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,”
