was just friendship. But Marc wouldn’t know it. He’d think she was leading Joe on, to get even. She could get to him without ever laying a hand on him.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll come out with you. But, Joe, I’m no good-time girl,” she added, putting it plainly, her face solemn. “Friendship is all I’m offering. Okay?”
He shifted in his chair, and something touched his eyes for an instant. But he grinned. “Okay,” he said on a laugh. “Friends forever.”
“Uh, I hate to mention it,” she said hesitantly, “but isn’t this kind of fraternizing with the brass, so to speak?”
“Let me worry about that.” His dark eyes narrowed. “You aren’t carrying a torch for big brother after all these years, are you?” he asked abruptly.
She shook her head and felt her body going rigid with remembered pain. “Not on your life.”
“Good.” He stretched lazily. “Suppose I pick you up about six?” he asked.
“You don’t know where I live,” she faltered.
He chuckled. “No? I asked your agency. Since I’m the boss, sort of, they gave it to me.”
“You sure are resourceful!” She laughed, wondering if she should be pleased that her agency had sold her out to a perfect stranger. She also couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when she saw Marc again. But she gave in with a sigh. Maybe it was fate. She’d cope. Besides, she rather liked this young man. She didn’t date a lot because she hated having to fight off men with ideas about quick relationships. Joe didn’t seem like a rusher, and she looked forward to being able to go out without being harassed.
Her father was out when she got home. Her parents had fought her tooth and nail to keep her out of modeling. Her father had even gone behind her back and tried to persuade one agency head not to hire Gaby. But eventually she’d found an agency that was interested in her, and she’d started making a name for herself. Thanks to those years she’d spent at a prestigious New England boarding school, she had enough poise and grace of movement to make her a natural. Not that she’d been so enthused at the time, she reminded herself pointedly. Oh, no.
Marc. She could close her eyes, and there he’d be, big and strong and softly laughing as she responded wildly to his very adult passion. It had always been Marc who pulled away, not Gaby. From the first time she’d sneaked away from home to meet him, it had been Marc who kept things cool between them. Even now she could vividly remember his words.
“You’re a baby,” he’d teased, nibbling at her mouth. “You’re not ready for love yet, little one. It would haunt me all my life.”
“But, Marc, I love you so,” she’d whispered back, openly pleading.
“But you’re barely an adult.” And he’d kissed her and held her. His hands had touched her young breasts for the first time. “Soft little buds,” he’d breathed at her lips as he felt the rapid hardening of the tips under his gently caressing fingers.
He was an emotional man, all sensuous blatancy, Gaby remembered, never dressing up his language or his remarks. It was what had appealed most to her, with her too sheltered background.
She had clung to him that day as he’d eased her down into his arms in the deserted park under the big oak by the lake. He’d smiled reassuringly as he laid her back on the grass and slowly opened the top few buttons of her blouse.
Gaby shuddered, remembering her own words to Marc that day. “I want to be yours, Marc,” she’d whispered. She’d lain quietly, feeling the soft coolness of the grass at her back as he dealt with buttons and then lace and hooks. She arched her back as he peeled away the bra.
“So delicate,” he’d whispered deeply, his voice shaded with tenderness and growing passion, his black eyes devouring her as he loomed over her prone body, his big hands on either side of her. “So virginal.”
“I’d die before I’d let anyone else look at me this way,” she’d told him feverishly, and her body had ached for sensations it had never before experienced.
“And suppose I want to touch you?” he’d asked, lifting his eyes to her soft, flushed face. “What then?”
Her lips had parted on hungry thoughts. She’d reached down and slowly peeled the blouse and bra from her body, feeling her nipples go hard as he looked at them, as she arched them toward him.
“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.
