“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.
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