated flesh and limbs. James pulled her into the curve of his shoulder and kissed her everywhere, from her closed eyelids to her mouth, from her throat to her breasts. His tongue dipped into her navel, and finally she felt his mouth at her thighs, then at the hidden center of her womanhood.

  She cried out as he tasted her. Tears rose in her eyes and hung on her lashes.

  ‘James,’ she sobbed, ‘I want—I want...’

  ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Tell me what you want.’

  She gave a smile so radiant that it made his breath catch.

  ‘You.’ Her arms lifted to him and she sighed. ‘You’re all I’ve ever wanted.’

  And even in the first thrust of his body, in that moment when Gabrielle left innocence behind forever, she knew it was true.

  Gabrielle awoke slowly. It was very late—the dark night held within it a silence that spoke of the small hours between midnight and dawn. The sound of distant thunder rolled across the sky; a jagged bolt of lightning cast a sudden illumination into her bedroom. They had moved there hours before, when the floor became im­possibly hard beneath them.

  She looked at James, asleep next to her. He was lying on his side, one arm beneath her, the other thrown pos­sessively across her body. How beautiful he was, she thought, how perfect.

  ‘Not perfect,’ he’d said with a smile when she’d whis­pered those words to him hours before. He’d kissed her, gently at first, then more deeply, and then he’d smiled. ‘If I were perfect, I’d be able to ignore this damned knee and make love to you again.’

  ‘James—I’m so sorry. I wish...’

  ‘Hush.’ He’d put his fingers lightly over her mouth and smiled into her eyes. ‘We’ll talk about it later. For now...’ His smile had changed, becoming a message for her alone, and he’d rolled her on top of him. ‘There’s a way we can deal with this knee,’ he’d said slowly. ‘Let me show you.’

  Warmth filled her veins. He had shown her, and then he’d shown her other things, other ways they could pleasure each other. Finally, he'd taken her in his arms and pressed a kiss on each eyelid.

  ‘Get some sleep, love,’ he’d whispered, and before she had been able to say anything, he was asleep, his breathing shallow and steady, his skin warm against hers, and finally Gabrielle had sighed and closed her eyes, too.

  Dark thoughts had writhed in her mind, monsters trying to surface from an uneasy sea, but she’d forced them all away.

  All that mattered now was that James hadn’t been able to do whatever—whatever he’d been sent to do. She’d deal with the rest later, she’d told herself, and then sleep had claimed her.

  Now, awakened by the storm that plundered the sleeping city, Gabrielle stirred uneasily.

  ‘Later’ had arrived, and she was desperate for answers.

  She had given James her body and her heart. She loved him, and she regretted neither.

  Was she sick? Had the past months twisted her mind?

  How could she love the man sent to silence her? How could she love a killer?

  She couldn’t. It was impossible. Obviously, James couldn’t be a killer—there had to be some mistake. A man who could be hired to take a life would have to be compassionless and brutal, and James was neither.

  And yet—and yet...

  The ring of the telephone pierced the night. The sound made her bolt upright in bed; memories of the long vigil preceding her father’s death inundated her.

  ‘Don’t answer it.’ James’s voice was husky with sleep, but his reflexes were quick. He caught her hand as she reached for the phone. ‘Wait until I get to the kitchen extension.’

  ‘But why?’

  The phone shrilled again as he slipped from the bed. Gabrielle waited, her heart racing, until she heard him call her.

  ‘Now,’ he said, and she lifted the receiver.

  ‘Hello?’

  Her eyes widened. The voice in her ear was one she hadn’t heard in months, but she knew it instantly. It was Townsend, from the federal prosecutor’s office, and he wasted no time on formalities.

  ‘This is Sam Townsend, Miss Chiari. Get out of your house. Vitale’s located you—he’s sent a man to kill you.’

&
nbsp; Gabrielle’s mouth went dry. James. He was warning her against James. Oh, God.

  ‘No.’ Her answer whispered over the long-distance line. ‘No,’ she said more clearly, ‘you’re wrong. It’s not true.’

  The prosecutor cursed sharply. ‘Don’t argue, dammit. There’s no time.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she said desperately. ‘He isn’t like that. I know him. He wouldn’t...’

  The prosecutor’s voice dripped with disgust. ‘Are you blind or stupid, Miss Chiari? Are you going to protect slime like Vitale forever?’

  Vitale. The fool thought she was talking about Tony Vitale. But she wasn’t, she was talking about James; she was telling him that James would never hurt her, that there had been some terrible mistake.

  ‘Miss Chiari. Get out of there, fast. Go to a neighbor. Start yelling “fire”. Do something until the police get there. I’m calling them now.’

  ‘No! No, don’t do that. Don’t involve the police. I’ll talk to him. He’s not what you think. I can make him change his mind…’

  She heard a click, then another, and the line went dead. She caught the covers in her hand and drew them to her chin as James stepped into the room, wearing his jeans and shirt. Lightning tore the sky, illuminating his face.

  ‘Get up.’ His voice was as cold as his eyes.

  Gabrielle could hear the racing beat of her heart. The night was warm, but she began to shiver.

  Whatever James was, he wasn’t a killer.

  She believed that, she had to go on believing it. There was some rational explanation for what was happening.

  ‘I’m not afraid, James,’ she said. But her voice quavered and she had to inhale deeply before she could go on. ‘Do you hear me? The prosecutor and his agents are fools—they always were.’

  James moved slowly to the side of the bed. ‘Get up,’ he said softly, ‘and get dressed.’

  ‘James, listen to me. I’

  ‘Gabrielle.’ His voice was sharp. ‘Do as I tell you. Do it now.’

  Thunder roared through the Quarter like a runaway train while lightning lit the room again, bathing every­thing in an eerie glow.

  Gabrielle’s heart almost stopped beating as she looked at James.

  His face was taut with tension. He had changed back into the stranger she’d met a lifetime ago.

  CHAPTER TEN

  She moved swiftly, stumbling from the bed, pulling on her discarded clothing, her eyes never leaving his. Her body was an automaton that didn’t need to think about buttons and zippers, her mind a computer chasing down a thousand paths simultaneously.

  James wouldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t.

  But there he was, watching her coldly, hurrying her with muttered oaths, as if what they’d shared this night had been a fabrication of her imagination.

  ‘Hurry, dammit.’

  One of her shoes lay beside the bed. She picked it up, then began searching for the other.

  ‘Gabrielle. Did you hear what I said?’

  She looked at him. ‘I can’t find my other shoe.’

  He slapped the shoe from her hand and it clattered to the floor.

  ‘Forget the damned shoes. You won’t need them.’

  ‘James. Listen to me. Whatever you think you have to do’

  ‘Get over here.’ He caught her by the shoulder, his fingers biting into her flesh, and began pulling her across the room with him. ‘Now move,’ he said his voice curt with tension.

  ‘James.’ She stumbled as he drew her into the dark hall. Fear filled her mouth with cotton. ‘James,’ she said again, ‘don’t. I beg you.’

  ‘Do you hear me? Move. Move!’

  The stairs loomed ahead, dark and foreboding.

  ‘You have to listen to me,’ she said. ‘You can't do this.’

  He wasn’t listening. He was propelling her down the steps, then along the hall. The storm had abated, and the sudden quiet was menacing.

  ‘James,’ she said, her voice low and desperate, ‘please. Let me talk to you.’

  ‘We’re done talking. It’s over, Gabrielle. Finished. Tonight ends it.’

  A sob burst from her throat. ‘No. God, no! I know you don’t want to do this!’

  ‘I never did. Hell, I knew it was a mistake. But there was no one else, nobody who would...’ He cursed softly. ‘Never mind that now,’ he said, pushing open the door to the bedroom he’d used the night before. ‘Just get in there,’ he said, and he shoved her into the dark.

  They faced each other in a silence broken only by the ragged sounds of their breathing. A weak moon played hide and seek with the clouds, splashing the room with pale, broken light. James’s eyes were as cold as she’d ever seen them.

  It was clear now. Everything that had happened be­tween them—the laughter, the easy chatter, the sweet hours spent in his arms—all of it had been part of a plan that led to this one moment. She could only speculate why he hadn’t let the speeding truck do the job for him the morning they’d met.

  Maybe he’d been afraid it wouldn’t be as final as he wanted it to be.

  Maybe he enjoyed his work too much.

  The obscenity of it all rose in her throat, gagging her with nausea. What kind of man found pleasure in taking a woman from passion to death, all in one night?

  Gabrielle began to tremble. He was sick but so was she. How could she have given herself to him?

  With a self-loathing fuelled by her hatred of herself, of the man standing before her, she flew to her lover, her fingers clawing across his face.

  He stumbled back.

  He looked stunned, she thought with bitter satisfaction. What had he expected? Was she supposed to walk to her death in the same trance she’d been in since they’d met?

  She struck out at him again, but this time he caught her by the wrist.

  ‘Gabrielle, goddammit,’ he said, pulling her arm up, twisting it behind her back so that she cried out. ‘Are you crazy?’

  No, she thought. Maybe she had been, but not now. ‘Let go of me, damn you!’

  He pulled her arm higher. Pain shot from her wrist to her shoulder.

  ‘You heard what Townsend said. Vitale’

  ‘Did you think I’d make it easy for you?’ She was panting now, her hair fallen over her face in disarray, and she tossed it back. ‘Well, I’m not. I’m not going to just...’

  He hauled her against him, pinning her arms to her side with his embrace. She could feel the hard, angry beat of his heart. His jaw jutted forward as he pushed his face to hers.

  ‘What will it take to make you listen to reason? I don’t care what kind of sugar-daddy Vitale’s been to you. He wants you dead tonight.’

  Gabrielle twisted wildly against him. ‘What kind of man are you, James? How could you agree to do this?’

  He laughed. ‘A damn good question, baby. It was my idea. Can you believe that? I volunteered.’

  ‘Volunteered?’ she whispered.

  ‘I told Townsend I’d keep you alive, and I will—even if you’re too pig-headed to believe your “uncle” has de­cided to pull the plug.’

  Gabrielle went still in his arms. I told Townsend I’d keep you alive...

  Townsend, the federal prosecutor?

  ‘Do you hear me, Gabrielle?’

  I told Townsend I’d keep you alive, and I will...

  James wasn’t a criminal; he’d told Townsend he’d keep her alive.

  Who was he, then?

  Nothing made sense, she thought, staring at him. His face was carved in steel, his eyes unreadable.

  ‘Are you going to behave?’ he asked.

  She swallowed, then nodded. His hands fell away from her and he stepped back.

  ‘Stay here, be quiet as a mouse. Whatever happens, don’t leave this room.’

  ‘James. You have to tell me who’

  ‘Do you hear me? I don’t give a damn if the house starts to fall down around your ears, Gabrielle. You don’t open that door once it closes after me. Have you got it?’

&n
bsp; She looked from him to the dark hallway. Fear turned her blood to water as the reality of what was happening settled on her. Someone was coming to kill her.

  And James was going to stop him, he was going out there to face a killer, he was going to risk his life.

  ‘No.’ Her voice sounded unnaturally loud. ‘James, don’t. Please.’

  There was a sound from the rear of the house, tink­ling glass and then a soft thud. Gabrielle’s eyes grew wide; she opened her mouth but James shook his head.

  He put his lips against her ear.

  ‘Remember,’ he breathed, ‘quiet as a mouse.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  He put his hand over her mouth. ‘Later,’ he whispered.

  She sighed his name against his skin. He made a sound in the back of his throat and then he pulled her to him. His mouth fell on hers with a bruising passion—and then he was gone.

  She stared at the door as it closed after him. Stay here, he’d said, but how could she, when somewhere in the darkness a killer waited?

  A killer.

  Tony Vitale had sent someone to end her life. Gabrielle sank onto the edge of the bed.

  Scenes from her life flashed before her. Her father, kind and loving. ‘Uncle’ Tony, generous to a fault. One a chauffeur, the other a union official— so she’d believed.

  Had they been something different? Had it all been a sham?

  And the past days, with James. Had it all been nothing but a lie?

  She sprang up, every nerve-end alert, as she heard the sounds of scuffling in the hall. Flesh thudded against flesh; someone grunted in pain. Gabrielle ran across the room and leaned against the closed door, hands spread against the wood, feeling the shuddering blows as if they were being struck against her own body.

  James’s name was a silent cry on her lips. Stay here, he’d said, but she couldn’t. She had to know what was happening in the hall. Suppose he needed her help? Suppose... ?

  Something thudded heavily against the door, then slid to the floor.

  Silence fell over the house.

  A moan broke from her lips.

  She could feel her heart stop, then begin to gallop like a runaway horse and she fell back as the door opened…

  James stepped into the room and she sobbed his name and ran into his open arms.