by Diana Palmer
She’d gone straight to her father in tears, and he’d looked guilty and sick, but he hadn’t denied it. Especially not with her mother standing rigid and unbending at the doorway. Even then Gaby hadn’t believed it. Marc loved her. He wouldn’t have taken a bribe! She’d tried to see Marc, to ask if it was true. He wouldn’t talk to her, not on the phone, not even when she tried to see him at the garage in person. Finally he gave in to her persistence and went out to the front of the garage.
“What do you want?” he’d demanded.
“I want to know if you took money to leave me alone,” she’d asked quietly.
“What did you expect, that I’d refuse?” he’d shot at her, his face emotionless, his hands clenched, his white T-shirt stained with grease, like his hands. “I wasn’t born with a silver spoon, little lady. I have to work for my living. Yes, I took it! You didn’t really think I’d prefer you to easy street?” he added, taunting her.
She hadn’t answered. She’d been too shocked and hurt to utter a sound.
That had angered him, she recalled, as if her silence was in some way more difficult to bear than her anger would have been. “Get out of my life,” he’d yelled at her. “I don’t want you, little rich girl. You were just a novelty in the first place, until you became a gold mine. So get lost, will you?”
“Sure,” she’d replied, shaking. “My mistake, Mr. Stephano, I thought you loved me.”
“Did I ever say so?” he’d scoffed, laughing. “Don’t you know when a man’s got the hots for you?”
“I do now, don’t I?” she’d replied, although something inside her had died when he laughed at her. “I won’t bother you again.”
She had run. It was the only time she could remember running from a problem, but she’d run all the way home, sobbing wildly. And it had taken her two days to get over it. By then her parents were determined to get her out of town, to keep her from being tempted into seeing him again. They sent her to an exclusive boarding school in western Massachusetts where she learned to live again. And now that expensive upbringing was paying off. Now she had the poise to take on Marc Stephano and pay off a very old, very bitter debt.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE STEPHANOS’ SUMMER home was located between Southampton and East Hampton, situated near enough to Mecox Bay that it had a glorious view of the bay as well as the Atlantic Ocean, which it faced. It was a long drive from New York City, but the Stephanos’ helicopter made it there in no time at all. Gaby and Joe went alone with the pilot early Friday morning. Gaby hadn’t had any pressing assignments, so she’d taken the day off. Marc and Lana and the Smiths wouldn’t arrive until that night, Joe told her smugly. They’d have the whole house to themselves until the others showed up. Since the Fourth of July wasn’t until the following week, it would be a very long holiday indeed. Gaby felt she could use it. She’d worked steadily since her mother’s heart attack, trying to put it out of her mind. Despite the fact that she and her mother hadn’t been very close, it was difficult to accept. There were still times when she felt near tears.
She was glad the others wouldn’t already be in residence. She’d have time to relax and steel herself for another confrontation with Marc. That would help.
“You’re gonna love this place,” Joe told her when the chopper touched down on the heliport beside the house. “Marc really fought to get it, but he loved the look of it.”
She was still catching her breath from her first glimpse of the property. It was worth fighting for, she thought. The house itself was unique, very Mediterranean in design, with heavy white stucco and a red roof and a high wall that enclosed it from prying eyes. Secluded patios led off each bedroom, overlooking the bay on one side and the Atlantic on the other. The property had its own private pier and dock and a deliciously large ocean frontage with a private, very white beach. Gaby immediately fell in love with both the house and ocean views. And although she’d spent a good portion of her life vacationing on beaches all over the world, this was different. The house was isolated, and there weren’t any close neighbors. Just behind the house there was a tiered swimming pool with a patio, which had plush lawn furniture and a cabana. The cabana shielded the house from prying eyes, so that the pool area could be quite secluded. Off the master bedroom there was a walled patio that contained a hydro spa.
The beach had high walls at both property boundaries so that the occupants of the house could sunbathe without being observed, except possibly from the air or from passing ships. It was a haven of privacy all around. Inside, the bedrooms were widely separated and had exquisite bathrooms of marble and lots of glass. Gaby’s was on the bay side of the house, and it had a bed with curtains that drew together all the way around. The bedroom was decorated in pastels and was beautiful. It was fit for a princess.
“There’s a private wing for staff as well,” Joe told her, smiling. “We have to bring Carla with us when we come down here, because we don’t cook and Lana can’t. Carla is a jewel. Very Italian. You’ll like her.”
“I already have visions of gaining twenty pounds before I leave here,” she kidded.
“On you it would look good,” he decided.
“It would cost me my career too.” She laughed. “Oh, Joe, it’s a dream of a house!”
“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “Go ahead and unpack, put on a bathing suit and meet me at the ocean. We’ll swim until dinner.”
“Wonderful!”
She rushed to get into her black designer swimsuit. It had straps that crisscrossed in back and it was cut high at the hips. She didn’t like bikinis, and this suited her sleek body without being overstated. She pinned up her hair and ran to find Joe.
He didn’t look all that bad in black swimming trunks, but Gaby couldn’t help but compare him to Marc, whose big, husky body she remembered so well without the civilizing veneer of clothing. Joe was slightly built, had no body hair at all and was rather pale. But she had no interest in his body, anyway. Only his friendship appealed to her, and she hoped he understood that.
He let out a long, slow whistle. “My, my, what a dish,” he said, smiling sheepishly. He’d come out of his shell a lot, but he still seemed a little uneasy when he flirted with her, as if it came hard to him.
“You’re not bad, either,” she said, laughing. “Race you!”
She took off running toward the crashing surf, with Joe right behind her, and dived in headfirst. The water felt wonderful. Gulls cried overhead, and she felt alive and on fire with a sense of adventure. Marc wouldn’t want her here, and it would be hard watching him with Lana. Yet she felt real for the first time in nine years. It was as if her heart had been given massive doses of novocaine and had only just regained its ability to feel. Just to have Marc back in her life, even on the fringe of it, was a pleasure beyond bearing. She laughed and played like an otter in the water, and Joe watched her without really comprehending why she seemed so radiant.
“Having fun?” he called above the crash of the waves.
“Glorious!” she returned. “Isn’t it beautiful here?”
“You’re beautiful, all right.”
“You’re a flirt,” she accused, and shot water at him from behind her uplifted palm.
He started to retaliate just as the helicopter returned. His face fell as he looked up.
“Will the chopper hold all of them at once?” she asked quietly.
He shook his head. “The Smiths were driving up, so they could do some sightseeing. That will be Marc and Lana.”
She felt her heart sink. Well, she’d asked for it, hadn’t she? “You did tell him I was coming?” she asked, hesitating, her eyes big and green and questioning.
“Sure.”
“Did he go through the ceiling?”
“Right through it to the roof,” he replied. “But he gave in.”
“I don’t wa
nt to cause trouble for you,” she said.
“You won’t. We’ll just steer clear of them. He and Lana keep to themselves most of the time, anyway.”
She touched the foaming surf. “People in love usually do,” she said.
“Lana’s the one in love. I doubt that Marc is, though. But I have to say that she must be something, to have lasted a year.”
Gaby frowned. She truly wanted to dislike Lana, but the English woman had such a sweet personality. Why couldn’t she have been a scheming witch? Why did she have to be a nice person?
“You’re sure you’re over him?” Joe asked gently, his dark eyes narrow and searching.
“Of course. It’s been nine years,” she replied, a little too sharply.
“Yeah—” he laughed self-consciously “—I guess that would be stretching things, wouldn’t it, for you to carry a torch that long?”
“It would indeed.” Especially, she added silently, after the circumstances under which they’d parted. Her heart might be vulnerable to Marc, but her mind wasn’t. It had vivid total recall when it came to the past.
“Want to go meet them?” Joe asked.
“No, but you go ahead,” she said quickly.
“Alone?” He gasped theatrically. “And watch Lana drool all over him? Never! Race you down to the wall!”
And he dived in headfirst, leaving her to catch up.
The helicopter took off again, and they swam for a while and then moved back up to the secluded swimming pool where Carla served iced drinks and dainty sandwiches and cakes. The Italian woman was huge and merry and middle-aged, and Gaby liked her on sight. The feeling must have been mutual, because Carla immediately adopted her and began to push food at her.
She refused gently, explaining that every ounce counted in her line of work.
“Better you get married,” Carla chided. “Have babies. Work, what life is that for a young woman, hah?”
And delivering that bit of wisdom she turned and ambled back into the house.
“I guess she told you, huh?” Joe said teasingly. He’d pulled on a shirt and looked as relaxed as Gaby did in her short white beach robe. She’d loosened her hair and let the breeze catch it, blowing it around her face as she sipped a cooling citrus drink. She seldom drank. She’d seen too many young lives ruined by it in the circles she frequented.
Joe seemed to be just the opposite. He put it away with enthusiasm, never seeming to show intoxication. She wondered how long it had taken him to reach that immunity and worried about the next few days. Well, if it got rough, she could always go home.
She glanced toward the house. She wanted to go in and change, but she was having the most vivid, painful images of Lana and Marc together inside, and she couldn’t have borne accidentally seeing or hearing something private between them. It had seemed like a good idea to come here and show Marc that she was over him. But now it was backfiring. She wasn’t even sure anymore, herself, that she was over him now. Perhaps she’d only been fooling herself.
As if he sensed her thoughts, the patio door suddenly opened and Marc came out to join them. He looked as if he’d just had a shower, and he was dressed neatly in white slacks and an open white-and-red patterned shirt. Gray hairs mingled with the black ones on his bronzed, muscular chest. He looked as fit as he had in his twenties, when Gaby had first known him.
She lifted her face bravely, determined not to back down. Had he been making love to Lana, was that why he’d showered? Had he showered with her? The thought tormented her.
“So you came,” he said to Gaby, his face giving nothing away even as his eyes narrowed and stared at her.
“I was invited,” she said.
He laughed coolly. “So I understand. Well, I don’t mind showing the hired help a good time if it doesn’t become a habit.”
“Hey, Marc!” Joe began hotly, half rising out of his chaise lounge.
“Don’t start World War Three on my account, Joe,” Gaby told Joe. She leaned back, stretched and smiled at Marc. “You and I understand each other very well. Don’t we, Marcus?”
“Do we?” he returned.
“I can think of five thousand reasons that we should,” she said sweetly, and watched his eyelids flicker with understanding. It made him even more rigid.
Joe frowned. “What is going on between you two?” he demanded.
“Mutual aid,” Gaby said innocently. “If Marc will mind his manners, I’ll mind mine.”
Marc looked near an explosion. He’d only started to speak when Lana came out the door, looking exquisite in a floral-print sundress. She stretched, ruffling her long blond hair. “Hi, everyone,” she called gaily, smiling at all three of them. “Oh, what a gorgeous place! Don’t you love it, Gaby?”
“It’s beautiful,” Gaby agreed, holding her tongue. “Joe and I have been swimming already.”
“You’ll have to try the seafood at La Mer, down the road,” Lana continued, dropping down onto a lounge. “They have it fresh daily. And there are truck farms galore. Historical points of interest... Joe will have to show you around, it’s just magic here.”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to seeing it,” she replied, forcing a smile of her own. “You look very pretty.”
“The dress is old,” Lana confided. “I bought it in London last year, but it wears so well that I can’t bear to part with it.”
Gaby did laugh then, despite herself. “I know what you mean. I have a pair of jeans that I’ve worn to death, but I’ve only just got them broken in.”
“Isn’t it just awful, trying to make things stretch enough?” Lana sighed, glancing at her full hips and rather wide thighs. “I guess you’ll never have that problem, you’re so delightfully thin—”
“I like you the way you are, baby,” Marc interrupted, and bent his dark head to brush his lips across the blonde’s open mouth.
Gaby felt as if she’d been stripped of her skin, and she quickly turned away. Joe saw that, and his face went hard. He got up abruptly and held out his hand.
“Come on, Gaby, let’s get changed and go out to dinner!” he said enthusiastically. “You two don’t mind?” He glanced from Marc to Lana.
“Not at all,” Marc said just as Lana was saying, “But, couldn’t we come too?”
Marc shook his head. “We have to wait for the Smiths,” he said sharply. “They’re due any minute.”
“Oh.” Lana sighed. “All right, then. It’s lovely here, I do love it, but the restaurants are so delightful. Lots of people.”
“Lana likes a crowd,” Joe said, smiling at the blonde. “She’d die if Marc kept her here more than a week.”
“Hadn’t you better get going?” Marc demanded, even his stance belligerent.
“Sure. Come on.” Joe took Gaby’s arm and drew her into the house with him. “See you, people.” Gaby was grateful for the opportunity to escape. She clung to Joe’s arm as if it were a life preserver during the walk down the long hall to her room.
“Keep your chin up,” he said quietly, seeing far too much in her paleness. “Don’t let him know he bothers you. He’ll take you apart if he thinks you and I have anything going together. He’s ruthless. More ruthless than he ever was when you knew him before. Don’t dare give him any openings.”
She stared up at him, feeling vulnerable. “It’s only a residue,” she whispered. “Just...leftover emotion, ashes. I’ll get used to being around him and he won’t bother me. Honest.”
He searched her eyes for a long moment. “Okay,” he said then, and smiled crookedly. “Get your glad rags on and we’ll go eat fish until we grow fins.”
“I don’t want to turn into a shark,” she muttered.
“Dolphins have fins,” he reminded her.
“Fair enough. I’ll be ready in thirty minutes.”
“I’ll
time you.”
Gaby stuck her tongue out at him and closed her bedroom door. She tried not to think about Marc as she took her shower, dried her hair and put on delicate mauve silk and lace lingerie that matched her new dress. But all she could think of was Marc with Lana. She felt a deep, tearing sadness, a resentment that ate at her. All those long years she’d wondered about him, dreamed dreams that someday they might meet again. That he might tell her it was all a terrible mistake and he really loved her. And now she had to face reality. Nothing had changed. He was still the man who’d thrown her out of his life for money. She had to remember that during moments when the exhilaration of being near him got through her defenses. She had to remember what Joe had said about his ruthlessness. Remembering was her only salvation.
She brushed her long hair and glanced into the mirror, liking the way she looked in the sweet little mauve teddy with its delicate lace trim. It had a plunging neckline and high-cut legs, and it made her look like a doll.
She was smiling at her reflection when her door suddenly opened and Marc came into the room. He slammed the door behind him.
He stood just inside the room, glaring at her from under scowling brows, his face belligerent, his stance threatening. But as he looked at her in the thin garment that concealed very little, he seemed to forget for a moment why he’d invaded her privacy.
His chest rose and fell slowly. “Nine years,” he said softly, “and you look as young and innocent as you did at seventeen.”
She didn’t flinch or try to cover herself. Modeling had given her poise and removed her self-consciousness around men. His gaze was steady and intimate, but she managed to ignore it as she went unhurriedly to the bed, picked up her dress and eased it down over her head. It swirled around her legs, and she fastened the belt without looking at him.
“You must be used to men in your bedroom,” he remarked, lighting a cigarette. “It doesn’t bother you, being stared at, does it?”