Passion and danger collide in a breathless story from New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer.

Saved from an abduction and unthinkable harm, Gabrielle Bennett owed her life to her rescuer. Marc Stephano, a stranger from the sketchy shadows of town, could’ve asked for money. Instead he introduced her to desire and claimed her completely—then he broke her heart.

Older, wiser and now a top New York model, Gabrielle is prepared for anything—except Marc’s reemergence into her life. It’s a merciless trick of fate. A successful, self-made millionaire, he’s as powerful as ever, but can Gabrielle forgive and forget—in the name of love?

Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author DIANA PALMER

“Diana Palmer is a mesmerizing storyteller who captures the essence of what a romance should be.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“Palmer returns with a splendid Western contemporary novel filled with passion, heartache and small-town life. The story serves as a reminder that life will provide second chances; we just need to be brave enough to hold on to them.”

—RT Book Reviews on Wyoming Brave (Top Pick)

“Readers will be moved by this tale of revenge and justice, grief and healing.”

—Booklist on Dangerous

“Diana Palmer is one of those authors whose books are always enjoyable. She throws in romance, suspense and a good story line.”

—The Romance Reader on Before Sunrise

“Lots of passion, thrills, and plenty of suspense...Protector is a top-notch read!”

—Romance Reviews Today

“A delightful romance with interesting new characters and many familiar faces.”

—RT Book Reviews on Wyoming Tough

Tangled Destinies

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

SHE KNEW SOMEONE was following her. Icy dread numbed her throat. It was almost dark, and it didn’t help to know that her own stupidity had put her in this particular neighborhood as darkness fell over New York City. She could have waited for the bus, but she’d been too impatient. It was spring, and the few trees along the streets were just budding. She hadn’t thought what a long walk it would be from her piano teacher’s home to her own.

Her auburn hair blew in wavy strands around her thin face, and her big green eyes swept restlessly along the deserted street. There wasn’t a single person in sight. Clutching her cashmere sweater closer around her thin shoulders, she bit on her lower lip. She crushed her leather purse and sheet music against her small bosom as she held on to them like a life preserver. Stupid, she told herself. Stupid girl, wearing clothes that shouted money, walking through a neighborhood where you could be mugged for a dollar bill. Behind her, the footsteps suddenly grew quicker, more determined.

There were two sets of footsteps, Gaby realized suddenly as a feeling of panic came over her—one heavy, one lighter. She glanced nervously behind her as she turned the corner and quickly looked away again, her heart racing torturously. She’d caught a glimpse of them then, both ragged and greasy and mean-looking. Ahead were only alleys and dark buildings. She quickened her pace and noticed a garage a little farther down the street. If only it was still open.

She started toward it, but the footsteps were closer. They must be running, she thought. Would she be able to make it?

“No!” she cried, but it was too late. They reached her just as she was passing one of the alleys. The taller one caught her arm, and the shorter one tugged at her bag, sending her sheet music flying in all directions.

She held on to her purse with all her strength and tried to scream, but almost before she could utter a sound, one of them shoved her toward the alley, ignoring her furious attempts to fight back. If only she hadn’t been wearing silly flat rubber-soled boots! She’d have given anything for spiked heels.

“Don’t touch me!” she raged at them. Her hair came loose and flew around her shoulders as she struggled.

“Shut up, Red,” the taller one laughed, holding her by the shoulders. “Get it, Terry!”

“Let go,” the short one growled, tugging at the purse. “Come on, baby, you got all kinds of money, ain’t you never heard of sharing?”

“Yeah, we ain’t all rich, you know,” the tall one mumbled.

“Whew!” The heavyset boy whistled as he studied the contents of her bag. “Five big ones.” He held up the ten-dollar bills in his fist. “Not bad,” he grumbled, digging further.

Gaby was terrified. She didn’t care much about the money but wasn’t sure what would happen next. She’d never felt so alone or helpless. Tears stung her eyes when she saw one of the boys grin at her lecherously. She backed away, preparing to defend herself from them, knowing exactly what was on their minds, but she tripped on something and fell heavily to the ground. She felt her back hit the hard concrete, saw them looming over her, felt hands at her blouse.

“What’s going on here?” an unexpected deep voice demanded from the end of the blind alley.

The boys jerked up, staring toward the light. The figure blocking it looked massive, even at that distance. Very dark, wearing a white T-shirt and tight slacks that showed every bulging muscle. Even at this distance Gaby could see crisp, straight black hair and eyes so big and black that they de-emphasized the formidable straight nose, square jaw, and leonine quality of the rough face.

“Hey, Marc,” the shorter boy protested, hands palms upward. “Hey, no trouble, okay?”

The man he’d called Marc stared past him at the thin, disheveled redhead on the ground. “You okay, honey?” he asked her in a voice like deep, dark velvet.

She wanted to cry now that it was almost over, now that she had help. “Yes,” she managed, but her voice sounded quavering. She scrambled to her feet, clutching her blouse.

“Come on over here, then,” he coaxed. “You’re fine now, they won’t bother you again.”

Once she was safe behind him, Marc took two quick steps forward. He landed a powerful blow to the taller boy’s solar plexus, sending him crashing to the ground. Almost without pausing he spun around to Gaby’s other attacker, who by now was cringing. A quick right hook sent the boy sprawling next to his friend.

“That make you feel any better, honey?” Marc asked with a chuckle.

“Thanks,” she said, panting and holding tight to her open purse as she joined him. He looked good even close up, grease stains and all. His mouth was wide and had a chiseled look to it, and he was smiling mockingly.

“My pleasure. Terry and Gus aren’t my favorite neighbors. They take any money?”

“A little,” she said, glaring down at them. “Let them keep it. I don’t want to soil my hands by touching it.”

Marc scowled and moved forward again. He bent and jerked the ten-dollar bills from the grasp of the shorter boy, who was still groaning. “Forget it, Gus,” he said tightly. “You’re not getting paid to attack little girls. Stick your dirty nose in my neighborhood again and I’ll cut it off even with your eyelashes. Understand?”

Gus swallowed. “Yeah. Sure, buddy.” He looked nervous. “You, uh, you won’t mention this around your uncle?”

“Uncle Michael wouldn’t soil his hands on you.” Marc laughed mirthlessly. “He’s got too much pride to bother with garbage. Get out. Both of you.”

As the boys edged past, the bigger one shot a regretful glance at Gaby and took off running. One of them made a gesture that caused her to blush, but Marc returned it with interest.

“Hotshots,” he muttered, staring after them with his hands on his narrow hips. He looked down at the girl curiously, noticing her cashmere sweater, leather purse and boots, and real pearl earrings. Money, he thought. Not much to look at, poor little thing, all thin angles from her shoulders down to her feet. That wild auburn hair must look stylish to her own crowd, and her eyes were the biggest, greenest ones he’d ever seen. He cocked his head to study her. In a few years she might be something to look at, he concluded. And she had spirit, which appealed to him.

“Out of your league down here, aren’t you?” he asked.

“I sure am,” she agreed, brushing back her hair. “From now on it’s karate lessons. I’m being wasted at music class.”

He chuckled. “What’s your name?”

“Gabrielle, but I’m called Gaby. Gaby Bennett. And you?”

“Marcus Stephano,” he volunteered. His head jerked toward the garage down the street. “I own half of the neighborhood auto shop. God didn’t think I should be rich, but he gave me good hands. I can fix anything short of broken hearts.”

“You saved me,” she offered. “Thanks.” With a mischievous grin she gestured at herself. “It isn’t much, but it’s yours.”

He smiled, a genuine smile. “You’re not so bad, honey. I like your style, Gaby Bennett.”

“I like yours, too, Mr. Stephano.”

“Marc.” He pursed his wide lips. “What are you doing down here?”

“I walked home from piano class,” she confessed. “Not my brightest idea so far, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You must lead a sheltered life.”

“Smothered, if you want to know,” she blurted out.

“Rich kid?”

“I guess.” She sighed, walking along beside him. He towered over her despite her above-average height. “My dad’s an investment firm and my mother is a jewelry store.”

“My dad was a petty criminal, and my mother wasn’t much better,” he said matter-of-factly. Her breath caught, and he grinned.

“Yeah, that’s right, you’re in bad company, pet,” he told her. “I’m a mean man. I come from a line of those swarthy gangster types your mama probably warned you about. My uncle’s big-time stuff around here.”

“You don’t scare me, big man,” she returned, smiling back. “I owe you my life, remember?”

“Not your life, exactly,” he said, letting his darker-than-night eyes go slowly down her slender body. “Do you eat?”

“No, I live on pure oxygen and Bach concerts in the park. But if you like, I’ll start sneaking cream cakes for breakfast.”

“You do that. We Italians like a little meat on our women’s bones.”

She laughed and fell into step with him. It was spring, and suddenly the world was bright and beautiful and blazing with new color. Overhead, the streetlights took on a magical quality as she walked toward home with a stranger who was rapidly becoming a friend...

CHAPTER ONE

“GREAT SHOTS, GABY,” Harry Dean grinned as he helped her up from a lounging position on the hood of a rebuilt 1956 Chevrolet. “Motocraft, Inc., will love it! You’ll sell auto parts by the barrelful.”

“I’d better sell transmissions.” She laughed, stretching lazily in the skimpy halter-and-shorts set she’d worn for the layout. They were white, and she was nicely tanned from her long auburn hair down to her pretty toes. Slender, green-eyed and vivacious, Gaby Bennett was a top model and earned big money at her profession. This layout for Motocraft, Inc., had been one of her best jobs to date. She was rapidly becoming known as the First Lady of Parts, an in-joke with her modeling friends.

Apparently the executives of the auto parts and transmission specialists corporation had been very picky, because ten girls had been turned down before they had approached her agency about the layout. Gaby had been picked immediately. This was the first of a series of commercials she was shooting for them, and it might involve some travel if the commercials caught on.

A thin, dark-looking man had been watching the photographer shoot the stills, and now he came closer. He had dark hair and eyes, and he looked oddly nervous. Gaby frowned, wiping her perspiration away with a towel as she relaxed away from the brilliant lamps she’d been bathed in for the session. He looked so familiar...hadn’t she seen him before?

“You’re Gaby,” the man said in a pleasant voice. His manner was hesitant, rather shy. She smiled because she liked that shyness. It was an unusual quality, making him seem very different from most of the men she’d known.

“Gaby Bennett,” she agreed pleasantly. “Excuse me, but do I know you?” she asked. “I’m sure that sounds like a line, but you look familiar somehow.”

“We’ve met, but it was a long time ago.” He looked at her hesitantly, as if not sure whether or not to go on. “I’m Joe Stephano,” he said, finally introducing himself. “I, uh, I’m the executive vice president of Motocraft, Inc.”

Gaby felt the blood draining from her face. No wonder he’d seemed familiar. She remembered him all too well, a shy, younger version of his big brother Marcus. Joe had always been nervous around her. They hadn’t seen too much of each other during that brief period of her life, but she remembered him. He brought back memories that were unbearable nine years later, memories of his brother.

She hadn’t connected Motocraft, Inc., with the Stephanos because the account had come through a Mr. Smith, an executive of the company. She hadn’t realized that Marc had achieved such fame and fortune. So he was Motocraft, Inc. Suddenly she realized why she’d been given the account. Was he trying to make amends? Well, it was years too late!

“It’s nice to see you again,” she said, forcing herself to keep smiling and extending her hand. After all, what had happened wasn’t Joe’s fault. “Do I thank your brother for this job?” she asked bluntly.

He flushed. His hand felt a little limp in hers, and he quickly removed it. “Uh, actually, you can thank me. Marc didn’t find out until it was too late. That is, he sort of wanted a blonde....”

“You don’t have to apologize, I’m just grateful for the work,” she said gently. So Marc hadn’t wanted her here. No doubt he wanted to forget her completely, since betraying her had gotten him so far in the world. Maybe his conscience still hurt him. She hoped it did.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled shyly. “I hope you won’t hold the past against me,” he began. “Marc and I never got along real well, even back then. I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you, but that was a long time ago.”

The memories engulfed her all at once, and despite her twenty-six years and all of her acquired sophistication, she went beet red.

Her gaze held his, cool, quiet, green glades of solitude. “How is your brother?” She didn’t want to ask, but she had to know.

He shrugged. “Marc’s okay, I guess,” he said, as if he disliked discussing his older brother. “The business is his life.”

She let her gaze drop to his collar, noticing a tiny spot on it, like ketchup, and she almost smiled. He was boyish, and she liked his apparent lack of sophistication. She glanced back up again, studying him. “Marc isn’t married?”

“They try,” Joe offered, “but he always escapes the noose. Slippery fish, my brother.” He cocked his head. “You married?”

“I can’t stand men,” she volunteered, and grinned.

He burst out laughing. “Hey, that’s good. I like that.” His warm, dark eyes slid over her slender, well-proportioned body. “You sure look good,” he blurted out, and quickly cleared his throat before she could speak. “Uh, you thirsty?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation.

She smiled. “I feel like I’ve been in the desert for a month! These lights are hot!”

“Would you... I could buy you a soda or a martini or something,” he volunteered.

“Sure,” she said easily. “Give me a minute to get dressed.”

He took a deep breath. “Okay!”

She laughed as she went to get her clothes back on. He was a nice boy, she thought. A brotherly type, if ever there was one. So she owed the account to him. That was surprising. But he’d always seemed attracted to her, even in the days when she was dating Marc. She’d liked him the first time she ever saw him, in the apartment he shared with his older brother. He was a nice, unassuming boy with a reserve that she’d taken for coldness until she saw the lack of confidence it camouflaged. Then she began to talk to him. Like most people, he responded to her smiling cheerfulness and opened up. He’d been a lot of fun. Apparently the shyness hadn’t abated in all those years, but she wondered if he was still the mischievous boy underneath. Or had a lifetime of living in Marc’s shadow left him without joy?

Marc. She closed her eyes as she donned a pair of white slacks and a multicolored silk blouse. She’d deliberately kept busy so that she wouldn’t have to think about him, to remember. And now Joe was here and bringing it all back. But despite her pain and the years of wounded pride, she couldn’t resist the hunger for bits of information about him. Was he well, how did he look, was he happy, was there a special woman...so many questions that she shouldn’t have wanted to ask. But her heart would feast on just such tidbits. And she was like a puppet on a string. She had to know. She had to hear that he was satisfied with what he had, that giving her up had been worth the profit it had gained him.

Joe took her to an elegant little restaurant less than a block away and persuaded her to have lunch as well as something to drink.

“You must be hungry,” he coaxed, smiling. “Come on, have a salad at least. That won’t put weight on you.”

“All right.” She gave in gracefully, smiling across the white linen tablecloth at him. “But if I gain one pound, my agent gets to park his car on your spine for an hour. Deal?”

He laughed, then folded his arms on the table and shook his head. “You’re a funny lady. I remembered your sense of humor best of all. You used to make me feel really comfortable.” He looked down at his hands, slender and tanned, sensitive hands. “I don’t mix with people very well.”

“Most of us don’t, if you want the truth,” she confided. “We learn to bluff. Put on a big smile and leap in with both feet. By the time people realize you’re not a live-wire personality, you’re talking to them and you forget how shy you are.”

“Come on,” he chided. “You’re not shy.”

“I certainly am!” she replied. She tucked a long strand of shimmering auburn hair behind one dainty ear. “I’ve been shy all my life. But I learned to act like an extrovert. Now everyone thinks I am one.”

“Yeah, well that doesn’t work for me,” he said. He studied her face. “Are you always as happy as you look in those product ads you do?”

She looked down at the silverware, touching her knife gently with a long, red-polished fingernail. “Is anybody happy all the time? I have my problems and I get lonely. But I suppose I’ve learned to like my own company. At least, I’ve had to until this past year. My mother died of a heart attack, and I’ve moved back in with my father, to keep him company.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I guess it’s hard to lose a mother.”

She sighed. “Yes, I suppose it was. We never got along very well, but I cared about her. So did my father. God bless him, he went crazy when she died. Just went all to pieces. She was the guiding force, you see. Mother made the rules and he followed them. This is the first time in his life that he’s had the freedom to do what he likes, and now he doesn’t quite know what to do with it,” she said, smiling tolerantly. “He’s a character, my dad. A dreamer. If he hadn’t inherited money, and had Mother show him how to make more, I suppose he’d been running an antique store and giving away his profits.”

“Do you look like him?”

“Not really. I have his awful auburn hair and green eyes,” she admitted. “But I have my mother’s facial features.” She studied him. “You look a lot like...like your brother.”

“Yeah, most of the men in the Stephano family kind of look alike. Why, we have an uncle who looks like he could be Marc’s and my father.”

“Uncle Michael,” she said suddenly, remembering Marc’s deep, gravelly voice telling her about his uncle, a slightly shady character if she remembered correctly.

“That’s right. Hey, girl, you’ve got a good memory.”

“Too good, sometimes,” she said with a wistful look in her eyes.

He started to speak, but the waiter came, and they paused to order. He took out a cigarette and glanced at her.

“It’s okay,” she said, “I’m used to people who smoke.”

“I’m not quite as bad as Marc,” he said, laughing. “He smokes like a furnace these days.”

“Has he changed a lot?” she asked, and her eyes were wide and softer than she realized.

He leaned back in his chair and studied her carefully. “Oh, he’s changed, all right. So much that I finally had to move out on my own. Well, not quite. I don’t like my own company that much, I have a roommate. Nice guy. He sells real estate.”

“Have you been out on your own long?”

“Three years,” he confessed. “Marc lives in an apartment on the East Side, overlooking the river. He’s got a great view. Mine’s a little closer in, and it faces another building. Not much to look at unless you look up, but it’s a place to sleep.”

“I guess Marc travels a lot,” she persisted.

“Not too much.”

The waiter brought their orders, and she gave up asking about the man from her past long enough to eat. Coffee was served when they finished, and they lingered over it.

“What about the men in your life?” he asked. “I don’t believe you’re that much of a man-hater.”

“Oh, I go out on the town once in a while,” she said, “but I work hard, and the weekends are the only time I have free.”

He looked at his coffee cup. “I’d like to take you out to dinner tonight,” he told the coffee. “It’s Friday, and I know you probably already have a date....”

“No,” she said, watching him color. “Actually I don’t.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” He crossed his arms on the table again and glanced at her hesitantly. “Well, would you come? I know it’s short notice, but I had to get introduced to you first, before I could ask, you know.”

She smiled secretly at his shy manner. She liked his style. In a way he seemed a lot like her. She tossed back her hair. “Well...”

“Be a sport,” he coaxed, brightening as he added, “I’ll take you to a restaurant that has a fountain. I’ll even let you swim in the fountain.”

She laughed delightedly. “Is there a fountain, honestly?”

“No. But for you I’ll build one,” he promised. He cocked his head to one side, studying her. “Be a sport!”

Her green eyes began to shine with amusement, and her face became exquisite. He caught his breath looking at her. Why not? she asked herself. She didn’t like the usual type of man who expected much more than a handshake at the end of the evening. She thought that Joe wouldn’t be like that. He didn’t seem to be looking for a serious relationship any more than she was. What would it hurt? It might even be a dig at Marc. Yes, perhaps it would anger him, after all these years, to know that she was seeing his brother. She’d never expected that she might feel vengeful; it was out of character. But the affair with Marc killed something in her, knowing how little he’d valued the love she’d offered him. It had damaged her in ways she didn’t even like admitting to. And the love-hate she felt for him, even after nine years, demanded some sort of reckoning. Wouldn’t this be a little recompense? It wasn’t as if she were using Joe. Joe knew the score; he just wanted a friend. Why not? Only the two of them need ever know it was just friendship. But Marc wouldn’t know it. He’d think she was leading Joe on, to get even. She could get to him without ever laying a hand on him.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll come out with you. But, Joe, I’m no good-time girl,” she added, putting it plainly, her face solemn. “Friendship is all I’m offering. Okay?”

He shifted in his chair, and something touched his eyes for an instant. But he grinned. “Okay,” he said on a laugh. “Friends forever.”

“Uh, I hate to mention it,” she said hesitantly, “but isn’t this kind of fraternizing with the brass, so to speak?”

“Let me worry about that.” His dark eyes narrowed. “You aren’t carrying a torch for big brother after all these years, are you?” he asked abruptly.

She shook her head and felt her body going rigid with remembered pain. “Not on your life.”

“Good.” He stretched lazily. “Suppose I pick you up about six?” he asked.

“You don’t know where I live,” she faltered.

He chuckled. “No? I asked your agency. Since I’m the boss, sort of, they gave it to me.”

“You sure are resourceful!” She laughed, wondering if she should be pleased that her agency had sold her out to a perfect stranger. She also couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when she saw Marc again. But she gave in with a sigh. Maybe it was fate. She’d cope. Besides, she rather liked this young man. She didn’t date a lot because she hated having to fight off men with ideas about quick relationships. Joe didn’t seem like a rusher, and she looked forward to being able to go out without being harassed.

Her father was out when she got home. Her parents had fought her tooth and nail to keep her out of modeling. Her father had even gone behind her back and tried to persuade one agency head not to hire Gaby. But eventually she’d found an agency that was interested in her, and she’d started making a name for herself. Thanks to those years she’d spent at a prestigious New England boarding school, she had enough poise and grace of movement to make her a natural. Not that she’d been so enthused at the time, she reminded herself pointedly. Oh, no.

Marc. She could close her eyes, and there he’d be, big and strong and softly laughing as she responded wildly to his very adult passion. It had always been Marc who pulled away, not Gaby. From the first time she’d sneaked away from home to meet him, it had been Marc who kept things cool between them. Even now she could vividly remember his words.

“You’re a baby,” he’d teased, nibbling at her mouth. “You’re not ready for love yet, little one. It would haunt me all my life.”

“But, Marc, I love you so,” she’d whispered back, openly pleading.

“But you’re barely an adult.” And he’d kissed her and held her. His hands had touched her young breasts for the first time. “Soft little buds,” he’d breathed at her lips as he felt the rapid hardening of the tips under his gently caressing fingers.

He was an emotional man, all sensuous blatancy, Gaby remembered, never dressing up his language or his remarks. It was what had appealed most to her, with her too sheltered background.

She had clung to him that day as he’d eased her down into his arms in the deserted park under the big oak by the lake. He’d smiled reassuringly as he laid her back on the grass and slowly opened the top few buttons of her blouse.

Gaby shuddered, remembering her own words to Marc that day. “I want to be yours, Marc,” she’d whispered. She’d lain quietly, feeling the soft coolness of the grass at her back as he dealt with buttons and then lace and hooks. She arched her back as he peeled away the bra.

“So delicate,” he’d whispered deeply, his voice shaded with tenderness and growing passion, his black eyes devouring her as he loomed over her prone body, his big hands on either side of her. “So virginal.”

“I’d die before I’d let anyone else look at me this way,” she’d told him feverishly, and her body had ached for sensations it had never before experienced.

“And suppose I want to touch you?” he’d asked, lifting his eyes to her soft, flushed face. “What then?”

Her lips had parted on hungry thoughts. She’d reached down and slowly peeled the blouse and bra from her body, feeling her nipples go hard as he looked at them, as she arched them toward him.

“Have you ever done this with anyone?” he whispered.

“Not until now,” she’d replied, swallowing hard. Her breath had come quickly, like gasps. “Marc... I want to feel your hands.”

“Yes. I want to feel you too,” he whispered back. He lifted one big, warm hand and put it slowly over a soft breast, watching her body jerk as it swallowed her up, and he felt the hard tip rubbing in the dampness of his palm. “You’re so little, darling.”

“Too little?” she managed, afraid that she’d failed him somehow.

“Oh, no,” he whispered, smiling. “No.” His big hands had caressed her stiff young body, and she’d moaned in a way that had excited him beyond bearing.

Outside the house, car horns blew, bringing Gaby coldly back to the present. But her body trembled as she remembered how it had felt that first time he’d touched her, remembered the soft suction of his open mouth on her breast. She looked wildly into the mirror as she stood there nude, fresh from her bath, and watched her body respond even now, years later, to the memory of how it had been. Never since, not even once, had she reacted that way to a man. Marc had owned her body and possessed her soul. Every time she’d tried to give herself to any other man, the memory had chilled her to the bone, so that she was cold, icy cold, with men. They called her frigid, but it was the heat of Marc’s lovemaking that had taken all her warmth away. She’d never been cold with him.

She dressed in a fever, tugging on a pale green cocktail dress with shaking hands. The dress had a bodice with only a whisper of lace over the strapless shoulders. She wouldn’t need a shawl or a jacket, because it was summer and already hot at night.

She left her hair long, letting it drift in auburn waves down over her shoulders. She’d developed since those sensual days with Marc. She’d gained weight, and her body had ripened. She had a perfect hourglass figure now, long slender legs and an all-over tan, a body that men wanted. Marc had wanted it long before it flowered. But Marc had wanted money more. And Gaby knew, even if nobody else did, how he’d attained his huge empire. Knew, and hated him for it. She tried to put thoughts of Marc far from her mind as she got ready to meet Joe. There was no reason to have the ghosts of the past harm her tonight. She was going to have a good time.

Joe Stephano called for her promptly at six. He was leaning leisurely against the stone arch past the door when she answered the doorbell. She and her father only had a daily housekeeper now, Mrs. Sims, a charming middle-aged woman who kept things going like clockwork while Gaby and her father pursued their respective careers. Mrs. Sims left at five thirty usually, except when guests were expected for dinner, so there was only Gaby to answer the phone and the door after that time.

“Very nice,” he said appreciatively, pursing his lips at the deep cleavage and the way the soft fabric clung to every line of her body. “You’ll stop traffic.”

“I do hope so,” she murmured demurely. He was just about her height, very thin, and he looked oddly out of place in his dark evening clothes, but she took his arm and followed him out onto the busy street.

He was driving an expensive sports car, a black one with a white interior, and she was impressed with its gadgetry.

“I usually get cabs where I’m going,” he remarked as they drove down the busy street, “but they’re so hot at night. Besides, I wanted to show this car off. It’s brand-new.”

“It’s a lot of car,” she said, because she knew the list price. She’d wanted one herself but had been hesitant to spend that much on a car. She could have purchased a house in some parts of the country for less.

“I like expensive things,” he remarked. Her eyes went to the Rolex watch on his wrist and the silk jacket he was wearing. Obviously he went in style.

She leaned her head back against the headrest with a weary smile. “It’s been a long day,” she said apologetically. “I hope I won’t be a drag.”

“Not you, Gaby.” He said her name for the first time and smiled, as if it pleased him to use it. “Never you. I thought we’d go Chinese tonight, what do you say?”

“I love Chinese food,” she said dreamily.

“Then Chinese it is!” he replied. He stepped on the gas. “Hold on.”

She did, wondering at the reckless way he cut in and out of traffic. Very often a shy personality camouflaged a person who thrived on danger. Joe hadn’t looked like a daredevil, but he was shaping up as one. She was ready to give thanks for survival when they arrived in the parking lot of an exclusive-looking Chinese restaurant.

“Here we are!” He grinned. He let the top up before he helped her out and locked the car. “Hey, you look shaky. I didn’t scare you, did I?” he asked, as if it mattered.

“A little,” she admitted, because her legs felt like rubber.

“Hey, I won’t ever do it again, okay? I’m really sorry.”

He was so apologetic that she felt guilty for mentioning it. She shook her head and slid her hand through the crook of his arm. “Forget it. Let’s eat. I feel like sweet-and-sour pork tonight.”

“Me too.”

It was the first of many dates. They got along well together, and Gaby liked the fact that he left her at her door with a wink and a grin. She didn’t have to fight him off, and she was delighted to have someone to go places with, someone who didn’t ask for more than she was able to give. She relaxed with him.

The only hard part was wondering about Marc, about his reaction to it. She was sure that Joe had told him. But Joe never mentioned his brother, and she’d long since given up probing. It did no good at all to ask about Marc; Joe gave answers in monosyllables and quickly changed the subject. And perhaps that was just as well. It wouldn’t do for her to get too curious about Marc.

She hadn’t told her father that she was seeing Joe. There hadn’t been the opportunity, anyway. Her dad spent a lot of time at the office these days, getting his finances straightened out after the time he’d taken off to mourn his wife’s death. He was only now becoming his old, cheery self again.

Gaby continued with the Motocraft ads, which had just appeared on television and were gaining her a national reputation as the Parts Girl. She took the kidding good-naturedly, because added exposure meant added security in her job. The money was good, too, and she liked being self-sufficient, depending on herself for her livelihood. She and Joe eased into a companionable friendship, and her life was on an even keel for the first time in quite a while. Then Joe took her by the company offices in downtown Manhattan to meet the executive who was in charge of the advertising. And she ran headlong into Marcus Stephano for the first time in nine years.

CHAPTER TWO

GABY HAD JUST left the elevator on the twelfth floor of the office building where Motocraft, Inc., was located when she collided with something big and warm and solid.

She felt his hands before she looked up and saw his face. Big, warm, firm hands that kept her from pitching to the floor. Hands that her body remembered long before her eyes flooded with helpless memory.

“Gaby?” His deep voice ran through her like ripples on clear water, and her heart beat crazily as she straightened, drowning in the spicy scent of his cologne, a scent she’d associated with him all the long years.

Her wide green eyes searched his black ones, and all her resolutions to hate him, to wreak vengeance, went into stark eclipse. She’d heard of people being frozen in place, but until now she’d never actually experienced it. She didn’t move. She hardly breathed. The world narrowed to Marcus Stephano’s broad, dark face, and she looked and looked until her starving heart began to expand with feeling.

Older. He was older. There were streaks of gray in the thick straight black hair that still fell onto his forehead in unruly strands. There were lines under his eyes, beside his chiseled, wide mouth. He was heavier than he used to be but was still all muscle: broad shoulders that strained against a beautifully tailored jacket, powerful legs that were barely encased in thin, close-fitting slacks. Under his brow his dark eyes narrowed and stared down at her unblinkingly, as if he, too, were comparing memory with reality.

It was too quick. She’d expected that she might see him, dreaded and anticipated it with wild abandon. But she hadn’t expected that it would happen suddenly, like this, before she had time to prepare herself. It was like walking into a hole in a shallow creek.

“Marc,” she said, her voice sounding ghostly, not its normal, sweet contralto.

His chest expanded with what looked like a deliberate breath, but his face showed nothing. Just like old times.

“Surely I haven’t changed that much, honey?” he asked, nothing hostile in his tone. “You’ve grown up, little Gaby. I hardly recognized you.”

Her nails gripped her small purse until she thought they might pierce the delicate leather. But somehow she smiled.

“I’m nine years older,” she reminded him. “Twenty-six, my last birthday.”

“Yes, I know.” He let his eyes go slowly down her body. She felt almost as if he were touching her skin, and she trembled inside. Part of her was glad that she’d chosen to wear a silky, sleeveless beige dress that clung lovingly to her body and that she’d put her hair up into a sleek chignon. She looked elegant and sophisticated, and her eyes were triumphant when she saw the masculine appreciation in his hard face. “You were a bud then. You’ve blossomed.”

“Quite,” she said in a haughty tone.

He still didn’t react. His eyes went past her to Joe, as if he’d only just realized that his brother was with her. Joe’s face was an emotionless mask, and his hands were jammed deeply into his pockets.

“Ciao, mio fratello,” Marc said in Italian, and smiled pleasantly at the younger man.

“Hi,” Joe replied. “I thought Gaby might like to see the offices and meet David Smith, our vice president in charge of advertising.”

“Oh, yes,” Marc said. He glanced at his watch and pulled a gold cigarette case from his inside pocket, his eyes steady and curious on Gaby’s flushed face. “You’re our new image, aren’t you, Gaby?”

He seemed so condescending that she colored. So that was how he planned to play it. Very cool, she gave him that.

“We’re lucky to get her,” Joe broke in, sounding more belligerent than she’d ever heard him.

“Gaby’s reached the point where she’s turning down work these days.”

“Yes, indeed,” she agreed, laying it on thick as she peered up at the taller man and treated him to a flirtatious smile. “I’m in demand, as they say. My bankbook runneth over.” Her eyes narrowed, and the smile iced over. “Sometimes I make more than five thousand a week.”

She’d chosen the figure deliberately, and she watched it hit home, watched his expression freeze in place. He didn’t move for a long moment.

“Nice for you,” he said then, and the mask was in place again. It had hardly slipped at all.

“Nice for you, if this place is indicative of your empire, Mr. Stephano,” she said, glancing around at furnishings that were obviously expensive and probably had been chosen by interior decorators. “Amazing how far you’ve come from that garage where you used to work when I knew you.”

“I got lucky,” he said through his teeth.

“Oh, didn’t you just,” she drawled, delighting at the fury that darkened his eyes.

Joe, standing to one side, frowned at the byplay, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents.

“Shall we go?” Joe asked Gaby, holding out a hand.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she said lightly, and took the outstretched hand. She didn’t miss Marc’s reaction, and that pleased her too. “See you, big boss.”

Joe seemed as triumphant as she felt, and she darted a glance at him. Well, there was no doubt that he’d grown up in Marc’s shadow. Marc had had to be father and mother to the younger man, and she remembered vividly how Marc wielded that authority. He expected immediate obedience, no delays, no excuses. He’d been rigid, and she’d wondered even then if he hadn’t been too tough on Joe. She’d even mentioned it once, only to have him lash out at her for trespassing in family matters.

“Do you work here too?” she asked Joe.

“Me? Nope.” He shrugged it off. “I have an office at the main supply store. It’s kind of my territory. Besides, Marc and I do better when we only see each other occasionally.”

“I see.”

“How was it, seeing him again after so long?” he asked, pausing at the door to an office that carried David Smith’s name in gold letters.

She grimaced. “Not so bad, I guess.”

“He went up in smoke, did you notice?” He laughed, as if that amused him. “I’ll hear about this, you know. He’ll be all over me. Fraternizing with the employees...”

“Joe, you won’t get in trouble, will you?” she asked nervously. She didn’t want to be the cause of an argument.

“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself,” he told her. “Let him rage. Besides,” he added with a calculating stare at Gaby, “he’s got his own problems. I hear his newest lovely is angling for matrimony.”

“His newest?” she asked softly.

“Lana Moore. She’s a British woman. Very wealthy. Brains and beauty. He’s been her lover for the past year. Who knows, he might settle down at last.”

Gaby felt sick, unsteady on her feet. But she couldn’t let it show; she couldn’t let Joe see how that news affected her. She smiled and acted as if she were on stage. “Think so?” she teased. “What will we give him for a wedding present? How about the engine out of that ’56 Chevy?”

He smiled and looked so relieved that she almost burst out laughing. “You’re terrific,” he said under his breath. “Class all the way. Me, I got so many rough edges, I look like a building under construction, but you’re pure, smooth curves, Gaby.”

“What rough edges?” she said, chiding.

His thin shoulders lifted and fell. “My background shows. So does Marc’s, although he hides it well. It’s hard to go from poverty to money. Hard to leave old friends behind because they can’t share your new interests, can’t keep up with the money. Hard to try to fit into the lifestyle of new acquaintances who have money as a common interest, but you can’t relate to them as well as you can to the old friends. You never quite fit in, you know?”

She shook her head. “I came from money,” she confessed. “I’ve always had it. I guess it would be hard, though. Like having a foot in two worlds.”

“Well put. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Dave.”

He opened the door. A thin, nervous-looking man stood up, smiling at Joe. “Hi, son.” He laughed. He was barely forty, but he must feel fatherly. At least he looked it with his bald head and narrow amber eyes. “This must be Gaby. I recognize you from your photos. You’re doing a great job. We’re getting a lot of attention because of you.”

“I’m very glad, Mr. Smith,” she said, leaning forward to shake the clammy, outstretched hand. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity.”

“We’re happy to have you. Can I show you around?”

“We’ll show her around,” Joe said possessively, and winked as he took Gaby’s arm.

They gave her the cook’s tour, and at the end of it she had a vivid picture of the size of the company. It was monstrous, and she wondered how Marc, even with executives and a board of directors, kept track of all of it.

“The mind boggles,” she told Joe on the way out, all the while glancing around as if she expected that Marc might bound out from hiding. “It’s so...big! How do you keep track of everything?”

“Oh, we have enough employees,” he said easily. “It’s mostly bookkeeping, anyway.”

“Some bookkeeping! I’d go blind staring at so many numbers.”

“The auditors do, I think.” He laughed. He studied her for a long moment as they went down in the elevator. “There’s a party next Friday night at Marc’s apartment. Come with me.”

She felt herself go trembly. She wanted to go. She wanted to see Marc, just once more, to let her eyes have the freedom to look at him, to enjoy the sight and smell and reality of him after all this time. She’d thought that after all these years she’d gotten over him, but now, after seeing him just once, she wanted desperately to be near him again. It was so dangerous, though. The trap was there: she could fall in headfirst; she could give up her soul to him all over again. And this time it would be harder to let go. Despite his betrayal, despite the anguish, a part of her belonged to him and always would.

“I don’t think so,” she said quietly.

“Don’t be afraid of him,” Joe taunted lightly, touching her face. “I’ll be right there with you. He won’t bother you.”

That’s what you think, she thought. She looked up, her green eyes dominating her soft face. “Do you know how it ended between Marc and me?” she asked abruptly.

His eyebrows arched. “Sure. Your parents sent you away to school, to get you away from him.”

She opened her mouth. “Almost,” she told him. She and Joe were friends now, and she liked him. He felt like the brother she’d never had. And that being the case, she didn’t want to hurt him, to disillusion him about Marc. She knew he still looked up to his older brother, and she couldn’t destroy his dreams. She remembered how it had hurt when Marc destroyed hers.

She smiled faintly. “He told you, then?”

“Marc?” He stuck out his lower lip and laughed. “He never tells me anything. I just probed until I dragged that out of him. He wouldn’t talk about you afterward. Not one word. I guess it stung, having you taken out of his life like that.”

Sure it had stung, she thought, but the money had surely taken out the sting. He’d used it to good effect, too, she thought bitterly. She straightened. So he hadn’t told Joe the truth. How odd. Perhaps he didn’t want his younger brother to know what a cold-blooded, mercenary man he really was.

Her eyes grew cold as she relived it. “I’ll go to the party with you,” she said. “It will be an experience.”

“You’ll get to meet Lana,” he remarked, watching closely for her reaction.

She didn’t give him one. She’d learned to hide her feelings. “What a treat!” she said sarcastically.

He chuckled. “Stick with me, kid. I’ll protect you.”

Her eyes twinkled as she smiled back. He was really a nice man when he forgot his shyness. He did, with her. She seemed to bring out a new side of him. Interesting how that happened, she thought. Some people could draw out the darkness, others the light. She tucked her hand in his arm and let him lead her out of the building.

She almost looked back. But the trauma of seeing Marc again kept her eyes facing toward the street. Now that it had happened, it was over. She could be prepared for their next meeting. And no way was she going to miss that party now. She wanted to show him how little she cared for him. She wanted to dress to the teeth and show him exactly what he’d thrown away for money. The thought brightened her eyes, sharpened her smile. Joe, looking down, grinned. He could be forgiven for thinking he was the cause of her heightened color and being flattered by it.

CHAPTER THREE

MARC’S APARTMENT WAS LUXURIOUS, just as Gaby had pictured it. From the thick pile of the gray carpet to the charcoal, brown and beige striped furniture and coordinating curtains, it was as striking as the man who lived there. She had to admit that his taste in furnishings was very good. If he’d had any part in the decorating, she thought bitterly, when she caught a glimpse of him with the beautiful blonde on his arm.

So that was Lana Moore. She was wearing a black shoulderless gown, and it emphasized her very apparent femininity. Her hair was done Grecian style, very flattering to her delicate features and big blue eyes.

Gaby was wearing gold lamé, her sheath gown also shoulderless and with a deep slit down the front of the skirt, but her carriage had more panache than Ms. Moore. She had the modeling background to wear anything with style and exquisite grace. She was very grateful for that fact tonight. She couldn’t have borne coming off second best to Marc’s new love.

She’d left her own hair long, so that it swirled like copper around her face and shoulders. The few tiny freckles across her nose had been carefully camouflaged with makeup. Joe, when he’d picked her up at her home, had just stood and stared and whistled fervently. She’d grinned at him, pleased that he liked her choice of gowns. Now she was hardly able to grin as he propelled her toward his brother and Lana Moore.

“We’ll get this over first,” he whispered, smiling. He looked good, too, in dark evening clothes, although to Gaby he was still only a shadow of Marc. The older man wore his own dinner jacket with careless elegance, and Gaby had to force herself not to stare at him. His face was as dark as the beautiful, masculine hand that curved around Lana Moore’s milky shoulders...

“Joseph,” Marc said in greeting, turning with a smile that lasted only until he saw Gaby. “Miss Bennett,” he emphasized, nodding politely, although his eyes possessed her, thrilling eyes that had once looked hungrily on her. Was he remembering that? she wondered. Gaby felt as if she could almost see the thought in his mind.

The blonde beside him smiled, too, and it was genuine. She wasn’t at all what Gaby had expected.

“He won’t introduce me, but I’m Lana Moore,” the woman said gently. She looked about Gaby’s age, and her eyes were as warm as her smile. “He’s my best friend.”

“How do you do?” Gaby asked politely, feeling as if a knife turned in her heart as she returned the smile. “I’m Gaby Bennett. I’m sort of an employee,” she added, glancing at Joe.

Joe chuckled, reaching out to take Lana’s hand. “Hi. I’m the black sheep, remember me?” he asked. “Gaby, here, is our new commercial lady. She’s making the transmission-and-parts business boom.”

“No wonder you looked familiar!” Lana said. “I should have known straightaway. I’ve seen your commercials. You’re even lovelier in person!”

How horrible it was to be admired by the woman who’d replaced her in Marc’s life, in Marc’s heart. She had to act for all she was worth. “Thank you, but it’s the quality of the merchandise selling itself,” she replied. “I’m only the window dressing.”

“More than that,” Joe said under his breath, and tugged a lock of her hair affectionately. “She’s the whole show.”

“There’s a buffet, if you’d like something,” Marc told Joe and Gaby, and his arm drew Lana closer while she beamed up at him.

“All I’m allowed after meals is butterfly steak,” Gaby murmured dryly. “But I’d love some coffee,” she told Joe.

“Sure. Come on. See you,” he called to Marc and Lana, and guided Gaby toward the buffet.

Her eyes, if he could have seen them, would have shocked him. The anguish in them would have melted steel. But she quickly erased it and clung to his arm.

“She’s lovely,” she said. “And she seems a wonderful person.”

“She’s a nice kid, all right,” he agreed. “I hope he won’t hurt her too badly. He’s an iceberg, old Marc. He can’t seem to give. His emotions are tied up in knots.”

Not always, she wanted to tell him. There was a time, once, when he was as open and giving and loving as a man could possibly be. And with the memory tugging at her heart she turned and looked full into Marc’s eyes across the room. Suddenly they were locked, mind and soul, for an instant that burned away time, that made her throb with remembered passion. His lips parted, and his dark eyes went down her body slowly with total possession. Oh, Marc, she thought miserably, how did we ever come to this? Why wasn’t I enough? Why did you want the money so much more than you wanted me?

Tears stung her eyes, and she turned away before he could see what a fool she was making of herself. He liked her body, yes, he always had. She was unconsciously flaunting it tonight, to make him aware of her, of what he’d thrown away. And now she felt cheap and sick, after meeting Lana, after seeing how helplessly in love with him the British girl was—in love with him, as she’d been, so long ago. But that was the past. There was no going back, however much she might have liked a second chance. Marc was making it painfully obvious that he wanted no second chances. He’d gotten what he was after. He had money and power and a beautiful woman to share it with. He had the world. And Gaby had...what?

She sipped her coffee quietly.

Joe, watching, seemed to sense her sadness. “Does it hurt so much, seeing him with her?” he asked tersely.

Her eyes closed. “It was nine years ago,” she shot back. “I’m over him.”

“Are you?” He took a swallow from his glass of brandy. “It doesn’t look it.”

Her green eyes flashed as she looked up at him. “Don’t. Don’t put our friendship at risk. You’re trespassing on memories you have no knowledge of.”

“They must not have been good ones. He’s forgotten easily enough,” he added, gesturing toward Marc, who was nuzzling his dark face against Lana’s hair as they spoke to another couple.

She bit her lower lip. “Stop it!”

He took a deep breath. “Look...”

“You look,” she shot back, furious. “I’m going to get some air.”

She put down her cup and went out onto the terrace, breathing in the soft, sultry night air, glancing down on the city and the gleaming silver ribbon of the river as it wound around toward the horizon.

Why couldn’t Joe leave it alone? Why was he so angry about her relationship with Marc? They were only friends. And he’d better accept that fact or she was going to stop going around with him. He was nothing more than a friend—he never would be—and she’d made that clear to him over and over again. Yet here he was, behaving like a jealous lover. Her heart was too shattered ever to be put together again and risked with a man. She’d thought Joe understood that.

She turned, strolling aimlessly between the huge potted plants and stone benches, only vaguely aware that the others who had been on the patio had gone back inside, that she was alone.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” Marc asked suddenly, coming up beside her with a smoking cigarette in his hand. He spared the skyline a glance before he turned to study Gaby, much more thoroughly this time. “You’ve changed.”

“I’m older,” she reminded him. She leaned back against the cool stone of the balcony, breathing deliberately to keep him from seeing how his unexpected appearance had disturbed her, set her to trembling. She searched his hard face for traces of the young man she’d once loved. “So are you.”

“I had nine years on you, even then,” he reminded her. He took a draw from the cigarette and dropped it to the floor to grind it under his heel. “I was twenty-six to your seventeen. Why are you dating my brother?” he threw at her without warning.

Just like old times, she thought. Marc always had been blunt. “Why shouldn’t I?” she asked.

“You know damned well why not.”

“You surely don’t imagine I’m doing it for revenge?” she asked, laughing nervously.

“What other reason could you have?” he replied. “We both know Joe’s not your style. He never would be. He’s a marshmallow.”

“And you’re a knife,” she shot back, staring at him blatantly. “You even cut like one. I like your brother. He’s real. You never were. I only imagined you.”

“That was nine years ago,” he reminded her. “And it’s over. It was over before it ever began.”

“Do forgive me for trying to compromise you, Marc.” She laughed lightly, her green eyes shooting sparks at him as she folded her arms over her breasts. “I was very naive, remember.”

His face went harder. “Yeah.”

She tilted her head back so that her soft hair fell like a waterfall down her back. “I’m not green anymore, though,” she said softly. “So you don’t have to worry about your little brother. I’ll take good care of him.”

He hadn’t expected the frontal attack, and she caught the tiniest flicker of his eyelids. He reached for another cigarette. “There are plenty of other men in New York,” he said shortly.

“I like Joe,” she responded, hoping that her words would hurt Marc. She turned toward the apartment, but he caught her arm, holding her just in front of him. His palm against her skin was torment, bringing back memories of gentler touching, of silvery pleasure. His dark eyes stared angrily down into her shimmering green ones, and she had images of a dam held in tight control. She remembered all too well what he was like when that dam broke, how violent his passions were.

“Leave Joe alone, honey,” he said softly, too softly. “He’s not for you.”

“What will you do if I don’t, Marc?” she asked defiantly. “Send over some nocturnal visitors?”

“Nothing quite so permanent. I wouldn’t like to see you hurt. Not that way.” He reached up and caught her long hair, propelling her close against his massive body. He’d always been big, but now he felt like a mountain, and her body throbbed in instant response, a response she couldn’t prevent.

“Don’t,” she protested.

“Aren’t you curious?” he whispered, searching her face. “I am. I want to see if you’ve changed flavors, if you’ve aged, like good wine.”

His wide, sexy mouth was poised just above hers, and she was blind and deaf and dumb to the whole world outside. She could breathe him, taste him, and the feel of his huge body was like a narcotic. Old memories came unbidden, washing over her like fire, making her ache with remembered passion.

“Soft,” he breathed as his hands smoothed down her arms, coaxing her against his body. “You smell of roses in the darkness, just as you used to when you were a silky little virgin and I wanted to take you—”

“Well, don’t expect me to fall at your feet these days, Mr. Stephano,” she almost spat at him, using every ounce of her willpower to keep from throwing herself at him. He was the enemy. She had to remember that. She even managed a tight little smile as his mouth hovered over hers, tempting it.

“Can you keep it up?” he mocked, rubbing his lips delicately against hers in a shiver of sensuous pressure. “Can you hold out against it? I remember that most of all, that your body belonged to me from the first moment I touched it. Do you remember when that happened, Gaby? In the park, under the old oak?” he whispered against her open lips.

“A hundred years ago,” she retorted, jerking against his hold.

“At least.” He was playing, toying with her; that cruel smile told her so. But her body began to ache at the sweet contact with his huge, hard-muscled torso, as it hadn’t in many long years. If he kissed her now, she knew she’d melt onto the floor. She had to prevent him from doing that. She had to hold on to her sanity despite the fact that her knees were rubbery and her breath wouldn’t come.

He trailed a long, lean finger down her throat. “If you don’t leave Joe alone,” he whispered huskily, “I’ll come after you, Gaby. And he won’t want what I leave behind.”

“You don’t even know what you left behind nine years ago, do you, Marc?” she taunted, feeling her anger come to her rescue. Her green eyes flashed as she arched her body away from contact with his and went rigid in his arms. “You threw me out like a used rag!”

His face went stone-cold at that accusation. He stared down into her eyes quietly, searchingly. His hands on her bare arms tightened, and she thought vaguely that she might have bruises if he didn’t stop...

“And for money,” she continued, her eyes burning with unshed tears, the years of impotent rage all bursting behind a swell of emotion. “For five thousand dollars. That’s all it took to buy you off!” His face had gone white, but she hardly registered it; she saw him only through a blur of fevered anger. “I loved you! I would have died for you! And you sold me out for money! You used me!”

“Gaby,” he said hesitantly, as he slowly released her. “Gaby, you don’t understand. You don’t know how it was.”

“I know,” she scoffed, her voice breaking, and even then she smiled as she rubbed viciously at an escaped tear. “I know all too well. You were ambitious. You wanted to get up in the world. And you did. Don’t you want to thank me for all this, Marc?” she asked, sweeping her arms around toward the opulent apartment. “I was the price you paid for it!”

“Your own parents sold you out, not me!” he returned hotly, dark eyes flashing, his face like stone.

Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes felt as if they had sand in them. Her throat was full of thorns. Beside her slender hips, her fists clenched. “I’ve hated you,” she whispered. “For so many years I’ve hated you. I wouldn’t even go down the street where you used to live, by the garage where you worked. I thought you loved me.”

He seemed to have a hard time answering. He stared down at her, his dark eyes half-hidden under his eyelids, his jaw taut. “You were just a kid,” he said finally.

“Just a kid,” she echoed. She drew in a steadying breath. “Yes, I was. Young and trusting and stupid.” She glared at him. “I hear your new woman is loaded.” She smiled slowly. “How much will she be worth when you throw her over?”

“Damn you!” he burst out, his face livid with anger, dangerous.

She avoided his sudden movement just as Joe came out onto the patio. Marc glanced at his brother with eyes that barely saw through their fury while Joe approached them, oblivious to the scene that had just transpired. Marc lit a cigarette and Gaby sat shakily on a stone bench a few feet away. Joe joined them with two glasses of champagne.

“Talking over old times?” Joe asked, a note of anger in his voice. He gave his brother a narrow glance before he sat down beside Gaby. “Here you go, love,” he told her. “I’m sorry,” he added softly.

“So am I,” Gaby said, although only Joe understood the hidden meaning as she glanced past him at Marc. “Won’t Miss Moore be missing you?”

He glared at her. “No doubt she will. Go easy on the sauce, Joe, you know how it hits you in the head,” he said, cautioning his brother.

He turned and strode back inside, while Gaby sipped champagne as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She was still shaking inside, but she didn’t let on. She listened to Joe and answered his questions and put on the best act of her career.

But later, at home in the darkness, she relived her shame and guilt. How could she still feel desire for Marc after what he’d done to her? She’d have to keep him at a safe distance from now on. She wasn’t giving up that contract, not even for him. And if he wanted her to stop seeing Joe, let him tell his brother the truth. Let him tell Joe that he’d allowed himself to be bought off, to give up the woman he’d sworn eternal devotion to. Let him show his only brother what an unscrupulous, conscienceless, mercenary man he really was. And on that thought Gaby cried herself to sleep.

* * *

HER FATHER WAS at the breakfast table when she went down early the next morning, before she was to do the second set of stills for Motocraft, Inc.

“Fancy seeing me here!” Jack Bennett told his daughter with a grin. He was middle-aged now, balding, and a little overweight, but his eyes were as green as Gaby’s. “I’m the other tenant, remember me? I live here occasionally.”

She laughed. “Nice to have you home! Sorry I wasn’t here when you got in. I went to a party.” Gaby hesitated a moment before continuing. Should she tell her father that she had gone with Joe? Until now she had made it a point not to let him know she was once again in contact with the Stephanos.

“I... I went with Joe Stephano,” she said at last.

He seemed to freeze. “Stephano?”

“Yes. He and big brother Marc own their own company now. Motocraft, Inc., the parts and transmission company that’s been franchised. I’m doing all the publicity work for it. It was all decided before I knew who owned it, but it’s too late for them to back out now.”

“Stephano,” her father repeated huskily. “I never dreamed he’d make it.”

“He wouldn’t have, if you and Mother hadn’t bought him off,” she said coldly, and stared into her scrambled eggs, missing the flash of his eyes. “Well, that’s all water under the bridge now. You’d like his brother. Joe’s nice.”

“You’re dating Joe?”

“Why not?” She laughed. “Marc hates it, of course, but Joe’s a good guy, and I enjoy his company. Besides, he’s sort of my boss.”

“I never liked you becoming a model,” her father began.

“Neither you nor Mother ever did, but I’ve proved that I’m capable of supporting myself, and now I want to go on doing it.”

“What about marriage, children?” her father muttered.

“I don’t want all that. My goodness, you know I’m not domestic. I can burn water.”

“You wouldn’t have to be domestic for some men. There’s Peter...”

“Peter Jackson is a very nice man, and he’ll make some woman a wonderful husband,” she said dryly. “But not me. I don’t want to get married.”

“Because of Stephano?” he demanded, lifting his head to stare at her. “Because of that childish affair?”

“You never would listen to me, would you?” she asked quietly. “I was in love with him.”

He averted his eyes. “You were barely seventeen.”

“Some women only love once. He was my world.” She turned away and looked out the apartment window at the busy street below while her father stared blankly into his coffee. “There’s never been anyone else, in any emotional sense. I don’t think there ever will be.”

“Only because it was unfinished, that’s all,” her father grumbled. “If the affair had gone on very long, you’d probably have tired of him.”

“Think so?” She sipped her coffee. “Oddly enough, I think I’d have been hooked for life, so it’s just as well that we never became lovers.”

“You expect me to believe he never touched you?” he scoffed.

“Of course he touched me. But he never seduced me,” she returned, whirling. “He was too aware of my upbringing. He said it would kill my conscience, and he was probably right.”

Jack looked pale. “I thought you were having an affair with him.”

“No such luck.” She laughed. “Oh, well, it’s over, anyway, and just as well that nothing regretful happened. I have to run, I’m shooting a TV commercial this morning. Wish me luck. I’ve worked with this turkey before, and he had me do fifty-five takes on one sentence in the last commercial he filmed with me!”

“Yes,” Jack said absently. “Yes, good luck.”

She got her things together and started for the door.

“Gabrielle?” he called suddenly.

She turned, smiling. “Yes?”

“If things had been different,” he said, “you’d have married that grease monkey?”

“Yes, even if I had to live in poverty above his garage and have ten kids.” She smiled, remembering. “Who knows? See you later.”

“Yes. Goodbye.” He watched her go out the door, and then he slumped in his chair like an old man, staring around the empty room. Empty, like his life. Like Gaby’s. All because he’d listened to his wife one time too many instead of following his instincts. He sighed wearily and finished his coffee while the lines of a song flashed through his brain. “What do I say, dear, after I say I’m sorry?” But it was years too late to say that. He got up and went to work.

* * *

BACK AT THE STUDIO, Joe was waiting for Gaby. He watched while they shot the commercial and then took her to a late lunch in a nearby restaurant.

“Poor baby,” he commiserated as she sipped iced tea. “Thirty-five takes! Wow!”

“He’s killed me,” she murmured. “I’ll have them put his name on my death certificate under ‘cause of.’”

“Want me to get Uncle Michael to go visit him for you?” he whispered under his breath.

She laughed. “I’ll bet Uncle Michael is four feet tall and wears red striped ties.”

“He’s nearly six feet tall, silver-haired and wears a diamond stickpin,” he corrected. “And in his day he was what is known as a ladies’ man.”

“My, my, and here I am with you,” she teased.

He laughed, delighted. He sat with his face propped in his hands, staring at her worshipfully. He had a pleasant face, Gaby thought. It wouldn’t stop traffic, and it wasn’t as hard and chiseled as Marc’s, but it was nice all the same. He’d really blossomed in the few weeks she’d known him, and he hadn’t acted jealous since the night of Marc’s party. He kidded with her. He seemed to enjoy her company, but he’d apparently decided not to push their relationship any further than that. She was glad; she had nothing more to give him.

“Well, I’m no ladies’ man,” Joe confessed. “But I’m rich and good-lookin’ and overstocked with charm.”

“You forgot to mention how modest you are,” she prompted.

“Yeah, that too. I’m extremely modest.”

She burst out laughing. “You nice man, you.”

“I try, I try. How about dinner tonight?”

She smiled at him. “Sure, but you’ve taken me out so many times already. Why don’t you come to the house for dinner about five and you can meet my dad.”

“Taking me home to the old man, huh? Well, I guess I can survive. Okay.”

“You’ll like Dad. He’s nice too.”

“He’d have to be, to have a lovely daughter like you.” He chuckled at the face she made. “Five, then.”

“I’ll be ready,” she promised, and wondered what Marc would have to say when Joe told him, as Joe certainly would.

Her father was more nervous than she’d ever seen him that night when Joe arrived promptly at five.

“Hello, hello, so nice to meet you,” he said, acting flustered and shaking hands with the younger man. “I’m glad you could come.”

Gabrielle smoothed down her white sundress and studied her father with a frown, curious at his lack of poise, his red cheeks. It wasn’t like him to be upset by company.

“What can I get you to drink?” he asked, leading them into the spacious living room.

“I’ll just have some Perrier,” Gabrielle said. “Joe?”

“Vodka and soda,” Joe returned. He sat down beside her on the sofa while Jack Bennett poured their drinks. “You have a beautiful home,” Joe remarked, glancing around the expensively furnished room.

“My wife’s, not mine,” Jack said, smiling as he dropped into an armchair across from them. “She was very talented.”

“She died several months ago,” Gabrielle volunteered, staring into her glass. She smiled. “She was quite a lady, wasn’t she, Dad?”

He nodded, and the nervousness seemed to go as he sipped his own drink. “Yes, she was. A little naive in some ways but charming.” He glanced at Gaby. “How’s the modeling coming along?”

“Ask me,” Joe said, chuckling. He winked at Gaby. “She’s doing just great. We’ll sell millions of dollars’ worth of stuff, all because of Gaby. I couldn’t be more pleased about having her represent us.”

“Uh, how does your brother feel about it?” Jack asked suddenly.

Joe shrugged. “Marc doesn’t bother to acquaint me with his feelings. He hasn’t said a word about the ad campaign. Well, maybe one word,” he added, and he looked guilty.

“He tried to have me thrown out, I imagine,” Gaby said, taking a shot in the dark and watching Joe clear his throat as if he’d choked himself on his drink.

“It was nothing personal,” he said quickly, his dark eyes apologetic. “He just thought we should have a blonde.”

“I could always have dyed my hair,” she reminded him, grinning.

“Of course.”

Jack got up quickly and announced that dinner was waiting, as if he felt the sudden tension and was determined to obliterate it. They talked about politics and taxes all through the delicious meal Jack’s cook had prepared, and what had begun as a trying evening became a jovial one.

“Come again anytime,” Jack said when Joe was about to leave. “Glad to have you.”

“Thanks,” Joe replied, shaking hands at the door. “I enjoyed it.”

“So did I. I’ll say good night,” he added with a grin, and went upstairs.

She walked out the door with Joe in silence, and he seemed to be brooding about something as they stood beside his Mercedes convertible on the street. “I wanted to ask you something,” he began.

“Yes?” She smiled up at him.

“I wanted to invite you out to the Hamptons with me,” he said. “We—the family, that is—have a beach house there. It’s nice and private, and we’re having a few people down for the July Fourth holidays. I’d like you to come as my guest.”

Her heart stopped. “You and Marc, you mean,” she asked bluntly.

“Yeah,” he grumbled. He stuck his hands in his pockets with a rough sigh. “Don’t worry. He wouldn’t be around much,” he added coaxingly. “And, besides, the place is huge. We could always keep out of his way.”

Yes, and it would irritate him beyond bearing, Gaby thought. She hesitated but only for a minute. Marc would hate it. That appealed to her. It appealed a lot. Maybe she could even bear seeing him with Lana.

“Okay,” she said. “I’d love to. What shall I pack?”

“Something cool.” He chuckled. “And a couple of dresses. We’ll go to one of the fish places to eat.”

She searched his dark eyes and became serious. “Joe, I wouldn’t want to lead you on,” she began, her voice quiet. “I like you. But that’s all it can ever be. I enjoy my independence.” Her shoulders rose and fell. “Knowing that, I’ll understand if you’d rather I didn’t go with you.”

He smiled slowly. “Thank God.” He sighed. “A woman without marriage on the brain. I like you, too, sweetheart,” he added, brushing his knuckles gently against her cheek. “And I’m no more in the mood for a passionate affair than you are. But I don’t make friends easily, especially women friends, and I enjoy showing you off, taking you places. Sure, I want you to come. But Marc won’t, and that’s why you want to come, isn’t it?” he asked shrewdly, watching her face color. He laughed wickedly. “That’s another reason I invited you. Marc’s been running my life for years. But I’ve got my fingers in some other pies now, and I have my own spending money. Having you on my arm would give him hell, wouldn’t it?”

She began to realize that Joe had his own problems with Marc. Perhaps he’d deliberately pursued her to get back at his brother. She wasn’t sure now that she wanted to go through with it. Her own revenge was one thing. Joe’s was something else. Marc had put a lot of sacrifice into bringing up Joe...

Listen to yourself, she thought, you’re going soft already. She laughed. “Okay, I’ll go. We’ll put the thumbscrews on big brother together.”

“That’s my girl,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Good night.”

“Thanks for dinner,” he called as he drove off. And with a wave of his hand and a flash of white teeth, he was gone.

Gaby went upstairs to her own room and gazed out the window. Was she doing the right thing? She thought back to her youth, to the heart Marc had broken, to the aching humiliation of their final meeting. Her eyes went hard. Yes, it was the right thing. It didn’t matter what Joe’s motives were; her own were the only ones that concerned her. She could needle Marc if she kept her head. She could make him feel the same torment he’d inflicted on her. And she ignored the tiny voice that argued that she was more vulnerable than he was. The sight of him would be bittersweet anguish. To see him, be with him again, even with Lana Moore between them...no, that wasn’t why she was going, it wasn’t! She turned abruptly from the window and went to bed.

CHAPTER FOUR

GABY SAW JOE frequently after that. She expected Marc to try to put a stop to it, but she saw no evidence of any interference. She was relieved, but in a way it bothered her, too, because Gaby hated thinking Marc didn’t even care. She had to admit that she preferred his antagonism to his indifference and she wanted to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her.

Meanwhile Joe was good fun. He had excellent manners and a dry sense of humor. He took her to the most expensive, delightful kinds of places. She’d been accustomed to high living all her life, so she never questioned the kind of money Joe had. Motocraft must really be an enterprise, Gaby thought, because even a vice president got rich at it. But, then, Marc was Joe’s brother, and she imagined Marc didn’t mind sharing. He’d once seemed the soul of generosity to her. Back in the days before he began to worship money and would do anything for it.

Joe had more cars than anyone Gaby had ever known. He changed them almost daily, going from his Jaguar to a Mercedes to a Corvette and then to a renovated MG Midget. Gaby liked the Midget most of all, probably because it wasn’t new and it seemed to have a personality all its own. They alternated between going to restaurants and Joe’s apartment, where he had a giant screen for his VCR. There they could watch first-run movies with popcorn provided by the woman who cooked for Joe and his roommate, Bob Donalds. Bob often joined them for the movies. He was good company, too, a real estate agent with a live-wire personality, just the opposite of Joe. Bob never seemed to mind company, and he liked Gaby. He was tall and redheaded and teased Gaby about being some long-lost relative because their hair was the same shade.

Gaby had been with Joe almost every day for three weeks. He seemed to just hang around where she was working. She wondered if he was on vacation or if Marc paid him to stay away.

She teased him about that once, and he gave her a startled look. “Well, Marc pretty much lets me do what I please, you know,” he mumbled, and quickly changed the subject. She shrugged it off, since he didn’t seem inclined to talk about it. And she really wasn’t interested in his business affairs. She enjoyed being around him.

They went dancing and out to eat and to movies whenever Gaby’s busy schedule would allow. She ran her long legs off auditioning for jobs, posing for stills and doing runway modeling. She was popular and made a lot of money. But it cost a lot to maintain her wardrobe and pay the bills.

Gaby didn’t particularly enjoy the lifestyle that went with modeling, and before Joe came along, she’d avoided the crowd she worked with. But Joe, despite his shyness, seemed fascinated with her world, so she introduced him to it. There were show-business personalities, politicians, even millionaires who circulated at the exclusive parties Gaby and her friends were invited to. She often thought she knew people only invited her to these parties because of her looks and because she was becoming a well-known model. Because of that she seldom accepted invitations. But she went to humor Joe. Marc didn’t approve, and that made Joe all the more determined to do it. That was the one thing she and Joe had in common. They both liked doing things to spite Marc, to antagonize him. The holidays were only a week away now, and Gaby had already packed. She’d been all over Europe with her family but, oddly enough, had rarely visited the Hamptons, which was only a few hours from New York City. She was looking forward to the break in her busy schedule, despite the fact that she was sure Joe had gloated over it to his brother by now. He hadn’t mentioned Marc’s reaction, and Gaby hadn’t asked for it. She was going to go and enjoy herself and not worry. Let Marc smolder. Vaguely she remembered the threat he’d made, but she hadn’t taken him seriously. He had Lana to occupy him. He would never put that relationship at risk just to irritate Gaby. She shook the thought from her head, forcing herself to dwell on happy thoughts instead.

Her mirror told her that she’d changed quite a bit from the young girl who’d worshipped Marcus Stephano. She was no longer the skinny, eager, very unsophisticated child who’d been such easy prey for his seductive ardor. Even nine years ago Marc had been an expert.

Despite all the time that had passed, the memories were indelible. She remembered the last time she’d been alone with Marc, that evening when it had almost gone too far. Her eyes closed and she sighed as the memories caressed her mind.

She and Marc had gone to a movie, she remembered. It was one of many times she’d had to sneak out of her house to keep her parents from knowing that she was seeing a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. It had been a late-afternoon matinee, because it was too difficult to get out at night. The racy movie, combined with the danger of discovery, had given Gaby an unfamiliar and delicious taste of intrigue. She’d watched the people on the screen and imagined that they were she and Marc, loving each other wildly. It had stirred her unbearably. When he suggested that they stop by his apartment for coffee on the way home, she hadn’t questioned the uncharacteristic nature of the invitation. He’d been careful until then to make sure they were never completely alone.

But once in the apartment, he’d closed the door and locked it. And as he’d stood there, big and dark in his navy slacks and open-throated white shirt, her heart had begun to pound wildly. He was incredibly sensuous with his chiseled mouth, black eyes and tanned, olive body that hinted of untold delights. The way he’d looked at Gaby that night told her graphically that coffee wasn’t all he wanted.

Gaby trembled as she thought of that long-ago night. She’d wanted him so badly. All the stolen minutes, the hard kisses, the too quick touching of hands on forbidden skin. All of it had exploded in a tangible expression of longing that night.

He’d come toward her slowly, tugging her against his big body, his eyes already apologetic even as he bent and kissed her in a way he never had before. She felt his hard mouth tremble in a caress tender enough to make her shiver too. It was wildly erotic, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth, his hands low on her hips, moving her against him so that she could feel his arousal.

“Sleep with me,” he’d whispered, his voice husky with passion. “Come into my bedroom and let me take off your clothes and make love to you completely.”

“You said...we wouldn’t,” she’d whispered, wanting him but frightened and uncertain. “You said—”

“Yes, I know, and I should be shot,” he’d replied, his face hard with desire. “But I need you so much, little one.” His big hands had crushed her thighs against his, and his eyes had been hot with desire.

“Oh, Marc,” she’d whispered at his mouth as he bent and took it again, with more insistence this time.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” he’d told her. “I’ll take good care of you. I’ll make it easy and slow and sweet for you. I’ll take a long, long time, little Gaby. I’ll take you right to heaven.”

He’d lifted her, carried her into the bedroom and closed the door behind them. The room was spartan, with old furniture and a double bed that had seen better days, its brass worn and flaked. But it felt like paradise when he laid her down on it and began to kiss her.

Gaby remembered how tense she’d been at first, until his soft, tender kisses had relaxed her, until he made her want his hands and his eyes. She’d let him undress her totally, lying under his strong, rough mechanic’s hands like a young sacrifice, unafraid, wanting him obsessively.

She remembered the way he’d looked at her untouched body, his dark eyes hungry and oddly reverent as they studied her. Bending over her, smiling tenderly at her embarrassment, he’d seemed so adult, so masculine, with his shirt rumpled by her searching, fascinated hands, baring a chest dark with hair and exposure to the sun. His hair had been unruly and hung down over his broad forehead.

“Gaby,” he’d whispered, “you even look virginal. White and chaste and delicate.”

She’d stretched under his hot gaze, loving the feel of his eyes on her, the way he followed the movement, watching it lift her taut breasts, stretch her long legs, her slender hips.

“Do you want to close your eyes, honey?” he asked gently, standing. “Or do you want to watch me undress?”

Her body tingled even now as she remembered his question. She’d never really thought about how it would be until then. And as she looked at him she knew that she had to see him. She told him so and saw the desire in his eyes.

“I’m not as pretty as you are,” he’d whispered. But as the clothing came away from his powerful, dark body with its rough hair and smooth muscle, she could have argued with him. Nude, he was the most exquisite masculine thing she’d ever seen. Her eyes dropped and lingered, fascinated.

“Come here,” he’d whispered, watching her move to her knees on the bed in front of him.

And then he’d taken her hands to him, showing her how to touch him, how to drive him mad. And he’d laughed even through the shudders at her rapt fascination to the reactions he was unable to hide from her.

He’d touched her and teased her, giving her the most exquisite pleasure she’d ever experienced. She remembered writhing wildly on the white sheets, moaning in sweet anguish as he did the most shockingly delicious things to her body.

“You like that, huh?” he’d whispered, lifting his head to see her face. “Yes, I like it too. I like making you scream.”

“I’ll...die,” she threatened as he bent again, her voice breaking.

“Not yet,” he whispered with a soft, wicked laugh. “Not for a long time yet.”

Over and over again he’d taken her on the roller coaster of sensation, teaching her things about her body that all the romances she’d read in her young life had ill prepared her for. By the time he finally moved over her, parting her thighs unresistingly with a hard knee, she would have done anything he’d asked of her. Even this. Especially this.

A shudder went through Gaby as she recalled how desperately she had desired Marc that day, how much she had wanted to give herself to him. But then they had heard the front door suddenly slam. Marc had groaned in agony, and his eyes had been terrible as he managed to drag his body away from her. He’d stumbled to the door, furious when he reached it, just in time to keep his brother from opening it.

“I’m busy!” he called through it. “Go away!”

“Oops,” Joe had replied amusedly. “Sorry, big brother. I’ll run around the block a time or two!”

And he’d gone quickly away. But the spell had been broken. Gaby remembered how she had crawled back into her clothes, feeling soiled and vaguely ashamed, and she hadn’t been able to look at Marc. Finally he’d stumbled into the bathroom, leaving her there alone. A long time later he came back, dressed himself and lit a cigarette.

“Are you all right?” he asked, and even now she remembered the concern in his dark eyes.

“Yes,” she’d replied, her voice choked, her fingers clasped together. “Yes, I’m...fine.” Her eyes had closed with embarrassment and shame. “I’d like to go home.”

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll walk you.”

He did, in a silence that was cold and somehow final. He’d left her at her door with darkness falling around them, and he’d touched her hair gently, hesitantly, looking for words that wouldn’t come. She’d looked up at him with her heart in her eyes, but he’d only smiled faintly, and then he’d turned and walked quickly away. She remembered watching him, aching for words that would tell her that he loved her, that he was sorry, that he wanted her for his wife. But he’d never spoken one word of love. Not one.

She wondered now why she had never realized that her parents could see them from the window. She hadn’t even considered that they might find out about her mysterious romance. Marc hadn’t called her after that. He hadn’t come to see her. And several days later, after Gaby had gone out of her mind worrying and missing him and hurting with guilt and neglect, her mother had called her into the living room and told her quietly and tersely that they knew about Marc. And then she told her that they’d given him money in return for cutting Gaby out of his life.

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 want 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—”

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