Sandra's Classics - The Bad Boys of Romance - Boxed Set (30 page)

‘Yes. That’s right,
cara.
And that night, Riley was killed. Someone put a gun to his head and blew it off.’

‘No,’ she’d said sharply. ‘I don’t want to hear this
!’

Vitale’s hand almost crushed hers.

‘The federal authorities have Frank in custody—they have had him, for months—and they’ve offered him immunity if he’ll testify against me. Your testimony will corroborate his.’ He had stared at her for a moment and then, gradually, his smile had returned and the pressure on her hand had eased. ‘But you’re not going to do that, are you,
cara
. You’re going to be the good girl your dear father raised you to be.’

‘Please. Tell me what you want with me. My promise of silence? You have that, I swear. I won’t tell anyone what I heard...’

Vitale had smiled broadly, and for a moment he’d looked as benign as he had years before, when she’d sat on his knee and laughed at his jokes.

‘Your father and I were of the old country. We under
stood each other, Gabriella—I trusted him with my life.’

‘No,’ she’d whispered, ‘I won't believe it. Not my father!'

‘Of course, your father,' Vitale said impatiently. ‘He was my bodyguard. My good friend. . He knew everything about me, and about how I felt about you.’ He’d smiled that oily smile that made her skin crawl. ‘He hoped you would come to feel the same way about me, but things don’t always work out as we would wish, do they?’

She’d stared at him. It was impossible. Her father wouldn’t have wanted her to—to...

‘No,’ she’d insisted. ‘It’s a lie.’

‘He wanted you to live a safe, secure life, Gabriella—the kind of life I can
provide. I will honor his memory by treating you with courtesy,’ he’d said, breathing out a cloud of cigar smoke that hung in the car like a pall. ‘My housekeeper will chaperone us until our wedding arrangements are completed.’

Gabrielle had shaken her head wildly. ‘I won’t do it!'

'Would you prefer to see your Mr. Forrester dead?'

Three months had passed since then, three months of living locked within this ugly house except when Vitale chose to take her out of it. He seemed to get a special pleasure out of exhibiting her in public, as if she were a prize specimen he’d collected on a hunting trip. The tabloids recorded her every move and their attention pleased Vitale.

‘Smile for the birdie’ became his favorite expression whenever he saw a camera.

After a while, she suspected he arranged for the re
porters and photographers to show up when she stepped out the door.

She knew the reason: he was drawing her ever more deeply into his web, branding her so firmly as his that she would never be able to escape, even if she were foolish enough to try.

Not that she would.

James’s life hung in her hands,

As for the rest—it hurt to admit that her father had known what Vitale was, had in some way been part of Vitale’s criminal empire, but she had to accept the past.

‘Face it squarely,’ James had said, ‘and then you can put it behind you.'

That was what she was doing… but there was a part of the past she didn’t want to forget, that she would never forget, and that was James and how much she loved him.

She dreamed of him at night, lying in the huge four- poster bed in her room, restless against the satin sheets hand-embroidered with her initials. She thought of him when the limousine rolled silently along the city streets and she saw lovers walking arm in arm on the pavement.

James,
her heart would sigh silently,
James.

Where was he? What was he doing? Did he hate her? She knew he must; Vitale had explained to the press that she had come back to him unexpectedly—‘A joyous re
union’ was how one tabloid had described it—after a foolish misunderstanding.

Thanks to his sly use of the media, a myth was growing up around her.

It was as if America had fallen in love with someone a little soiled and sordid. It wasn’t a new phenomenon: there’d always been a place in the public heart for women of tarnished virtue.

A tabloid dubbed Gabrielle ‘The Silent Princess’ and other papers picked up the designation, describing in gushing terms her cool beauty and her refusal to re
spond to questions, dwelling with relish on the arrangements for the forthcoming marriage between her and Vitale. Her photos showed her wrapped in sable or mink, jewels gleaming at her ears and throat, Vitale’s obscenely large diamond on her finger.

Gabrielle had difficulty recognizing herself in the pic
tures.

She’d lost weight, and the woman the cameras captured was a hollow-cheeked stranger designed by Vitale. Her long hair was caught in a demure
chignon; her make-up was lavish and impeccable as he demanded. Only her eyes were familiar. She wondered if only she could see the terrible sadness in them.

She started at the sound of a heavy-knuckled knock at the door. She knew it was Vitale. But he’d said a meeting would keep him late at the office, and she had looked forward to the extra time without him.

‘Gabriella?’ The door opened and he stepped into the room, smiling as he saw her. ‘Ah,
cara,
there you are.’

He sounded jovial, the charming
fiancé returned from his humdrum nine-to-five job, delighted to find the woman he loved at home.

But the picture was warped. His ‘job’ was hardly the nine to five kind. She despised him.

And where else would she be, when he kept her a virtual prisoner?

Gabrielle slipped from the window-seat and faced him.

‘Of course I’m here,’ she said coldly. ‘You’ve given my jailers orders that I not leave this house without you.’

Vitale laughed. ‘Such nonsense. I’m concerned for your welfare,
cara.
A man in my position has many enemies, you know that.’

A terrible weariness gripped her. They had been through all this a dozen times before, she at first de
manding freedom of movement, then pleading for it. But he was never going to allow her any. She knew that, just as she knew there was no way out of this nightmare she was living, and she was suddenly tired. So tired.

She crossed the room and sat down at her dressing- table. It was, Vitale had told her proudly, Louis XIV— or had he said Louis XV? Not that it mattered. She hated it; it was as elaborate and overblown as everything else in the velvet cage that was her bedroom.

‘What do you want?’ she asked, picking up a comb and running it through her hair. The comb was made of tortoiseshell, trimmed in eighteen-carat gold set with tiny sprays of diamonds, and not a day passed but that she thought about snapping it in half. ‘You said you would be late today.’

Vitale walked up behind her. She flinched as his meaty hands settled on her shoulders and he smiled at her in the mirror.

‘Is that the warmest greeting you can manage for your fiancé, Gabriella?’ His hands slipped to her throat and he tipped her head up, watching her reflection in the mirror. ‘Surely you can think of something more cordial?’

A sour taste filled her mouth. She swallowed, then swallowed again. Vitale had kept to his promise so far: he hadn’t touched her intimately, or even tried to.

But she felt his eyes on her all the time, moving over her body like snails, leaving slime wherever they touched.

She had learned that the best defense was to remain silent in the face of his taunts. But logic often gave way to the need to strike out. Her verbal blows were weak, but sometimes they struck home. Such moments were worth any risk.

‘You aren’t my fiancé,’ she said calmly, ‘you’re a killer and I wish you were dead.''

His hands closed around her throat. ‘Watch that mouth of yours,
cara.
’

Her heart leaped as she felt the distinct pressure of his thumbs against her windpipe.
She looked at him in the mirror.

‘Go on,’ she said softly. ‘You’d be doing me a
favor.’

Their eyes held, and then Vitale laughed and his hands fell to her shoulders again.

‘Why should we quarrel,
cara
? You know better than to speak your poison outside this house.’ He looked at her, the expression on his face suddenly sly. ‘Have you read the paper today?’

She shook her head wearily. ‘No. Why? Is there some
thing in the columns about the jewels you bought yesterday? I don’t want them. I told you...’

He smiled. ‘You should keep up with the news, Gabriella. There’s an item about your
Mr. Forrester.’

Her heart tumbled. She knew what would happen if she expressed too much interest; it had happened before, just after she’d come here. Vitale had dropped a hint about James and how he’d reacted to learning she’d fled to New York, and when she’d begged him to tell her more Vitale had laughed and walked away.

Sound casual, she told herself, but when she spoke she could hear the tension in her whispered words.

‘About James?’

‘He’s left Washington. He quit the prosecutor’s office.’ He waited, and then he smiled. ‘I’ll bet you can’t imagine where he’s living now.’

She stared at him, praying he couldn’t hear the beat of her heart.

‘No,’ she said finally. ‘Where?’

Vitale
grinned. ‘New York. Isn’t it amazing what a small world we live in, Gabriella?’

James. James was here, in the same city.

‘Do you want to know more?’ He laughed. ‘Then again, it’s not very interesting,
cara.
I don’t want to bore you.’

Oh, God. He was playing with her. He was tossing out the bait, and if she leaped too quickly he’d reel in his line and that would be the end of it.

‘Do as you wish,’ she said carefully, despite the race of her heart.

Vitale laughed again. She felt breathless, thinking at first she’d passed the test. But she hadn’t. When he spoke, she knew he’d tricked her.

‘Good,’ he said with a smile. ‘Then we won’t waste time talking about things of no importance.’ He bent and put his lips to her hair, and she shuddered. ‘In two weeks’ time you’ll be mine,
cara mia,'
he whispered. ‘You will not shudder in my arms. Not if you wish your Mr. Forrester to remain healthy. Do I make myself clear?'

Gabrielle nodded.

'
Bene.
’ His hands slid from her and he stepped back. ‘We’re going to the opera. Dinner first, at the place in the Village. Wear the white gown and the rubies. I’ll see you downstairs in an hour.’

She nodded, sitting stiffly and watching in the mirror until he’d left the room, and then she slumped forward and buried her face in her hands.

What had he been about to tell her about James? Any little bit of news would have been wonderful: to someone dying of thirst, even a raindrop was welcome.

And Gabrielle was dying.'

She was dying of sorrow.

‘Smile, Gabriella.’ Vitale’s voice hissed in her ear. ‘This is not a sad opera—looking at you, one would think this was the last act in
Camille
.’

Gabrielle straightened in the box-seat and consciously rearranged the expression on her face. She hadn’t been paying attention to what was happening on stage—opera had never been among her
favorite things, and tonight James’s teasing words kept coming back to her.

‘I think whoever invented opera did it just to confuse good music and bad theatre.’

She remembered smiling when he’d said it, laughing at his teasing words, and then moments later falling breathlessly into his arms as he kissed her.

Tears rose in her eyes. How he must hate her! She could imagine him that night in New Orleans, coming back to the carriage house and finding her gone, im
agine how he’d felt when he’d seen those pictures of her in the papers the very next day. What had he thought when he’d seen her in Vitale’s arms? What had he thought when he’d read about their wedding plans?

‘Gabriella!’

She looked up, blinking back the tears. Vitale was scowling at her.

‘Yes? What is it?’

His eyes moved over her face and he grimaced. ‘You look cheap,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Your mascara is smudged. Go fix it’

She nodded dumbly and rose to her feet. Ten minutes in the ladies’ room was like time off for good behavior. Neither Vitale nor his omnipresent bodyguards could follow her there, but one of them always escorted her to the door and waited outside…

Oh, God!

It was James.

James, in the corridor, walking towards her, dark and handsome in a dinner-jacket.

There was a woman with him, a stunning redhead. His arm was draped lightly around her shoulders and he was looking down at her and laughing at something she’d just said. The woman was smiling, watching him through shining eyes, and Gabrielle felt a sudden, irrational hatred for her begin to grow within her heart.

Still, James was all that mattered. She could no more stop herself from calling out his name than she could change the love she would always feel for him.

‘James.’

It was the faintest whisper. She took a step forward. Beside her, her burly escort muttered something, but she ignored him.

‘James?’

Her voice was still soft, but this time her whisper seemed to echo across the corridor, growing louder and louder, and James paused, the smile fading from his face. He looked up, and their eyes met.

‘Gabrielle.’

His voice was harsh. They stared at each other in silence, while Gabrielle’s heart raced. A smile trembled on her lips. She longed to fly across the corridor and throw herself into his arms, to kiss his mouth and caress his face.

The bodyguard mumbled something and touched her arm. Gabrielle shook free of his hand. ‘James,’ she said again, while tears rose in her eyes.

James’s mouth twisted. Darkness grew within his pale eyes, and then he stepped away from his companion and moved towards her.

There were voices behind her. She heard footsteps, sensed Vitale’s presence, and then his heavy arm was around her shoulders, his cologne was gagging her.

‘Is this man bothering you,
cara
?’

His husky voice sounded casual, but Gabrielle knew him well. There was steel beneath his tone, just as there was in the press of his hand.

She didn’t trust herself to speak. ‘No,’ she said finally, her eyes locked with James’s, everything is fine.'

James looked at Vitale, and a chill cut into Gabrielle’s heart. She had seen that look on his face before, the night the intruder had broken into the carriage house.

It was a look that said he was capable of anything.

‘Let go of her,’ he said softly.

Time hung in delicate balance. She felt Vitale tense, heard the shuffle of the bodyguard’s feet.

James took a step forward. ‘I said, let her go.’

His words were a silken warning. Vitale cleared his throat, looked around him at the plush surroundings of the opera house, and then his arm fell away from Gabrielle.

In one easy motion, James caught hold of her and drew her to him. She heard Vitale’s muttered oath, knew she would pay a heavy penalty for this transgression, but it was impossible not to move into James’s arms.

This one moment, captured from the web of time, was worth any risk.

A smile trembled on her lips. ‘James,’ she said again, and his arms closed tightly around her. She felt the hard press of his body against hers, smelled the clean essence that was his alone, and then his mouth was on hers.

But this kiss was unlike any they’d shared. James’s lips ravaged hers, his teeth bit sharply into her flesh. Her mouth opened at the pressure and his tongue probed for admittance, mimicking the act of love, making it into an act of vengeance instead.

The radiant joy that had been within her heart frac
tured into a million crystalline shards. James despised her, as she’d known he must. Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. The salty taste of them filled her mouth.

She thought she heard James groan. His mouth seemed to gentle on hers, and her heart leaped. She moved in his arms and he caught her even closer to him. Yes, she thought fiercely, yes...

He thrust her from him with an abruptness that made her gasp. Her eyes flew open; she stared at him as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and then he gave her a smile so filled with hate that it drove the breath from her lungs.

‘You can have her, Vitale,’ he said. ‘What the hell, I already did.’

She fell back under the cruel lash of his words. Vitale’s arm curved around her again. Tears rolled down her cheeks as he led her through the opera house and out to his waiting limousine. He handed her in and she curled into the far corner, her hands pressed to her mouth to stifle her sobs.

Vitale’s rage was terrifying.

‘That son of a bitch,’ he muttered while the car sped through the dark streets, ‘that bastard! I’ll kill him. I’ll

cut off his’

The cold promise in his voice roused her. ‘No,’ she said sharply, looking at his shadowy face. ‘We made a deal, remember?’

He stared at her. ‘He insulted me. No one does that and lives, Gabriella. No one.’

From somewhere came the strength to hold her head high and meet his threat with her own. ‘If you touch him, I’ll leave you.’

He laughed. ‘How? You’ll never get out the door.’

She drew in her breath. ‘There are many ways to leave someone,’ she said softly.

Silence fell between them, and then Vitale nodded stiffly. ‘What the hell,’ he said, ‘let him live. You’ll never see the bastard again anyway.’

Gabrielle laid her head back and closed her eyes. ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘I never will.’