by Diana Palmer
“I’m a model. I get paid to let men stare at me,” she reminded him. She sat down at the vanity and began to brush her hair again. “I assume you have a reason for storming in here?”
“I want to know what your game is,” he said simply. “You aren’t dying of passion for my brother. So why are you hanging out with him?”
“Simply because I like him,” she said honestly, and turned on the bench to look at him. “He’s a nice, quiet, easygoing man with a gentle personality.”
He blinked. “Are we talking about my hotheaded younger brother, who bends the law to suit him?” he asked bluntly.
Her eyebrows arched. “Joe?”
He leaned back against the doorjamb with a heavy sigh. “There are a lot of things you don’t know. About him. About me.”
“He’s a nice man. He doesn’t make demands on me. He’s good company, and I enjoy being with him.” She put down the brush. “Shall we try a little honesty? I still sting, remembering what happened when we broke up. But I don’t use people, Marc, least of all people I like. I’d have to be pretty low to do that to Joe, in some vague, belated vendetta against you.” She searched his steady, curious eyes. “Despite what I said at your party, I’m not eaten up with a lust for revenge. I have a successful career, I make plenty of money and I have a father who loves me. I don’t need or want anything more.”
He was frowning now. One big hand went into his pocket, jiggling keys, and the other brought his cigarette to his wide, chiseled mouth. “A father who loves you...what about your mother?”
“My mother died of a heart attack a few months ago,” she replied.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” he said.
“We all die,” she said emotionlessly. She stood up, straightening her skirt. “I won’t get in your way. I just want to enjoy the solitude here and keep Joe company. Okay?”
“Joe drinks. A lot,” he said pointedly, staring at her. “Especially since he started going around with you. He never used to do it so much.”
She felt the guilt, as he meant her to. “Yes, I’ve noticed it,” she replied quietly, avoiding his eyes. “I try to slow him down, but it doesn’t always work. At least I make sure I drive when we go places.”
“Smart girl.” He was a little more relaxed now, a little less wary. His dark eyes wandered slowly over her face. “Oh, you’re lovely, Gaby,” he said with obvious reluctance. “Like a walking painting. I thought time and life would age you, but you look just as you did then. All big green eyes and black eyelashes that looked too long to be real, and a body so soft and sweet that it made mine ache just to touch you.”
She yearned to respond to his words but knew she couldn’t trust him. “I was just a novelty, remember?” she said, using the very words he’d used that last time they met.
His chest expanded with a slow, heavy breath. “Oh, I remember,” he replied. “I remember too much sometimes.”
“Don’t tell me you have a conscience?” She laughed, turning away. “I wouldn’t believe that. Surely it’s a liability in business.”
“Not in honest business,” he returned. “There are guys who make a living stealing cars and ripping off the parts for resale, but I never indulged. My company is legit, right from the floor up.”
“I wasn’t insinuating that it wasn’t,” she said, her voice and face revealing shock.
His broad shoulders shifted against the doorjamb. “I’m touchy about that,” he said. “We were actually accused of pirating parts a few months back, until I got my lawyer on it and made the accuser look at my books. God knows why he accused Motocraft. I make enough money on the up-and-up without risking prison to supplement my income. I guess he just couldn’t get satisfaction from the police when his car was stolen and he wanted someone to blame.”
“I suppose a parts company was a logical choice of victim,” she said.
“I suppose.” He took another draw from the cigarette. “Our main warehouse is near his home. It was convenient.”
“He should have looked for a car-theft ring,” she suggested.
“There are plenty of those,” he agreed. “Parts are big business these days. Uncle Michael says it’s gotten so specialized that hoods these days only steal the parts they’ve got orders for. That’s a far cry from stealing the whole car and stripping it.”
“New demands, new methods,” she said, but her mind wasn’t on parts; it was on Marc’s face, on the subtle changes age had made, on the masculine beauty of it. A sculptor would have loved him as a subject, with his Roman nose and chiseled features.
His lips parted as she studied him blatantly, and he seemed to return that hungry appraisal for an instant.
He averted his eyes suddenly, finishing his cigarette. “Okay, as long as you’re just here to enjoy the holidays and I don’t have to worry about you hurting Joe in any way, you’re welcome. I won’t spoil it for you.”
“Thanks. I really needed some time away from work,” she confided.
“Is it so hard, standing in front of a camera?” he asked.
“The lights get hot. The positions you have to hold are uncomfortable. The hours are long, and you have no free time during the week. You’re on call for trunk shows and commercials, and if you get a picky director, you can do the same take fifty times before you please him. Backstage at shows you’ve got hotheaded designers who pin you up like the tail on the donkey, and you’ve got men forever and always trying to put the make on you. If you make it to the top, as I have, you’ve got the competition hot at your heels, and you have to work harder than ever to be the best. Hard work? Yes. I earn my living.”
“It sounds like it, all right.” He moved toward the dresser to put out his cigarette, coming closer than she wanted him to. He leaned past her, and the spicy scent of his body overwhelmed her. His broad chest was close enough to touch.
“You smell of gardenias,” he said near her ear, his voice as deep and gravelly as she remembered it in passion. He touched her hair, just at her throat, and she jumped, gasped.
“Don’t be so frightened of me,” he whispered, half-amused. “You know I won’t hurt you.”
“It wasn’t that.” She tried to ease away from him, but his big hand caught her waist, and his fingers dug in, holding her in front of him. The touch of his hand was such a dark pleasure that she couldn’t move.
His chest rose and fell with quickly caught breaths, and the black eyes searching hers so closely made her heart go crazy. She smelled him, breathed him, and her knees went weak.
“You used to love touching my chest,” he whispered. His lips parted against her forehead, and she could hear his ragged breathing as both big hands drew her gently against him. “Do you remember? Every time we were alone you’d unbutton my shirt and lie against me, and your hands would play like crazy in the hair....”
“No,” she said with a moan. She started to push him away, and her hands encountered that thick growth of hair, feeling it wiry between her fingers. “No!”
“You haven’t forgotten,” he said against her forehead. “You haven’t gotten over me, not yet. Even today, when I touch you, you’re mine.”
It was the sound of triumph in his deep voice that saved her. He was showing her that he could own her, that she could become property all over again. But it wasn’t going to happen. Not again.
With a rough moan she jerked away from him and moved to the other side of the vanity stool, her eyes wide and half-afraid, dark green with emotion as she faced him. “No,” she repeated. “Not ever again, Marc. I don’t repeat my mistakes.”
“Why not?” he asked, and there was a roughness in his voice that was unfamiliar. His dark eyes went down her body with a look of bold possession. “You’re no innocent child now. We could enjoy each other.”
“You have Lana,” she said. “You don’t need me.”
/> His shoulders lifted as he put his hands in his pockets. “Lana is just another link in a chain of women who like what I can give them. She isn’t tied to me.”
“Isn’t she?” she challenged. “She adores you.”
“So?” he asked indifferently. “If it wasn’t me, it would be some other man. She’s a nice girl, but she’s got a cash register inside. She adds up presents and gives sex as change.”
“I don’t think that’s all of it,” she said. She folded her arms over her swollen, aching breasts. “Anyway, that’s none of my business. I came here with Joe, to partner him in every way except in bed. I don’t sleep around. Least of all with ghosts from my own past.”
“And I don’t believe in fairy tales,” he returned blithely. “There’s no way I’ll believe that. Unless,” he added with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, his gaze sliding sideways to the bed, “you’d like to offer proof?”
“Hold your breath, Mr. Stephano,” she said sweetly.
“We almost made love once,” he replied bluntly, watching the color come into her cheeks, bringing her hidden freckles out of hiding. “In my own bed.”
“Joe saved me, thank God,” she shot back. “He saved you, too, remember. Wouldn’t it have been a joke if you’d gotten me pregnant before you took your infamous bribe?”
His face changed, darkened. He stared at her intently. “Yes,” he said huskily. “Some joke.”
“I’d like to finish dressing if you’re through talking?” she added.
He sighed. “I suppose I am. Lana wants to go for a midnight swim.” He took the doorknob in his hand and looked back at her. “I won’t make love to her with you in the house.”
“What...what business of mine is it?”
“All the same, I won’t,” he said, and went out while she was foundering in a swell of questions. He knew, she thought, he knew that it bothered her! But why make such a statement? Hating her as he did, as he must, wouldn’t it have pleased him to make her worry and wonder about it? She finished her makeup without really seeing what she was doing. She was too confused to care.
CHAPTER SIX
GABY HAD WONDERED how they were going to get to the seafood place until Joe led her to the garage. A classic Volkswagen convertible was parked there, shiny and white, alongside a dune buggy.
“These are our runabouts,” he told her. “We use the beach house often, so we keep transportation here. Take your pick.”
“The VW,” she said immediately. “I love it!”
“We’ll leave the top down, since it doesn’t look like rain. Climb aboard!”
She jumped in beside Joe, who pulled out of the garage, and they took off in a roar.
It was wonderful to feel the sea breeze in her hair as they sped down the darkened road. If it had been Marc seated beside her, instead of Joe, her life would have been too full for words, Gaby realized. Odd, how indelibly Marc was painted on her memory. Nine years hadn’t erased the intensity of their relationship, the way they’d seemed to fit together in every single way. They liked the same things: they enjoyed just walking together, being outdoors, doing simple things. Although she tried to put him out of her mind, she couldn’t help wondering if Marc still enjoyed window-shopping, if he liked long walks as much or even had time for them. She wanted to ask him so many questions about his life now. The biggest one would have been: Had it been worth it? Had that five-thousand-dollar check really been worth her betrayal? She laughed bitterly to herself. No doubt he’d have said it was. After all, he had everything now, including a gorgeous woman who loved him.
The seafood restaurant was made of weather-beaten cedar, and there were all kinds of marine artifacts around it. A rusting anchor, a pilot’s wheel, ropes, compasses and nets. It was a charming place, and the seafood was just delicious. She ate more than she meant to and topped it all off with a strawberry pie that tasted like heaven. Joe seemed to enjoy himself as well, and by the time they returned to the house, she was lazy and half-asleep. He drank little that night, so she felt safe letting him drive.
When he pulled into the garage, Joe found that his spot had been appropriated by a white car.
“The Smiths,” Joe said with a grin. “He always steals my spot. Wait until you meet Dave’s wife, Steffie. She’s a character.”
“Is that good or not?” she asked.
He got out and opened her door for her, smiling at her windblown hair. “She drinks a bit too much,” he volunteered, oblivious to Gaby’s ironic look. “And she likes the good life. But she’s not altogether bad, I guess. Dave seems to worship her.”
She found that out firsthand inside the luxuriant living room with its horseshoe-shaped plush white sofa, gray carpet and huge stone fireplace. The room was exquisite, and Gaby sighed as she sank into the delicious depths of the sofa next to Joe.
“Hi, Dave, Steffie,” Joe greeted the couple as they came into the room with Marc and Lana.
Dave’s wife was a slinky blonde, her hair a little lighter than Lana’s. She had restless brown eyes and a smile as false as her eyelashes.
“Nice to meet you,” she said languidly, and dropped into a plush chair across the room. “Get me a gin and tonic, Dave,” she told her husband.
“Sure, honey,” he said, and rushed to get it for her. He was a good twenty years her senior, Gaby noticed, and as infatuated as a boy. Obviously she liked that, because she seemed amused and bored by his rapt attentions.
“They’ve only been married for a year,” Joe said in a stage whisper. “They’re practically newlyweds.”
“Newlyweds,” Steffie scoffed. “My God, at our ages? Well, at his age especially,” she added, accepting the drink from her husband without even a thank-you. “Why, Dave’s actually going bald. I do wish he’d see about getting a hair replacement.”
Dave flushed. “Well, I had thought—”
“I know a man who does it,” Steffie said. “But Dave won’t go to see him. Isn’t there any nightlife around here?” she asked, glancing flirtatiously at Marc.
“My thoughts exactly,” Lana said enthusiastically. “Isn’t there a nightclub?”
“There’s a country club, remember,” Dave ventured. “I meant to buy a membership....”
“I have one,” Marc said easily. “If that’s what you’d like to do, pile in the car and we’ll go. Joe, Gaby...?”
“Great,” Joe exclaimed.
But Gaby hesitated. “I’m sorry, but I’m a little tired. I think I’ll have an early night, if it’s all right.”
Marc searched her eyes, understanding her hesitation. He seemed as unenthusiastic as she felt, and she wondered if he didn’t share her distaste for nightlife.
“Oh, come on, honey, you’ll enjoy it,” Lana coaxed.
Gaby shook her head. “No, really. I’ve had a long week.”
“She works,” Steffie noted. “I’m glad I don’t have to anymore.”
“Gaby doesn’t have to,” Marc said unexpectedly, pulling his cigarette case from his pocket. “She chooses to work.”
Steffie stared at her with new interest.
“I like earning what I have,” Gaby stated quietly.
Marc stiffened, and Steffie stretched lazily, looking up at Dave speculatively. “I earn what I have, don’t I, sweetie?” she asked with pouting lips. And Dave went red again as her meaning became obvious.
Gaby stood up. “Have a good time,” she told Joe. “I’m really tired.”
He shrugged. “Okay. See you on the beach in the morning.”
“Okay.” She winked at him and smiled. “Good night, everyone,” she added without looking again at Marc.
She heard them leave and went out onto the patio to breathe in the sea air. Carla was standing there with two full ashtrays in one hand. She looked at the younger woman disapprovingly.
&
nbsp; “You not go with them?” she chided. “For shame, beautiful girl like you staying here all alone!”
“I don’t like nightlife,” she confided. “I’d just be dull company.”
Carla pursed her lips and then smiled. “You nice girl. Lucky Mr. Joe.”
“Joe’s just my friend,” she confided. “But I like him very much.”
“Nice boy, a little wild. Mr. Marc...ah—” she sighed “—much, much man. He is wasted on that blonde, you know, miss. He should marry, have children.” She shrugged. “But, what do I know, hah? Nobody gets married anymore.”
“It seems that way sometimes,” Gaby said with a grin. “Isn’t it beautiful here?” She closed her eyes and smelled the air with its floral scent from the gardens. “I’d love to sleep on the beach.”
“Sure, and the tide would carry you to Bermuda.” Carla laughed. “Come. I make you hot chocolate.”
“How did you know I liked it?”
“Mr. Joe told me,” she said. “It will help you to sleep.”
“I don’t need much help,” she replied, following the buxom housekeeper back inside. “It really has been a long week.”
The days passed lazily with the Smiths keeping mostly to themselves. Unfortunately Lana liked Gaby, and more often than not, the sightseeing and dining out included both couples. Joe seemed irritated by his brother’s constant company. He became moody. And Gaby became more nervous by the minute, having to see Marc constantly with the blonde, having to realize that there was a relationship between them. She stuck to Joe like glue, but it didn’t help. The past was there all the time, and she knew that Marc was aware of the undercurrents. He couldn’t help it.
* * *
THE NIGHT BEFORE the Fourth, they went to the country club, and Joe and Gaby danced almost every dance. When he wasn’t dancing, however, Joe spent his time at the bar. It was the first time Gaby had seen him drink a great deal too much, and it bothered her. To her embarrassment he eventually passed out in her arms on the dance floor.