Tangled Destinies

by Diana Palmer

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  “For now.” He pulled into traffic, his face hard and worried. “It’s later that bothers me. If Dave floated a contract on you and some back alley hood bought it, it might be too late to do any canceling. We can nail Smith, but what if he can’t call off his hit man?”

  That thought hadn’t occurred to Gaby. It occurred to her now, and she felt a cold film of sweat covering her body. “Oh, boy,” she said with a sigh.

  “Oh, boy, is right. I’m going to get a bodyguard for you, and you’ll live with me until we put an end to this, one way or the other. No arguing,” he shot at her when she tried to open her mouth. “Or I’ll sic Uncle Michael on you,” he added with a faint grin.

  “I remember hearing you and Joe talk about him years ago,” she recalled, leaning back against the plush seat. “I thought he must have two heads. He turned out to be nothing like I expected.”

  “I guess he’s not too bad a guy, after all, if you like him,” he replied. He glanced at her. “But I could have tanned your bottom when he told me you’d been to see him.”

  “I didn’t know what else to do. Dad’s out of the country, and I have no close friends. I was desperate.”

  “Yes. I should have listened. I’m sorry I didn’t, Gaby. It isn’t going to be easy to live with that.” His hands clenched the steering wheel. “It’s damned hard to swallow that Joe was murdered. And by Dave, of all people. I thought I could trust him with my life!”

  “As much as I hate to say it, there’s still no real proof,” she began hesitantly.

  “Your word is all the proof I need,” he replied harshly. He glanced at her. “From now on, honey, if you say black is white, I’ll buy it.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She hesitated a moment. “Marc, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to involve yourself.”

  “Shut up. How can I drive with you interrupting?” he grumbled.

  She shook her head and smiled softly. “Incorrigible man.”

  “I always was, so don’t pretend you didn’t know. Close your eyes. We’ll be home soon.”

  His apartment felt familiar and safe, but she couldn’t help remembering that night she’d come here with Joe. She shivered a little, as if a ghost might be in residence. But she was tired and numb from fear, and she went where Marc led her with no resistance at all.

  He took her into the bathroom and ran a tub of water. “This will help,” he said. “Then you can sleep.”

  “I may sleep in the tub,” she murmured drowsily.

  “Not likely.” He filled the tub and added some kind of fragrant suds that she didn’t want to know the source of. Probably Lana’s, she thought miserably.

  “Okay, honey, in you go.” He started easing the peignoir off her shoulders, careful not to jar the injured one.

  “Marc, you can’t!” she whispered frantically.

  “Yes, I can. I know what you look like, baby,” he said softly, and continued with his task. “It won’t shock me to see you, and it shouldn’t shock you to let me look. Except for a trick of fate, I’d have made love to you twice already.”

  “I know. But...”

  “Shh,” he said softly, and he touched her mouth with his fingers. “Not another word, little one.”

  She stared up into his black, black eyes as he eased the gown over her shoulders, too, and let it fall to the floor. He looked at her then, at the firm, high perfection of her breasts, her small waist, her gently curved hips and the long, sleek line of her legs. Then he bent and lifted her and eased her down into the water, smiling as she caught her breath at the strength it betrayed.

  “You’ll break your neck,” she whispered.

  “Not on a tiny little wisp like you,” he replied. “Here.”

  He got a washcloth from the vanity drawer, put soap on it and began to bathe her tenderly, ignoring her efforts to take the cloth and do it herself.

  “Sit still now, so I don’t miss any spots.” He chuckled wickedly. She flushed, and he continued with his task, savoring her body as he drew the cloth over it. By the time he finished, she felt as if he’d made love to her with his hands.

  “Stand up,” he whispered when he was through, and held out a heated towel for her.

  She got out of the tub like a sleepwalker, standing tall and proud while he dried her slowly, inch by inch, pausing now and again to touch her with tender, possessive fingers, to learn her body by sight and feel.

  “I’d like to have bathed with you,” he whispered, searching her eyes. “We could have made love in the bathtub.”

  She swallowed because his voice was as seductive as his hands. “I...don’t want that.”

  “Yes, you do,” he said gently, and brushed his lips softly against hers, the touch as light as a butterfly’s wings. “But we won’t do it until your shoulder is better. I don’t want to risk tearing the stitches.”

  “We won’t do it at all,” she said, faltering.

  “Gaby,” he whispered, dropping the towel, “don’t you want me?” And he drew her slowly against his body, looking down into her eyes with an expression that defied interpretation. He cupped her face in his hands and bent to her mouth. “Don’t you, Gaby?” he asked as his mouth hovered over hers.

  She couldn’t answer. She could only watch in fascination. He breathed, and his mouth opened hers with exquisite patience, feeling it tremble, hearing the soft gasp of her breath as his tongue intruded into the soft, dark womb of her mouth and teased the tip of her own tongue.

  She felt her body shudder at the contact, felt his heart slamming against her bare breasts. “Marc,” she whimpered under the crush of his mouth.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered, lifting his head as his hands moved up to take the soft weight of her breasts. “Forgive me, but I came so close to losing you tonight, so close. I want to feel you, to touch you, to have the warmth of your body as proof that you’re still alive and close to me.”

  “Don’t,” she protested nervously as his thumbs edged out toward the hard tips of her breasts and rubbed them tenderly, causing her to jerk with the sudden rush of pleasure it caused.

  “You like having me know that you want me,” he said, taunting her softly. “You like me to see the desire you feel for me. Don’t you want to feel mine for you, Gaby?”

  And as he spoke one big hand went to her hips, drawing her slowly against him so that she could feel the changing contours of his body. He looked into her eyes as it happened to him and smiled even through his hunger and need, and her pupils widened until her eyes looked almost black.

  “Yes, you like that. You like knowing you have that power over me,” he breathed. “You like feeling the proof of my desire against you.”

  Her lips felt as dry as bone as she searched his smiling face. “I’ve never...felt that...with another man. Any other man. It...it disgusted me in other men. But it was always so natural with you. It was never shocking or embarrassing.”

  “Part of life,” he agreed softly. “I taught you that, Gaby. I taught you that desire was natural and beautiful, something for lovers to share with each other without shame or fear. I’m glad you remembered it that way.”

  She felt reckless with him, abandoned. It had always been that way, despite her anger and humiliation and sense of betrayal. She moved away a little and brought his hands back to her breasts, watching them touch the high, smooth curves.

  “God, it excites me when you do that,” he whispered, his voice harsh and shaky.

  “I like...watching you do it,” she whispered back, her eyes glazed with hunger as she looked up into his face. “I like seeing your hands touching me.”

  His eyes closed and he shuddered. “Gaby...”

  “I’m sorry.” She moved away from him, bending to pick up the towel and wrap it slowly around her.
She grimaced because the movement hurt her shoulder, and she touched it as she gave him a wry smile. “It’s your temperament, isn’t it?” she asked as he went pale and strained to breathe properly. “All that Latin fire that smolders when a woman comes too close. I didn’t mean to make you ache.”

  “Yes, you did, and I wanted it just as much, Gaby,” he confessed, though his voice was a little less firm than usual. He straightened and smiled ruefully. “We’d better cut that out until you’re in better health. What I have in mind for us will require both a big bed and a lot of strength.”

  She blushed in spite of her training and quickly turned away. “Oh, Marc, I have no clothes!” she said suddenly, looking back at him, wide-eyed.

  “You can have one of my pajama tops. I usually sleep in the raw, but I keep a pair or two for emergencies.” He went into the bedroom and retrieved a pair from his drawer. “For the sake of modesty I’ll wear the bottoms. But I’ve only got the one bed, and I’m not leaving you in it alone. Not after what happened tonight.”

  She didn’t even protest. Marc was the lesser of the two evils right now.

  She took the pajama top and got into it while he went to have a shower. When he came back, she was tucked up under the covers because his air-conditioning was on too.

  He looked so delightfully masculine in the low-slung black pajama trousers that her heart went wild. His broad, bronzed chest had a triangle of thick hair that went down his flat belly and disappeared under the black fabric. He was still perfect, big and muscular and fit. She looked at him and wanted him, just as she always had.

  “No staring,” he cautioned. “I want you pretty bad, too, and you’re in no shape for it tonight. I’ll let you sleep in my arms if you want, but no playing with my chest. Got that?”

  She faltered, flushed and blustered. “I wouldn’t think of it!” she finally managed to say.

  He only laughed as he went to lock up. “Like fudge,” he muttered. “I’ll be lucky if I’m not seduced in my sleep.”

  “You’d be lucky if you were!” she shot back.

  He went around to check the doors and windows and turn out the lights. When he came back, her head was under the pillow. He flicked off the light, and she felt his formidable weight as he sank into the mattress beside her.

  He lay back, his hands folded under his head. “Don’t you want to snuggle up?” he said, taunting her once again.

  She did feel lonely on her side of the enormous bed. It had been a hard night. A hard few weeks. She still grieved for Joe, as he must also. And she wondered, when this was all over, if she’d be alive to remember this night.

  “You can’t seduce me if I do,” she told him, moving out from under the pillow.

  “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  “Cross my heart,” he agreed, crossing it in the semidarkness. She could see the white flash of his teeth too.

  “You wicked man,” she said with a sigh. But she went close and felt his big arm enfolding her, strong and warm and comforting. Nothing could hurt her. She was afraid of nothing when Marc had her in his arms.

  She cuddled closer with a long, tired sigh, and he kissed her disheveled auburn hair lightly.

  “Go to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll be here if you need me. I’ll always be here. Go to sleep.”

  “I’m so tired,” she said sleepily. “I was really scared, Marc....”

  “Yes. So was I. Go to sleep.”

  And all at once she did, as the medication and the fear and relief all coaxed her body into a deep and dreamless oblivion with Marc’s arms holding her tenderly in the darkness.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WHEN GABY WOKE up the next morning, she felt warm and comfortable and safe. And only when her eyes opened and she saw a smiling Marc looking down at her did the night before come flooding back. The horror came first, along with the ache in her shoulder. And then came the beauty, the knowledge, that Marc didn’t hate her anymore. That he was her friend again. She didn’t dare hope for more than that, but perhaps it would be enough. If only she could be sure that it wasn’t just guilt motivating him.

  He looked at her sleepy face, smiling softly. “What a dish,” he said. “Just the way you looked in the Hamptons that morning when I came to wake you. You look gorgeous first thing in the morning, Gaby.”

  “Thank you. You’re not bad, either,” she said drowsily.

  He wasn’t, either. He needed a shave, but it only added to his allure. He looked very masculine with his bare chest and dark, seductive eyes. Very Italian, she thought. Delicious.

  “I wonder if I could get into the Guinness Book of World Records,” he said thoughtfully as he looked at her, “for the most unsuccessful attempts at seduction with one woman over a period of nine years.”

  “You only tried twice,” she reminded him.

  “In my mind,” he breathed, “I tried every day.” He brushed the hair away from her eyes and watched her solemnly, seeing the color in her cheeks. “You’ll never know what it was like, having you in my arms all night and knowing that only two thin pieces of fabric separated your body from mine. It was all I could do not to undress you and take you in your sleep.”

  She stared at him, feeling strangely embarrassed. “I wouldn’t have enjoyed it like that,” she whispered.

  He smiled. “Don’t worry, Gaby. When the time comes, I’ll be as gentle as can be. I wouldn’t hurt my little virgin.”

  She searched the dark eyes above hers. “I thought you didn’t believe I was still a virgin?”

  He smiled ruefully and toyed with her hair. “So I was jealous.” He shrugged. “I thought Joe had had you.”

  “I guess he was pretty convincing,” she said, sighing. “He must have been out of his mind with drugs at the end.”

  “And not by choice, I’m beginning to realize. He and I, we always competed. He never seemed to be satisfied. He stretched his salary beyond its reach and then came to me to bail him out.” He grimaced. “Bailing him out was like my life’s work. But when he started seeing you...oh, bella mia, that tore at my heart. That hit me where it hurt the most. And all the time I could never be sure what you really felt or thought.”

  “I thought he was a nice man,” she said genuinely. “And I loved him like a brother. That was the truth.”

  “Hindsight is a great thing.” He sighed. He searched her eyes quietly. “I’m sorry for every cutting thing I said to you. The way I behaved at the funeral, the accusations I made, the way I ignored you after. I was torn up.”

  “I knew that,” she said softly. “I understood.”

  “Yeah, well, that doesn’t help my conscience a hell of a lot. I never quite felt like I was in your class, you know,” he added, smiling faintly at her surprise. “I’ve still got a lot of rough edges, and I’ll probably never lose them. I came up hard with no frills. That leaves scars.”

  “I imagine so. But you were always in a class of your own, Marc,” she replied genuinely. “And I wouldn’t have been ashamed to go anywhere with you.”

  He tugged at her hair. “Gaby, in the Hamptons, that night at the club...did you really think I was trying to get you away from Joe by pretending to be interested in you?”

  “Honestly?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Honestly.”

  She lowered her eyes to his square jaw. “Yes. I couldn’t quite trust you.”

  “That makes more sense now than it did then,” he confessed. “But it wasn’t that. I really thought maybe we could start again. From scratch. I...hoped you wanted to.”

  She looked back up at him searchingly. “I did,” she whispered softly. “But I was afraid of being...that you might...”

  He sighed heavily. “That I might betray you again. I’ll have to work on gaining your trust back, little one. I think I’ll work very hard at
that, though,” he added with a gentle smile. His eyes went over her relaxed body, and his chest rose and fell more heavily. “Bella,” he whispered in Italian. “Che bella.”

  Her lips parted because he was telling her she was beautiful. She stretched, wincing a little with the movement of her shoulder but feeling voluptuous and ardent with the silence of early morning around them and the warmth of his eyes on her face. It was like that morning in the Hamptons all over again, only this time they were totally alone and there was no one to interrupt them. She felt the impact of wanting him all the way to her toes. She wanted to feel his hands on her cool, soft skin. She wanted to touch him, as she had that day.

  “Undress me,” she whispered weakly. “Look at me.”

  His jaw clenched. “And take you? Because I would.” He moved the cover aside. “Look.”

  Her eyes sought him, awed by him. “I feel that way too,” she whispered, unembarrassed as she looked up again. “I want you all the time. But, Marc, I can’t. What if I got pregnant? That hit man—”

  His big hands went to the buttons of the pajama top and lingered there while he made decisions. His breathing sounded ragged, and he hesitated.

  “Don’t,” he ground out, anguished. He drew her up against him, holding her close, rocking her. “Don’t even think it! He isn’t going to get you, I promise. Do you hear me, Gaby? I promise!”

  “Life doesn’t come with guarantees,” she whispered at his ear. Her good arm clung to his neck, loving the strength of the powerful, warm body against hers. “Don’t you see, if anything happened, it would be such a sweet memory, Marc. So sweet, the memory of lying with you, being loved by you. My body aches all over.”

  “So does mine, but I can’t,” he said achingly. “I can’t. Not like this. I don’t want it to be an act of desperation, don’t you see? We’re neither of us rational enough to make a decision like that right now.”

  “I don’t want to be rational. I want to be made love to.”

  “So do I,” he whispered fervently. “I want your body twisting under mine. I want to take you in a way you’ll never forget. But not this way.”