by Diana Palmer
“We’ll have to try one on me and see,” she said.
“I’ll take you up on that.”
She wasn’t sure if he was serious, but he certainly seemed to find her fascinating, because all the way to the restaurant he asked about her life back home.
The connection between them was staggering to Delia, who’d had very little to do with men all her life. She felt comfortable with Marcus in a way it should have taken years to accomplish. She loved just looking at him. He was big and dark and imposing, but he had a tender heart. She loved the way he spoke to little children they passed in the restaurant, the easy way he had with waitresses, making them feel at ease and not throwing his weight around. For a millionaire, and a gangster, he was remarkably polite.
The gangster part still nagged at her. So did her easy surrender to him. She’d lived by a code, one that didn’t allow for such romantic escapades. She’d planned to get married and then sleep with her husband. She’d made no allowances for letting a man seduce her before then.
But she’d had no control whatsoever with Marcus. She still looked at him and ached to lie in his arms again and thrill to his kisses. It was scary.
She tried to hide it from him, though. It wouldn’t do to let him see what a marshmallow she was.
There was also the problem of Barb, and that one wasn’t going to go away. Barb was going to be disappointed in her, furious with her for cavorting with a known hoodlum.
There was one more complication that might arise—the consequence of a child. Even if Marcus was willing to do the right thing, how was she going to feel about having the child of a gangster?
She remembered reluctantly what Barney had said about Marcus and people who crossed him. He was a frightening figure to many people. If he had enemies, and surely he must, their child would be right on the firing line with Delia. It was a sudden and sobering thought. Marcus had asked her to trust him until she knew him better. She wanted to. For the moment, at least, she was going to make enough memories to last a lifetime. Just in case. And she wasn’t going to think about tomorrow.
Karen Bainbridge was sixty, short, blond, and a live wire. She didn’t look her age. She had beautiful skin and saucy blue eyes. And she liked Delia at once.
“She’s just the way I pictured her,” Karen told Marcus as they climbed aboard her yacht. She paused to talk to her captain and tell him where they were going, while Marcus handed the picnic basket Karen brought to the steward to be put down below in the galley.
“What’s in this?” he asked Karen as he gave it to the man.
“Chicken and biscuits, salad, fruit and a lovely cherry pie,” Karen told him. “We have champagne, as well. Tell me, dear, where did you meet Marcus?” she added, pinning Delia with those bright blue eyes.
“At the hotel,” Delia began.
“She had an abusive date and I rescued her,” Marcus said lazily. “What a shock I had when I took her up to my office and discovered that she knew how to quilt!”
“I’ll bet.” Karen turned to Delia. “You know, dear, he’s never been around women who could sew, except me. And as sad as it is to admit it, I’m simply too old for him. You’re much more his style,” she added wickedly.
“Yes, she is,” Marcus agreed, smiling warmly.
“Tell me about yourself,” she encouraged.
Delia hadn’t planned to talk much about herself, but Karen was easy to open up to; very much like Barb. She related the abbreviated story of her life, ending with her mother’s recent death.
Karen was sympathetic without being artificial. She patted Delia’s hand gently. “We all have to learn to let go of the people we love most,” she said softly. “It’s one of life’s hardest lessons. But, just think, someday we have to let go of life, all of us.”
“I suppose so,” Delia replied.
“Not that you’d dwell on it, at your age,” Karen said with an indulgent smile. “There’s one little thought I’d like to share with you. I heard it from my mother when I was small. All the people we loved, who have died, are still alive in the past. The only thing that really separates us is time.”
Delia eyed the older woman curiously. The thought really was comforting.
“See?” Karen added. “It’s a matter of perspective. In other words, it isn’t what happens to us, it’s how we react to what happens to us. That’s what separates optimism and pessimism.”
“You’re a deep thinker,” Delia mused.
“I’m old, dear,” came the laughing reply. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn a lot, if you’re the least bit observant.” She glanced toward Marcus, who was talking to the captain in a relaxed, easy manner. “For instance, you’re in love with my friend, there,” Karen teased.
Delia drew in a long breath. “Hopelessly. I’m not an impulsive person, but I fell and fell.” She met Karen’s eyes. “It’s only been two days,” she said worriedly.
Karen didn’t blink. “Love doesn’t take a lot of time. It just happens.”
Delia managed a watery smile. She stared at Marcus’s broad back hungrily. “Do you…know about him?”
“That he runs around in, shall we say, shadowy company? Yes. But he’s one of the best men I’ve ever known. He’s a soft touch, and he never deserts a friend in trouble. Reputations are usually exaggerated, child,” she added gently. “If I were your age, I wouldn’t even hesitate. He’s very special.”
Delia wiped her eyes, smiling. “I thought so, myself. Sometimes, maybe taking a chance is the right thing.”
“Count on it,” the older woman advised. “And never judge a book by its cover,” she added. “Or a quilt by its fabric alone.”
“I won’t forget.”
They sailed out into the bay and then into the Atlantic Ocean. The high-tech fabric of the sails rippled in the wind and made whispery sounds. Seagulls darted to and fro. Delia sat beside Marcus and felt as if she belonged. Karen told her about the history of New Providence while they ate crisp salads and cold cuts.
Later, Karen drowsed while they sailed, and Marcus held Delia in front of him, idly kissing her neck and her ear and teasing her with the wind blowing noisily off the sea.
“This really is the Atlantic Ocean, isn’t it?” she murmured, leaning contentedly back against his chest. “I used to think the Bahamas were in the Caribbean.”
“A lot of people do. It’s the Atlantic.” He kissed her neck. “How do you like your vacation so far?”
“It’s the best time I’ve ever had in my whole life,” she said simply.
He hugged her closer. “Mine, too,” he said huskily. “How much longer are you going to be here?”
“Three more weeks,” she said, hating the thought.
“A lot can happen in just three weeks,” he reminded her.
She turned into his arms. “A lot already has,” she whispered, lifting her face.
He bent and kissed her warmly, hungrily, groaning deep in his throat as the kiss kindled fierce new fires in his big body.
“You’re just incredible,” she whispered when he lifted his head. Her eyes were misty with pleasure, her mouth swollen.
He enjoyed the way she looked. “So are you,” he replied. “We need to make a quilt together,” he mused.
She laughed. “I’d really like that.”
“We’ll talk about it.”
“I like your friend Karen.”
He glanced toward the elderly woman, still sleeping peacefully. “I like her, too,” he said. “She’s an odd bird. But then, so am I.”
“Not so odd,” she replied, touching his face with the tips of her fingers, exploring its broad strength, its nooks and crannies. “I like your face.”
“It’s a little banged up,” he pointed out.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It just gives you a sort of piratical look. I find it very attractive,” she added shyly.
He chuckled, swinging her back and forth in his big arms. “I would have been a pirate in the old days,
I guess.” His face hardened. “Maybe I still am.”
She put her fingers over his wide, sexy mouth. “You’re just Marcus, and I’m crazy about you,” she said simply. “Although maybe it’s too soon to say that.”
He shook his head. “I’m crazy about you, too, baby,” he said huskily.
She laughed with pure joy, her eyes radiant with it as she looked up at him. “Is there really a future for us?”
He moved restively, thinking of all the complications in his life right now. He grimaced. “Look, we have to take this one day at a time,” he said, searching her eyes. “It isn’t what I want, but it’s how it has to be. There’s a lot going on that you don’t know about.”
“Not something…illegal?” she faltered.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you think I’d involve you in something illegal?” he asked openly.
She sighed. “No. Of course not. I’m sorry.”
He touched her mouth with his fingertip, tracing its soft outline. “I will never hurt you deliberately. I promise.”
She relaxed. “And I won’t hurt you deliberately,” she vowed.
“I now pronounce us dedicated to truth,” he chuckled.
She reached up and kissed him. “Do we get to do what we did again?” she asked.
He drew in a long breath. “I want to get to know you,” he replied. “Sex clouds the issues. Even if it is the best I ever had.”
She brightened. “I like that idea, too. I’ll bet you were a tough little boy.”
“Very,” he assured her. “I got in fights from kindergarten up. Broke my poor mother’s heart.”
“I never got in trouble at all,” she replied wistfully. “Unless you count pouring salt on another girl’s mashed potatoes because she called me a fat frankfurter in second grade.”
“Were you? Fat?”
“Roly poly,” she admitted, smiling. “I lost weight.”
“Don’t ever get skinny,” he said gently. “I like you just the way you are.”
She beamed at him. It was, in many ways, the most perfect day so far.
They discussed movies and television shows and even politics, and found that they were amazingly compatible.
“Do you have a DVD player?” he asked her.
She grimaced. “I hate to admit it, but I can’t figure out how to hook one up. I’m still using VCR tapes.”
“Primitive,” he remarked. “I’ll have to come to Texas, if for no other reason than to show you how to move into the modern age electronically. Do you like music?”
“Yes. Latin music, especially,” she confessed. “I have most of Julio Iglesias’s albums, some Pedro Fernandez, some Luis Miguel, and half a dozen others. I even have some of Placido Domingo’s opera performances.”
“I’m impressed,” he teased. “That’s a fairly mixed bag.”
“All terrific, too.”
“Truly. How about reggae?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “What’s reggae?”
He grinned. “We’ve got a Jamaican reggae band playing at the casino. I’ll take you there one night and let you see if you like it.”
“Could we dance?” she asked hopefully.
He laughed. “I may not look it,” he said gently, “but I won dance contests when I was younger.”
She was delighted. “I’ll bet you still could.”
“We’ll find out,” he promised.
They were on the way to landing at a small, deserted island when Marcus’s cell phone rang insistently.
He excused himself and Delia frowned at the expression on his face. He seemed first curious, then angry, then furious. He barked something into the phone and hung up, glowering at the ocean.
After a minute he came back. “Some businessmen from Miami have turned up unexpectedly. We’ll have to go back. Now,” he added when Karen joined them.
“There will be other days for sightseeing,” Karen said in a conciliatory tone. “Marcus, go and tell the captain to make for port, will you?”
“Of course,” he said, but he was distracted.
At the marina, Delia said her goodbyes to Karen and let Marcus call a cab for her instead of sending her back in the limo.
“There are plenty of reasons that you don’t need to be seen with me right now,” Marcus said gently. “And the least of them is your sister. I’m really sorry about today. But I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. We’ll go sightseeing all over the island. How about that?”
“I’d love it,” she said radiantly.
He grinned. “Tomorrow it is, then.” He opened the door and put her into the cab without touching her. “See you in the morning.”
“Yes. Take care,” she said.
“You, too.”
He closed the door. She looked back as the cab pulled out of the marina. He and Smith were still standing beside the limo, in deep conversation.
Chapter Seven
Delia was up at daylight waiting for Marcus to call. Her whole life was suddenly caught up in his. She could hardly bear being away from him at all.
Barb had phoned soon after Delia got in, and Delia was able to tell her about Karen’s yacht and the ocean day trip.
Barb relaxed audibly as she listened. There was no mention at all of Marcus, of course.
“You’re sure you’re not seeing that gangster?” Barb insisted.
“I was out with a nice little old lady seeing the sights,” Delia said in a forcibly relaxed voice. “I’d love for you to meet her when you get back. She’s British, but she’s lived in these islands for a long time. She knows all the best spots.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” Barb said finally, laughing. “Okay, I’m convinced. But you do keep your door locked at night.”
“I do. Honest.”
“Have you seen Fred? I heard he might be back from Miami already.”
“No, I haven’t seen him. Why?” Delia asked, curious.
Barb hesitated. “It was something Barney let slip. I think Fred may be a lot more dangerous than we realized, baby. You steer clear of him, just in case, okay?”
“I will. But why is Fred dangerous?”
She hesitated again, lowered her voice. “Well, I heard Barney tell somebody that he was thick with the Miami mob and that he was laundering money for it.”
“Fred?”
“Yes, that’s what I thought,” Barb chuckled. “But you can’t ever tell about people, and mostly the bad guys don’t wear signs. Just the same, it would explain why he was so eager to take you to that gangster’s casino on Paradise Island. There’s a connection there, you mark my words.”
“I’m not going to the casino, honest.”
“I know that. Are you having a bad time without us? I’m just so sorry…”
“I’m having a ball with Karen and the beach,” Delia laughed. “Really.”
“I’m not surprised that your idea of fun is hanging out with a woman in her sixties,” Barb said softly. “Mama and I were too hard on you, weren’t we, baby?”
“I turned out just fine, thanks,” Delia laughed again.
There was a sigh. “All right, I’ll let you go. But be careful sailing around on yachts. There might be pirates out there, for all you know.”
“If I meet one, I’ll introduce you.”
“You do that. Good night, baby. We should be back late next week or the week after. You’re sure you don’t want to fly over here and stay with us until we go back?”
Delia was thinking about the extra time she’d have to see Marcus while her sister was away. “I’m very sure,” she replied. “Take care.”
“You, too. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” Delia hung up, relieved that Barb hadn’t noticed anything suspicious. She was learning to lie very well, she thought sadly. Maybe, too well.
She didn’t sleep worrying about what Barb had told her. If Fred was mixed up in money laundering for the mob, could that be why he’d gone to see Marcus?
She loved him with all her heart. But she had to admit
that she didn’t really know him very well. And what if he was mixed up in the mob? After the delight they’d shared, after she’d grown to care so much for him, could she really walk away even so?
It was barely six in the morning when she woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. She made coffee and sat out on the balcony of her room, watching the waves break on the sugar-white beach. Today Marcus was taking her sightseeing. Should she ask him if he and Fred were in business together? Did she dare? And what would she do if he said yes? The thought that he might end up in prison tormented her.
She tried to eat breakfast, but her stomach rebelled at the smell of eggs. That was so odd. She’d never had a lack of appetite in the morning. She touched her belly lightly and wondered. Could she tell, this soon? Or was she just becoming paranoid?
Paranoid, she decided firmly. All the warnings from Barb were making her second-guess her own judgment. She had to take it one day at a time and not borrow trouble.
So she was waiting when Marcus sent a cab for her the next morning. It was John, the same cabdriver who’d ferried her over to Paradise Island before. He was young and personable and seemed to love the conspiracy.
“You like the boss, huh?” he asked her cheekily, in a crisp, very clear British accent.
She laughed. “Yes. I like the boss a lot.”
“He is a good man,” he told her, the outrageous smile gone. “My brother drowned last year when his fishing boat capsized. He left a wife and six children. That Marcus Carrera, he set up a trust fund for them at a local British bank, so they never have to worry about money again. Some people say he is a bad man. But I do not think so.”
She smiled warmly. “Neither do I. What’s your name?”
“I am John Harrington.”
“I am Delia Mason. And I’m very glad to meet you,” she said sincerely.
“The same with me. I am sorry you have to hide your trips to Paradise Island.”
“So am I. It isn’t the way I’d prefer to do things,” she added quietly. “But for some reason, Marcus thinks it’s better if we aren’t seen together at my hotel.”
