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

by Sandra Marton

  The radiant joy that had been within her heart frac­tured into a million crystalline shards. James despised her, as she’d known he must. Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. The salty taste of them filled her mouth.

  She thought she heard James groan. His mouth seemed to gentle on hers, and her heart leaped. She moved in his arms and he caught her even closer to him. Yes, she thought fiercely, yes...

  He thrust her from him with an abruptness that made her gasp. Her eyes flew open; she stared at him as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and then he gave her a smile so filled with hate that it drove the breath from her lungs.

  ‘You can have her, Vitale,’ he said. ‘What the hell, I already did.’

  She fell back under the cruel lash of his words. Vitale’s arm curved around her again. Tears rolled down her cheeks as he led her through the opera house and out to his waiting limousine. He handed her in and she curled into the far corner, her hands pressed to her mouth to stifle her sobs.

  Vitale’s rage was terrifying.

  ‘That son of a bitch,’ he muttered while the car sped through the dark streets, ‘that bastard! I’ll kill him. I’ll

  cut off his’

  The cold promise in his voice roused her. ‘No,’ she said sharply, looking at his shadowy face. ‘We made a deal, remember?’

  He stared at her. ‘He insulted me. No one does that and lives, Gabriella. No one.’

  From somewhere came the strength to hold her head high and meet his threat with her own. ‘If you touch him, I’ll leave you.’

  He laughed. ‘How? You’ll never get out the door.’

  She drew in her breath. ‘There are many ways to leave someone,’ she said softly.

  Silence fell between them, and then Vitale nodded stiffly. ‘What the hell,’ he said, ‘let him live. You’ll never see the bastard again anyway.’

  Gabrielle laid her head back and closed her eyes. ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘I never will.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘Your gown is so beautiful, Signorina Chiari.’ The young housemaid’s voice bubbled with excitement. ‘I’ve never seen a train so long, have you?’

  Gabrielle turned in the window-seat and stared at the girl. ‘No,’ she said after a while, ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘And the garden—have you been downstairs to see it? All the little lights they put in the trees, and the umbrella tables, and...’ She paused, then giggled softly. ‘Aren’t I silly? Of course you’ve seen it. Your window looks right out over everything.’

  Gabrielle stared out of the glass again, and then she nodded. ‘Everything,’ she murmured. ‘All the prep­arations for the circus.’'

  ‘For the...’ The girl’s eyebrows rose. ‘Well, yes, it’s going to be a big wedding, isn’t it?’ She ran her tongue across her lips and took a step towards Gabrielle. ‘Cook says there’ll be two hundred people here tomorrow. Is that so?’

  Gabrielle leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. ‘Ask Mr. Vitale.’ Her voice was dull. ‘I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘Signorina?’ The girl hesitated. ‘Are you ill?’

  The young voice, so filled with excitement a moment ago, was taut with concern. It took effort to open her eyes and force a smile to her lips, but somehow Gabrielle managed.

  ‘No,’ she said gently, ‘I’m fine. It's been a long day, that’s all. I need some rest.’

  The maid blushed. ‘Of course. Forgive me, Signorina. You’ll need all your energy for tomorrow.’ She giggled again. ‘It’s not every day a woman gets married.’

  The door closed quietly, and Gabrielle turned toward the window again.

  How festive the garden looked.

  Lights, tables, flowers everywhere—a smile, a real one this time, moved, ghost-like, over her mouth.

  Alma would never believe the flowers. Vitale had or­dered things unheard of in this part of the world. Flowers had been shipped in from Hawaii, from the South Seas, some with names that were as exotic as their color and foliage.

  Alma. What was she doing on this warm June night? There’d been only some brief contact between them, once when Gabrielle wrote and told her she’d deeded the flower shop to her, again when Alma had written back, thanking Gabrielle for the unexpected gift. Her note had been polite, but beneath the very proper wording Gabrielle had sensed her friend’s hurt.

  ‘You could have told me the truth about yourself, Gaby,’ Alma had written at the end. ‘I thought I was your friend.’

  Gabrielle sighed and got to her feet. She had no friends, not anymore. She had only Tony Vitale— and tomorrow, she would become his wife.

  A rush of terrible images tumbled into her mind. She saw herself walking down the aisle towards a smiling Vitale, saw his mouth move over hers after the cer­emony, saw herself moving through the afternoon, Vitale’s arm around her waist, saw the door to his bedroom close after her and then—and then...

  A sob burst from her throat. How would she live through tomorrow and all the tomorrows that came after?

  Gabrielle stripped off her robe and got into bed. Sleep had become her benefactor.

  Sleep brought dreams.

  Dreams of those few precious days she'd shared with James in New Orleans.

  Dreams were all she would ever have of him.

  But on this night, the dreams she longed for evaded her. She thrashed in her bed, slipping from one troubled nightmare to another.

  And then, suddenly, she was wide awake, and a scream was rising in her throat.

  There was a hand over her mouth, a man’s hand. Her eyes widened as she looked up into the face leaning over her.

  It was James.

  Her pulse began to race.

  He smiled down at her in the moonlit dark. It was a smile that turned her blood to ice.

  ‘That’s right, baby,’ he whispered. ‘It’s me.’ His smile fled. ‘And if you value your life, you won’t make a sound.’

  Gabrielle stared at him, stunned. How had he got into her room? For that matter, how had he got into the house? It should have been impossible to gain access to the Vitale compound. Electronic devices controlled the gate and there were dogs, too, huge Rottweilers that were kept kenneled during the day and given the run of the place after dark.

  ‘Get up—and be quick about it,' he snapped as he slid back the wardrobe doors that lined one wall and pulled something from the rack. "Put this on."

  The sable coat Vitale had bought her slithered towards her across the silk sheets. She sat up and stuffed her arms into the sleeves of the coat. She hated the fur, not just because it was too warm for a June night but because she hated the thought of all the small creatures who had died for it.

  But she did as James ordered, then stuffed her feet into the high-heeled silk slippers that had been Vitale’s idea, while her mind raced. What was happening?

  ‘James. What…?'

  He grasped her elbow and hurried her across the room. ‘Just keep moving,’ he whispered, pausing at the door. Her heart pounded as he cracked it open and peered into the hall. ‘All right. Not a sound now, Gabrielle, I’m warning you.’

  The hall was dimly lit; shadows hung in the corners and over the wide oak staircase. Someone would hear them. Vitale’s men were everywhere in the house, and Big Tony himself slept only two doors away. They’d kill James if they found him here.

  She pulled free of his hand. ‘Do you know what Vitale will do when he catches us?’ she whispered.

  James’s teeth glinted in the dark. ‘If he catches us. Don’t worry, baby. You can always tell him I forced you to come with me. Now move.’

  ‘He’ll kill you,’ she hissed. ‘James, for the love of God...’

  'Move,' he snarled.

  ‘James, I beg you...’

  His arm slid around her waist and he pulled her against him. The heat of his body was like a furnace. She felt her skin blaze beneath the weight of the fur.

  ‘Listen to me.’ His lips were against her
ear; the warmth of his breath seemed to enter her blood. ‘If you don’t do exactly as I tell you, I’ll wake this whole damned house. I’ll tell Tony you arranged this meeting, that you slipped me a key to the gate.’

  ‘Are you insane? He knows that’s impossible. I have no...’

  ‘Yes, I know. You have no wish to leave him or this place.’ His arm tightened around her. ‘But you’ll never convince Big Tony of that. Not after what he saw that night at the opera. I can still make you want me,’ he said hoarsely, ‘and Vitale knows it.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘Shall I prove it to you?’

  His mouth dropped to hers, his kiss as hard as his words. Desire flashed through her. She sighed against his lips and suddenly, his kiss gentled.

  ‘James,’ she whispered brokenly, ‘oh God, James…'

  His breath hissed between his teeth. ‘Damn you,’ he said. ‘I ought to leave you here.’

  Tears filled her eyes as she looked into the face of the only man she would ever love.

  The man whose life she held in her hands.

  ‘Yes,’ she said quickly, ‘leave me here, James. Please. No one will ever know.’

  His mouth narrowed. ‘What a damned fool I was,' he said.

  'You weren't. You were never a fool. I—I—"

  Gabrielle clamped her lips together. She couldn't tell him the truth…

  His arm curved around her waist and he pulled the door open. ‘OK. Here we go. Remember, not a sound.'

  He hurried her through the silent house.

  She waited for someone to stop them. Waited for alarms to go off when they went out the front door. But no one stopped them, no bells rang, no dogs raced toward them through the night.

  Her heart began to race with excitement. The gate was just ahead. Even at a distance, she could see that it was open. She was free. Free! She was...

  Who was she kidding? She could never be free. She had made a deal with Vitale and she would keep it. What was freedom compared to the knowledge that James was alive? It was the only thing that had kept her going these past months. If she stepped outside those gates, if she violated her part of the agreement...

  She came to a stop. ‘I can’t. 1 can’t leave Vitale.’

  James spun towards her and spat a curse that was like a knife-thrust to the heart.

  ‘Damn you,’ he said, and he swung her up into his arms.

  ‘Put me down. Please, James. Don’t take me away. Don’t!’

  Struggling against him was useless. She felt helpless, just as she had the last night they’d been together.

  She had been afraid then, but not as much as she was now. Then, she had feared for her own life.

  Now, she feared for his.

  There was a car waiting. James set her down on the pavement while he opened the door, and then he pushed her into the passenger seat. Seconds later, the engine coughed and the car sped off into the night.

  Ages seemed to pass until they pulled into a garage be­neath an apartment building overlooking the East River.

  James took her arm as he led her to a bank of lifts. His touch was impersonal; she knew he was only holding her to keep her from running, and she wanted to tell him not to bother, it was too late to flee, there was no way she could slip back into Vitale’s house now. Too much time had elapsed: they must know she was gone.

  Why had James stolen her away? What had hap­pened? Vitale’s rage would be all-consuming. She knew he’d want to kill James, but there had to be a way to calm him long enough to make him realize that he would gain nothing by doing it.

  He had her. He would always have her—so long as James was alive.

  ‘Inside.’

  She looked up, blinking as she realized they’d left the lift and were standing before an open door. Lights came on as she stepped inside, and the door slammed shut behind her.

  They were in James’s apartment. Gabrielle would have known that if she’d come here without him. His presence was everywhere, in the well-worn leather chairs that flanked a charcoal-grey couch, in the shelves filled with books, even in the gleaming hardwood floor that stretched to the wall of glass beyond.

  The room was like him: big, masculine, without pretense.

  James moved past her, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the couch.

  ‘Coffee or brandy?’ he asked.

  ‘Why did you bring me here?’

  He looked at her, then turned to a cabinet built into one long wall. ‘Brandy,’ he said, taking down a pair of balloon goblets and a decanter filled with an amber liquid. He splashed some into the goblets, then handed one to her. ‘Drink up.’

  She raised the glass to her lips. The smell of the liquor was harsh, and she shook her head. ‘I don't—'

  ‘Drink it.’ His voice was rough. ‘You need some color in your cheeks.’

  Her eyes met his, and the flat coldness of them made her shudder. She took an obedient swallow.

  The brandy was strong. It exploded in her throat and she began to cough. James crossed the room to her.

  ‘Easy,’ he said, taking the glass from her hand and setting it down, ‘just take a deep breath.’ He tilled her face to his and looked at her. ‘Are you OK?’

  Gabrielle nodded. ‘Yes.’

  They stared at each other. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and she thought suddenly of the dark bruise that had once lain there. Her gaze swept up his face to his cheek. The scar from the car accident was barely visible, a thin white line angling across the tanned skin.

  James. James, my love.

  Her breath caught and she looked away. ‘Yes,’ she said again, and she managed a smile, ‘I’m fine.’

  James’s hand spread along her cheek. ‘You’re not,’ he said sharply. ‘You’ve lost weight.’ His fingers cupped her chin, lifting her face. ‘There are shadows beneath your eyes.’

  ‘I—I haven’t been sleeping well,’ she said finally. ‘I...’

  I can’t think, James. Not with your hand against my cheek, not when I can remember the taste of your skin. What would you do if I moved my head and pressed my lips to your palm?

  A tremor went through her and she pulled free of his hand. ‘I asked a question,’ she said, moving away from him to the window. ‘Why did you bring me here? And how did you get into the compound? The dogs—the alarm system...’

  James shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can’t take any credit for putting either the dogs or the alarm out of com­mission. Federal agents did that. They took the Rottweilers out with drugs, the alarm with some kind of sophisticated technology.’

  ‘But Vitale and his men were still in the house. They could have heard you. You could have been...’

  ‘But I wasn’t.’ A quick smile twisted across his mouth. ‘I counted on Vitale and his people sleeping like babies. Why wouldn’t they, with a pack of guard dogs and a million-dollar electronic system to protect them?’

  ‘I don’t understand all this.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘By now, your lover is in jail. They busted him five minutes after I got you out of there.' he said, watching her closely. ‘They’ve been after him for months and I—they finally caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.’

  Arrested. Vitale had been arrested. A feeling of hope energized her, but it was gone as swiftly as it had come. No jail would hold Big Tony for long. He had the best legal advice money could buy, and no bail would be too high for him to meet.

  And when he got out, he’d go looking for James— unless she could stop him.

  Fear turned her blood cold. ‘Where is he?’ she said, brushing past him as she hurried towards the door. ‘I have to go to him.’

  James reached out as she moved past him and caught her by the sleeve. ‘Damn you!’ His voice was ragged. ‘Can’t you stay away from him for one night?

  Gabrielle looked at him. ‘You don’t understand,’ she whispered. ‘Please, James.’

  His hands closed on her shoulders, his fingers im­printing themselves on her flesh even through the thickness of the sable c
oat.

  ‘I was right about you all along,’ he said, his eyes locked with hers. ‘It wasn’t that you didn’t know the truth about Vitale—it was that you didn’t care.’

  ‘No. That’s not’

  ‘He had money, that was all that mattered to you,’ James said, shaking her like a sack of laundry. ‘God, what panic you must have felt, Gabrielle. All those years of fancy living, anything your little heart wanted—gone in a blink of an eye. You went to sleep a princess and woke up a commoner.’

  She shook her head. ‘It isn’t true.’

  His face twisted. ‘Of course it’s true,’ he snarled. ‘You and your old man had a good thing going. You had Big Tony wound around your little finger, and then Townsend and I came along and destroyed it.’ He bent towards her. ‘Choose, we said. Give up Vitale and protect your father, or hang on to Vitale and hand your old man over to us.’

  ‘No. You’re wrong. James, I beg you...’

  He laughed. ‘Hell, we did you a favor. I mean, we gave you the chance to use what passes for your heart for once in your life. You chose your father, even though protecting him meant kicking in the soft life with Vitale.’

  Tears rose in Gabrielle’s eyes. What had she expected him to think? Vitale had commanded a performance from her and she—she had done an award-winning job. The papers saw her as Vitale’s woman; why wouldn’t James? She had fled his arms and his love; she had flaunted everything they’d meant to each other.

  James’s lips curled as he watched the play of emotion on her face. ‘I almost felt sorry for Vitale when he told me what happened that night he tried to have you killed.’ He laughed. ‘Not that he admitted that, of course.’

  Gabrielle’s eyes widened. ‘You mean—you talked with him?’

  ‘Didn’t he tell you?’ James smiled wolfishly. ‘Hell, I thought he would. I figured the two of you would get a laugh out of it.’ His grin vanished. ‘Yeah, I talked to him. I pushed my way into his office one morning; I told him I wanted to see you, face to face, to have you tell me yourself that you’d gone back to him willingly.’

  James had done that? He’d faced down Tony Vitale for her?