Читать книгу Tangled Destinies - Diana Palmer - Страница 9
ОглавлениеMARC’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.
