He did, omitting nothing.
She was silent for a moment, warming up, he thought, looking at her mobile face. “Bathsheba now, if you please.”
“I would have told you a couple of days ago to forget it, but now it seems that everyone who counts in this business—all over the world—already knows all about it, so who cares if one more nosy reporter knows?” He began talking, telling her about his trip to Boston. “It was so bloody cold there—”
“I was there and didn’t even meet you.”
“I’ve thought the same thing. I could have taken you to a hockey game. In any case, Dominick called me and told me everything had been finalized and to come home.” He paused a moment, watching one of the guards light a cigarette. All he could see was the fire-red tip. And he thought of Jack Bertrand and his Gauloise cigarettes.
“—and there were green letters on the cabin of the helicopter. Bathsheba. That was all. The two Dutchmen killed themselves before they could be questioned. I was laid up in bed for nearly a week. And that’s it. We don’t know who or what this Bathsheba is. But all Dominick’s competitors know that he was nearly taken out, and it will destroy him.”
“That woman—Tulp—she really shot you?”
“Yep, right in the back. I didn’t want to kill her. Merkel did, with a kick in the nose that—Well, she died then. It was weird about the Dutchmen, though.”
“Poisoning themselves?”
“There was no reason for them to do it. No reason at all. It made no sense then, and it makes even less now.”
Rafaella had a sudden very sharp memory. “What day was that? The day of the assassination attempt?”
“March 11.”
She was silent for a moment, counting back. Suddenly she whirled to face him, grabbed his arm, and shook it. “You won’t believe this—hell, I’m not sure I do! Marcus, that night the night of the eleventh—I awoke from a violent dream. I heard several gunshots, crystal clear they were, and I felt tremendous pain—in my left side—my shoulder, my arm, all my left side, as if I’d been shot. I got up, nearly certain that the shots had to have come from outside my apartment. There wasn’t a sign of anything, of course, but the pain didn’t go away for a while.”
He felt the gooseflesh rise on his arms, then laughed. “You’re talking fate here, Ms. Holland? You felt the pain when I was shot, as if we were somehow joined, even then?”
Even then.
“Not that I don’t like the idea,” he continued, amusement in his eyes as he looked at her. “Joined spiritually or psychically, then physically. I guess the deep end of the swimming pool was also inevitable, also fate?”
“Go ahead and poke fun, but it happened, Marcus, it surely did.”
It occurred to her then that her father had also been shot in the left arm. That made her shiver violently. She much preferred the connection to Marcus. She saw that Marcus was focusing in and quickly said, “But there was just the one assassination attempt.”
“Yes, just the one. Then the three attempts on my life or on yours—”
“Or just warnings.”
“Yes, or warnings. If you turn your face this way, I’ll kiss you.”
She turned to face him. He just touched his mouth to hers. He was warm and she wanted more. She leaned toward him, but he pulled away. “No, sweetheart. Not now, more’s the pity. Have I told you everything your reporter’s little heart yearns to know?”
“Yes. I must think about this, or at least try.” She sighed. “You’ve shorted out my circuits. But you know, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Who would want to kill Dominick? Who would want to warn you away, or me, for that matter? Who would advertise Bathsheba, and what does it mean?”
Marcus shrugged. “We now have a lead. Olivier.”
“As in Roddy Olivier?” At his nod she said, “I read about him. From all accounts, he’s not a very nice guy.”
“No, he’s not. Olivier is primarily a gray- and black-market arms dealer. He and Dominick have hated each other since three years ago when Dominick cut Olivier’s legs out from under him in a deal to Iran.”
It was then, quite suddenly, that it struck Rafaella with renewed force: Marcus was just as much a criminal as Dominick Giovanni. She swallowed. He was a criminal, and she hated it. What about fate? Surely fate wouldn’t fashion a criminal for her.
“In any case, we now have a lead, as I said.”
“Dominick will send someone after this Olivier?”
Marcus nodded.
“Why did you make love to me in the pool that evening and not tonight? Aren’t the same guards hanging about?”
He grinned down at her. “No, ma’am. They were having supper. I’d checked. There was no one anywhere close.”
She poked him in the ribs, and for the sake of the guards, Marcus kept his grunt to himself.
“If you’ve had enough, why don’t we go to our respective beds? Just know that I’ll be thinking about you, Ms. Holland, and my thoughts will be carnal as hell.”
“I like the sound of that. I guess my thoughts will be carnal too.”
“It makes a man happy to hear that from his woman.”
His woman. It should have sounded macho to her, but it didn’t. She rose and straightened her skirt. “Will you be here in the morning?”
“No. I’ve got to go back to the resort. I am the manager, you know. I’ll be back for dinner. I imagine that Dominick will want a war council.” He rose then, ducked his head, and kissed her throat. “Good night.”
“Marcus? Do you like to fish?”
“No, but I don’t mind if you do it and then scale the critters, all the dirty work. Salmon I like.”
“Good.” Rafaella walked slowly back into the house. It was dark and very quiet.
She fell asleep quickly and awoke just as quickly. It was a dull gray morning light, and she opened her eyes to see DeLorio standing beside her bed. He was naked except for a pair of Jockey shorts, and he was staring down at her, holding her panties.
Sixteen
He was built like a Dallas Cowboy linebacker, all compact muscle, no flab, even around his stomach, and a thick neck. He was covered with black hair, thick on his legs and his chest, and there he was holding her panties in his big man’s hands, looking down at her.
“You’re awake now. Good.”
She wasn’t about to let him realize he’d frightened her. And after the first shock, she wasn’t afraid. The house, after all, was full of people and the guards were everywhere. She managed to hold perfectly still until she had herself firmly together. He was there to rape her, no doubt about that. Or did he believe she wanted him? Or maybe he was thinking seduction. Only one way to find out. She asked easily, “What do you want, DeLorio?”
“To make love to you, of course. I found your panties. They’re dry now. Would you like me to put them on you? Then I could pull them off again, just like Marcus did. Only I’m better than he is, Rafaella, much better. I’m not a stupid Irishman. You won’t believe the things I’ll do to you, the things I’ll make you feel.”
She stared at her half-brother, wishing she could just blurt out: Well, you know, DeLorio, I’ve never been much into married men or incest, for that matter. Whatcha say you just get out of here and quit trying to screw your own half-sister? Instead, she said quite pleasantly, “I want you to leave now, DeLorio. This is my room. I have no sexual interest in you. Further, you’re married. Go, now.”
She was wearing only a sleepshirt from Columbia University that said JOURNALISTS LOVE BIG ERASERS across the chest. She watched him rub her panties against his cheek.
“Go away,” she said again. Slowly she inched up in her bed, bringing the sheet with her.
He moved in a flash, coming down beside her, his strong arms pinning hers to her sides. He tried to kiss her, but she jerked her head and his mouth landed on her ear.
“Hold still!” He tried to grab her jaw to hold her head still, but he couldn’t get a firm grip. He jerked her arms over her head
and grasped both her wrists in one hand. She let him think he could hold her like this. She didn’t want a scene. She didn’t want Dominick to find out what his son was trying to do. She didn’t know how he’d react. In her short acquaintance with her father, he’d shown himself to be very unpredictable. No, she had to protect DeLorio, if she could, or else Dominick just might make her leave the compound. She couldn’t leave, not yet, not until—
She drew a deep breath and waited. DeLorio was trying to kiss her again, his free hand clamping around her jaw to hold her still.
She said very calmly, her mouth an inch from his nose, “Let me go or I’ll scream. I’ll bring every guard in here down on your head, and your father as well. They’ll all see you in your Jockey shorts, looking quite ridiculous, trying to rape me. I can’t begin to think what your father will say to that.”
“You want my father, don’t you?” His free hand closed over her breast and she jerked with the shock. “Yeah, that’s why you’re here, to get my father away from Coco. She won’t let you, nor will I. You won’t get my father into your bed.” He paused, then added in a voice of bewilderment, “He’s an old man.”
“I don’t want to be your father’s mistress. Believe it, DeLorio. I’m not lying: I’m here to write his biography, nothing more, nothing less. Now, get your hands off me or I swear you won’t like the consequences.”
He shook his head, and his fingers were furiously kneading her breast, stopping just this side of pain. “Marcus was just a means to an end, wasn’t he, Rafaella? You slept with him so you could get here, get to my father, that stubborn fool. He’s old, worn out, wrinkled. Are you just like all the rest of them, Rafaella, are you—?”
“Where’s your wife? Where’s Paula?”
That drew him up, but just for a moment. “She’s probably screwing a bellhop, for all I know. Who cares?”
“She’s just unhappy, DeLorio. She’s also your wife. You owe her better than this. Now, get out of here or you’re going to be one very sorry boy. I’ve really had it with you.”
He suddenly grabbed her left hand and brought it down to clutch his swollen penis. She flinched and he gave her a smile that froze her.
“I’m big,” he said, forcing her fingers up and down the length of his penis. He was big, very big. “I’m bigger than any man you’ve ever had. And you’ll love it when I shove into you. All the way up into you.”
He was taking a big risk, she knew, having her anywhere near his cock. Adolescent fool. She’d had enough. If he was so far gone to any kind of reason—
He shoved her hand inside his shorts. “There, Rafaella. Feel that.”
“That’s enough, DeLorio.” He’d left himself vulnerable, and even more than that, he was on the verge of orgasm. His body was shuddering, his breathing harsh and deep. She quickly twisted her hand free and sent it into his belly, hard. Her other hand went against his throat even as she brought her legs up and kicked his chest. He gagged and fell backward onto the floor with a crash. He lay there, his legs drawn up in the fetal position, his breathing harsh and uncontrolled.
Rafaella rolled out of bed and hurried to her bedroom door. She eased open the door and peered into the dawn-lit corridor. There was Coco peering around hers and Dominick’s bedroom door.
Coco said in a stage whisper, “What’s wrong, Rafaella? I thought I heard something.”
“Nothing, nothing. I just had a nightmare. I was just checking to make sure I didn’t bother anyone, but I did anyway. I’m sorry, Coco. Go back to bed.”
Rafaella quickly jerked back into her bedroom and firmly closed the door. DeLorio was still lying on his side, holding his stomach. He wasn’t moaning now, at least, just lying there, his eyes closed, his face gray. She stood over her half-brother, wondering what she should do now.
What Rafaella hadn’t expected was someone coming to her bedroom by way of the balcony.
“What have we here?”
She looked up to see Marcus standing in the open French doorway, wearing only a pair of jeans and raised eyebrows. His hair was mussed, there was stubble on his jaw, he was barefoot, and he looked so good to Rafaella she could easily have tackled him and pinned him down on her bed and kissed his face off.
She was instantly irritated to be caught in such a ridiculous situation, wearing a nightshirt that said JOURNALISTS LOVE BIG ERASERS. “Shush, for heaven’s sake. Come here—you might as well help me.”
“What did you do to our roving Don Juan?”
“DeLorio and I just had a slight misunderstanding. He mistook my room for his, nothing more.”
DeLorio rolled onto his back and stared up at Marcus. His mouth was still tight with pain.
“Is that right?” Marcus said, and his voice was full of amusement, which Rafaella saw enraged DeLorio. “You just happened to be having a dawn stroll and you just happened to walk into Rafaella’s bedroom?” That swarmy smile of his would have enraged her, Rafaella thought, had she been the one lying on the floor in her underwear, clutching her belly.
Rafaella offered DeLorio her hand. “Come along, now. Go back to your room.” To her consternation, Rafaella saw that DeLorio still held her panties crumpled in his right hand. Then his fingers released them. Please, she prayed, don’t let Marcus see that.
“What’s he doing here?”
“He thought I was in trouble—that, or having a bad nightmare. He came to see if I was all right. Go along now, DeLorio.”
DeLorio tried for a bit of bravado, but it was difficult with that employee of his father’s, Marcus, standing there, and knowing, knowing that he’d been thrown to the floor by a woman half his size, that she’d hurt him. He looked at Rafaella Holland. Rage surged through him, uncontrollable and dark. He wanted to hurt her, but he also wanted to pleasure her. He wanted to treat her just like he treated Paula. Paula liked it, craved it. So would Rafaella, once he could—His mouth worked, but he didn’t say anything, and he quickly left her room, closing the door very quickly and very quietly behind him. Next time he’d know to be careful; next time he’d take care of her before he let her wake up. He could picture her with her arms pulled over her head, her wrists tied to the bedpost—Yeah, Paula really liked that game.
Rafaella stood there in the middle of her bedroom in her sleepshirt and sighed.
“I guess I should thank you for coming, but I wish you hadn’t. And you really didn’t do anything except push DeLorio more than necessary. He’s got a hair trigger on his temper. Since you came, that means other people might have heard the noise and other people just might have seen DeLorio going out of my room. Oh, damn.”
“No one saw anything unless he or she was standing outside in the hall.”
“I saw Coco there just a few minutes ago.”
“My room is just around on the western side. Your balcony doors were open, as were mine. That’s the only reason I heard anything. Stop worrying.” He suddenly grinned, shaking his head. “Poor DeLorio, he hadn’t a clue what he was getting himself into. Hey, what’s this?” He bent down and picked up the panties. His grin nearly split his face. “Well, they were found. Dear DeLorio, I presume? They’re home—or very nearly—nice and dried out.”
She snatched them from his hand. “Go away, Marcus.”
His humor vanished in the next moment. “You all right, kiddo?”
“Yes. If I couldn’t have handled him, you’d better believe I would have yelled my head off for help.”
“Why did you protect him?”
“I couldn’t begin to guess what Dominick would do. He might kick DeLorio off the compound or he might kick me off. He does love his son, no matter how he treats him sometimes.”
“He’s afraid of his son. Dominick feels he has to control him completely or DeLorio just might turn on him.”
“I hope you’re wrong. Perhaps that’s part of it, but he still loves him.”
Marcus just shrugged. “This book is so very important to you?”
It was dawn, with only ghostly gray highlightin
g the darkness. “It’s more important than anything.”
“More important than staying alive?”
“No, of course not, but I can’t leave, not yet. I have to finish what I’ve started.”
“Why is the book so important?”
He saw too much; even in the early morning, when there was no real light, he saw far too much.
“None of your business.”
“Ah, that’s like pleading the Fifth, you know. It’s a tacit admission that there’s far more to things than you let on. Are you here under false colors, Ms. Holland?”
“No more so than you are, Mr. Devlin—or whatever your name is.”
“Shush, keep your voice down. I don’t relish being caught in your bedroom either. I manage the resort, Ms. Holland—and very well, as you know. Plus I work in other areas for Mr. Giovanni.”
“Do you, now? Illegal things? I wonder about you, Marcus Whatever-your-name-is. I’ve already told you that you just aren’t the kind of man to work for another, even if the money is spectacular. You’re a loner, a man who’s his own boss. No, you don’t make a great deal of sense. And no, I don’t believe you.”
“Rafaella—” he began, then caught himself and yawned. She was really quite good. She’d neatly turned his attack and put him soundly on the defensive. And he’d wanted to tell her the truth, tell her he wasn’t a criminal, tell her—But he couldn’t. He had to wait, to be patient. It was an impossible situation for both of them. And she wasn’t leveling with him either. “Since your room seems to be clear of young Don Juans, I’ll take myself back to my lonely mattress. Or would you like me to check under your bed?”
“If you do, you’ll have to bend over. I wouldn’t even consider that if I were you.”
He cocked a black eyebrow at her. “Are you saying you’d kick my rear?”
“Be quiet and get out of here. The way you came in, if you please.”
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