Tangled Destinies. Diana Palmer
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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