Carrera's Bride

Carrera's Bride Diana Palmer HE INSTILLED FEAR IN FRIENDS AND FOES. But there was one woman who could see beyond Marcus Carrera’s notorious reputation and imposing stature to the gruffly tender man inside. And their destinies collided when Delia Mason was unexpectedly swept up in the kind of trouble only a man of mystery like Carrera could resolve–if he chose to step out of his dangerous social circle.Would he leave it all behind to make Delia his bride? Selected praise for DIANA PALMER “You will love Carrera’s Bride… and [you’ll] be haunting the bookstores until the next book by Diana Palmer.” —The Best Reviews “Carrera’s Bride has sizzle and energy.” —Romantic Times BOOKreviews “Nobody tops Diana Palmer when it comes to delivering pure, undiluted romance. I love her stories.” —New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz “The dialogue is charming, the characters likable and the sex sizzling.” —Publishers Weekly on Once in Paris “Diana Palmer is adept at mixing intense emotion, humor, and mystery to bring us a uniquely enjoyable story.” —Romantic Times BOOKreviews on A Man of Means DIANA PALMER CARRERA’S BRIDE DIANA PALMER has a gift for telling the most sensual tales with charm and humor. With over 40 million copies of her books in print, Diana Palmer is one of North America’s most beloved authors and is considered one of the top ten romance authors in America. Diana’s hobbies include gardening, archaeology, anthropology, iguanas, astronomy and music. She has been married to James Kyle for more than twenty-five years, and they have one son. Readers can find out more about her at her Web site, www.dianapalmer.com. Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter One It was a hectic evening at the Bow Tie casino on Paradise Island. Marcus Carrera was standing on the balcony smoking a cigar. He had a lot on his mind. A few years ago, he’d been a shady businessman with some unsavory contacts and a reputation that could send even tough guys running. He was still tough, of course. But his reputation as a gangster was something he’d hoped to leave behind him. He owned hotels and casinos both in the States and in the Bahamas, although he was a silent partner in most of them. The Bow Tie was a combination hotel and casino, and his favorite of all his holdings. Here, he catered to an exclusive clientele, which included movie stars, rock stars, millionaires and even a couple of scalawags. He was a millionaire several times over. But even though his operations had all become legitimate, he had to hold on to his vicious reputation for just a while longer. The worst of it was that he couldn’t tell anyone. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He could tell Smith. The bodyguard was a really tough customer, an ex-everything military, who kept a six-foot iguana named Tiny for a pet. The two of them were becoming a landmark on Paradise Island. Marcus sometimes thought his guests were showing up as much to see the mysterious Mr. Smith as to gamble and lounge on the sugar-sand beach behind the hotel. He stretched hugely. He was tired. His life, never calm even at the best of times, was more stressful lately than it had ever been. He felt like a split personality. But when he remembered the reason for the stress, he couldn’t regret his decision. His only brother was lying in a lonely, ornate grave back in Chicago, the victim of a merciless drug lord who was using a dummy corporation in the Bahamas to launder his illegal fortune. Carlo was only twenty-eight. He had a wife and two little kids. Marcus was providing for them, but that didn’t bring back their husband and father. It was a damned shame to die over money, he thought furiously. Worst of all, the money-laundering banker who had set Carlo up for the hit was still running around loose and trying to help a renegade Miami gangster buy up casinos on Paradise Island. They wouldn’t be run cleanly, as Marcus’s were. He took a draw from the cigar. It was a Havana cigar, one of the very best available. Smith had friends in the CIA who traveled to Cuba on assignment. They could buy the cigars legally and give them as gifts to whomever they pleased. Smith passed them on to his boss. Smith didn’t smoke or drink, and he rarely swore. Marcus shook his head, chuckling to himself. What a conundrum the man was. Sort of like himself, he had to admit. He lifted his leonine head to the breeze that blew eternally off the ocean. It ruffled his thick, wavy black hair. There were threads of silver in it now. He was in his late thirties, and he looked it. But he was an elegant man, despite his enormous height and build. He was well over six feet tall, as graceful as a panther, and just as quick when he needed to be. He had huge hands, devoid of jewelry except for a Rolex on his left wrist and a ruby ring on his left pinky finger. His skin was olive tan. It was set off stunningly by the spotless crisp white shirt he wore with his black dinner jacket and bow tie. The crease in his black slacks was knife-straight. His wing-tipped black leather shoes were so shiny that they reflected the palm trees on the balcony where he was standing, and the pale moon overhead. His fingernails were flat, immaculately clean. He was close-shaven and polished, never with a hair out of place. He was obsessive about grooming. Perhaps, he thought, it was because he was so damned poor as a child. One of two sons of immigrant parents, he and Carlo had gone to work at an early age helping their father in the small automotive repair shop he owned with two other partners. The work ethic had been drilled into them, so that they knew that work was the only way out of poverty. Their father had run afoul of a small-time local hood. He was beaten almost to death in his garage after he’d refused to let the hood use it for a chop shop, to process parts from stolen cars. Marcus had been twelve at the time, not even old enough to hold a legitimate job. His mother worked as a cleaning lady for a local business in their neighborhood. Carlo was still in grammar school, four years behind Marcus. With their father unable to work, only what their mother brought home kept food on the table. But soon they couldn’t pay rent anymore. They ended up in the street. Both of the elder Carrera’s partners claimed that they had no obligation to him, since their agreement was only verbal. There was no money to hire attorneys. It had been a bleak existence. Forced to ask for welfare, Marcus had seen his mother humbled and broken, while his father lay mindless in a bed from the massive concussion, unable to recognize his family, even to speak. A blood clot finished him a few months after the beating, leaving Marcus and Carlo and their mother alone. When her health began to fail, Marcus was faced with seeing his brother and himself end up in foster care, wards of the court. He couldn’t allow them to be separated. There was no family in the States to appeal to, not even any friends who had the means to help them. With dogged determination, Marcus got a name from one of his tough friends and he went to see the local crime boss. His grit convinced the man that he was worth taking a chance on. Marcus became a courier for the mob, making huge amounts of money almost overnight. He had enough to get a good apartment for his mother and brother, and even managed health insurance for them. His mother knew what he was doing and tried to discourage him, but he was mature for his age, and he convinced her that what he was doing wasn’t really illegal. Besides, he asked her, did she want to see the family broken up and her kids made wards of the court? The prospect horrified her. But she started going to mass every morning, to pray for her wayward son. By the time Marcus was in his early twenties, he was firmly on the wrong side of the law and getting richer by the day. Along the way, he caught up with the drug boss who’d had his father beaten, and he settled the score. Later, he bought the garage out from under his father’s two former partners and kicked them out into the street. Revenge, he found, was sweet. His mother never approved of what he was doing. She died before he made his first million, still praying for him every day. He had a twinge of regret for disappointing her, but time took care of that. He put Carlo in a private school and made sure that he had the education Marcus lacked. He never looked back. Women came and went in his life infrequently. His lifestyle precluded a family. He was happy for Carlo when the young man graduated from college with a law degree and married his childhood sweetheart, Cecelia. Marcus was delighted to have a nephew and then a niece to spoil. Once, he let himself fall in love. She was a beautiful socialite from a powerful Eastern family with money to burn. She liked his reputation, the aura of danger that swirled around his tall head. She liked showing him off to her bored friends. But she didn’t like Carlo or the friends Marcus kept around, mostly people from his old Chicago neighborhood, who had as many rough edges as he did. He didn’t like opera, he couldn’t discuss literature, and he didn’t gossip. When he mentioned having a family, Erin only laughed. She didn’t want children for years and years, she wanted to party and travel and see the world. But when she did want them, it wasn’t going to be with a man who couldn’t even pretend to be civilized, she’d added haughtily. And that was when he realized that his only worth to her was as a novelty. It had crushed him. By that time, Marcus had already seen most of the world, and he wasn’t enchanted by it. The end came unexpectedly when he threw a birthday party for Erin at one of his biggest hotels in Miami. He missed Erin and went looking for her. He spotted her, disheveled and drunk, sneaking out of a hotel room with not one, but two rock stars he’d invited. It was the end of the dream. Erin only laughed and said she liked variety. Marcus said she was welcome to it. He walked away and never looked back. These days, he’d lost much of his interest in women. It had been replaced by an interest in textiles and needlework. Nobody laughed at him since he’d started winning international competitions. He met a lot of women who were good with their hands, and he enjoyed their company. But most of them were married or elderly. The single ones looked at him oddly when they heard his name and the gossip. Nobody wanted to get mixed up with a hood. That was what had led to the decision he’d made recently. It was a life-changing event. But one he couldn’t talk about. He was sick of being a bad guy. He was more than ready to change his image. He sighed. Well, that wasn’t going to be possible for a few months. He had to play the game to the end. His most immediate problem was finding a conduit to a necessary contact who was staying at a hotel in Nassau. He couldn’t be seen talking to the man and, despite Smith’s tight security, it was risky to use the telephone or even a cell phone. It was a knotty problem. There was another one. The man he was supposed to help in some illegal activities was due to talk to him tonight. So far, he hadn’t shown up. He put out the cigar reluctantly, but there was no smoking in the hotel or the casino. He couldn’t really complain. He’d set the rules himself, after his young nephew and niece had come for a week with their mother, Cecelia. Smoking in the dining room had caused his nephew Julio to go into spasms of coughing. The boy was taken to a doctor and diagnosed with asthma. Since he had to protect Julio, and little Cosima, he decided to ban smoking in the resort. It hadn’t been a popular decision. But, hell, who cared about popularity? He only smoked the rare cigar, though, he consoled himself. He didn’t even really like the things anymore. They were a habit. He stalked back into his luxurious carpeted office. Smith was scowling, peering at a bank of closed-circuit television screens. “Boss, you’d better look at this,” he said, standing straight. He was a mountain of a man, middle-aged but imposing and dangerous-looking, with a head shaved bald and green eyes that could be suddenly sparkling with amusement at the most unexpected times. Marcus joined him, peering down. He didn’t have to ask which monitor he should look at. A slight blond woman was being manhandled by a man twice her size. She was fighting, but to no effect. The man moved and Marcus saw who he was. His blood boiled. “Want me to handle it?” Smith asked. Marcus squared his shoulders. “I need the exercise more than you do.” He moved gracefully into the private elevator and pushed the down button. Delia Mason was fighting with all her strength, but she couldn’t make her drunk companion let go of her. It was demeaning to have to admit that, because she’d studied karate for a year. But even that didn’t help her much. She couldn’t get away. Her green eyes were blazing, and she tried biting, but the stupid man didn’t seem to feel the teeth making patterns in his hand. She hadn’t wanted to come on this date in the first place. She was in the Bahamas with her sister and brother-in-law, getting over the lingering death of her mother. She was supposed to be enjoying herself. So far, the trip was a dead bust. Especially, right now. “I do like…a girl with spirit,” he panted, fumbling with the short skirt of her black dress. “I hate a man who…won’t take no for an answer!” she raged, trying to bring her knee up. The man only laughed and forced her back against the wall of the building. She started to scream just as his wet, horrible mouth crushed down onto hers. He was making obscene movements against her and groaning. She’d never been more powerless, more afraid, in her life. She hadn’t even wanted to go out with this repulsive banker, but her rich brother-in-law had insisted that she needed a companion to accompany her out on the town. Her sister Barb hadn’t liked the look of the man, either, but Barney had been so insistent that Fred Warner was a true knight. Fred was a banker. He had business at the casino anyway, he told Delia, so why not combine business and pleasure by taking Delia along? Fred had agreed a little reluctantly. He was already nervous and then he’d had one drink after another in the bar downstairs waiting for Delia, trying to bolster his courage. He mumbled something about getting into bed with a rattlesnake to keep his business going. It made no sense to Delia, who almost backed out of the date at the last minute. But Barney had been so insistent… Delia sank her teeth into the fat lower lip of the man and enjoyed his sharp yelp of pain for a few seconds. But the pain made him angry and his hand suddenly ripped down the neckline of her dress and he slapped her. The shock of the attack froze her. But just as she was trying to cope with the certainty of what was about to happen, a shadow moved and Fred was spun around like a top and knocked down with a satisfying thud. A huge man, immaculately dressed and menacing, moved forward with pantherlike grace. “You son of a…!” the drunken man shouted, scrambling to his feet. “I’ll kill you!” “Go for it,” a deep, darkly amused voice invited. Delia moved forward before her rescuer could, and swung her purse at Fred, landing a solid blow on his jaw. “Ouch!” Fred groaned in protest, grabbing his cheek. “I wish it was a baseball bat, you second cousin to a skunk!” Delia spat, red-faced and furious. “I’ll loan you one,” Marcus promised, admiring her ferocity. Fred gaped at the man and his eyes flashed. “Who the hell do you think you are…!” Fred demanded drunkenly, moving forward. Marcus planted a huge fist in his gut and sent him groaning to his knees. “What a kind thing to do,” Delia exclaimed in her broad Texas accent. She smiled at the stranger. “Thanks!” Marcus was noticing her torn dress. His face hardened. “What are you doing here with this bargain basement Casanova?” he asked. “My brother-in-law offered him to me as a companion,” she said disgustedly. “When I tell Barb what he tried to do to me, she’ll knock her husband out a window for suggesting this date!” “Barb?” “My big sister, Barbara Cortero. She’s married to Barney Cortero. He owns hotels,” she confided. Marcus’s eyebrows lifted suddenly, and he smiled. His luck had just changed. She looked up at the big man with fascination. “I really appreciate what you did. I know a little self-defense, but I couldn’t stop him. I bit a hole in his lip, but it didn’t slow him down, it just made him mad, and he hit me.” She rubbed her cheek and winced. “He hit you?” Marcus asked angrily. “I didn’t see that!” “He’s a real charmer,” she muttered, glancing down at the drunk, who was still holding his stomach and groaning. Marcus pulled out his cell phone and pressed in a single number. “Smith?” he said. “Come down here and take this guy back to his hotel. In one piece,” he added. “We don’t need any more trouble.” There was a reply. Marcus chuckled and flipped the phone shut. He looked at Delia curiously. “You’re going to need to stitch that dress up,” he remarked. He slid out of his dinner jacket and slid it over her shoulders. It was warm from the heat of his big body and it smelled of expensive cologne and cigar smoke. She looked up at him with utter fascination. He was a handsome man, even with those two jagged white scars on his cheek, cutting through his olive complexion like roadmaps. He had big, deep-set brown eyes under thick eyebrows. He was built like a wrestler and he looked dangerous. Very dangerous. “Stitches,” she murmured, spellbound. He was watching her, too, with amused curiosity. She was small, but she had the heart of a lioness. He was impressed. The elevator opened and Smith walked out of it, powerful muscles rippling under his dark suit as he approached the small group. “Where shall I deliver him?” he asked in his gravelly voice. Marcus looked at Delia and lifted an eyebrow. “We’re all staying at the Colonial Bay hotel in Nassau,” she stammered. He nodded toward Smith, who put out one huge hand and brought Fred abruptly to his feet. “Let go of me or I’ll sue!” Fred threatened. “Attempted sexual assault is a felony,” Marcus said coldly. “You can’t prove that!” Fred replied haughtily. “I’ve got cameras everywhere. You’re on tape. The whole thing,” Marcus added. Fred blinked. He scowled and peered at the older man. Through the fog of alcohol, recognition stiffened his face. “Carrera!” he choked. Marcus smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “So you remember me. Imagine that. Small world, isn’t it?” Fred swallowed hard. “Yeah. Small.” He straightened. “I actually came here to talk to you,” he began, swaying unsteadily. “Yeah? Well, come back when you’re sober,” Marcus said firmly, giving the man a look that he hoped Fred would manage to understand. Fred seemed to sober up at once. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll do that. Listen, this thing with the girl, it’s all a…a misunderstanding,” he added quickly. “I had a little too much to drink. And she just kept asking for it…” “You liar!” she exclaimed. “We’ve got tape,” Marcus said again. Fred gave up. He gave Marcus an uneasy look. “Don’t hold this against me, okay? I mean, we’re like family, right?” Marcus had to bite his tongue to keep from spilling everything. “One more stunt like this, and you’ll need a family—for the wake. Got me?” Fred lost a shade of color. “Yeah. Sure. Right.” He pulled away from Smith and tried to sober up. “I was just having a little fun. I was drunk or I’d never have touched her! Sorry. I’m really sorry!” “Get him out of here,” Marcus told Smith, and he turned away while the drunken man was still trying to proffer apologies and excuses. He gave Fred a long look. “I’ll…call you,” Fred choked. Marcus nodded without Delia seeing him. He took Delia by the arm. “Come on, we’ll get a needle and thread and fix your dress. You can’t go home looking like that.” She was still trying to figure out what was going on. Fred seemed to know this man, even to be afraid of him. And strange messages were passing between them without words. Who was this big, dark man? “I don’t know you,” she said hesitantly. He lifted an eyebrow. “Repairs first, introductions later. You’re perfectly safe.” “That’s what my sister said I’d be with Fred,” she pointed out, tugging his jacket closer. “Safe.” “Yeah, but I don’t need to attack women in dark alleys,” he stated. “It’s sort of the other way around.” He was smiling. She liked his smile. She shrugged and her perfect lips tugged up. “Okay.” She managed a smile of her own. “Thanks.” “Oh, I was just there to back you up,” he said lazily, letting her go into the elevator in front of him. “You’d have done okay if you’d had a shotgun.” “I’m not so sure,” she said. “He was inhumanly strong.” “Men on drugs or alcohol usually are.” “Really?” she asked in a faint stammer. He gave her a worldly appraisal as the elevator carried them up to his office. “First experience with a drunk?” he asked bluntly. “Well, not exactly,” she confessed on a long sigh. “I’ve never had an experience like that, at least. I seem to draw drunks the way honey draws flies. I went to a party with Barb and Barney last month. A drunk man insisted on dancing with me, and then he passed out on the floor in front of God and everybody. At Barb’s birthday party, a man who had too much to drink followed me around all night trying to buy me a pack of cigarettes.” She looked up at him with a rueful smile. “I don’t smoke.” He chuckled deeply. “It’s your face. You have a sympathetic look. Men can’t resist sympathy.” Her green eyes twinkled. “Is that a fact? You don’t look like a man who ever needs any.” He shrugged. “I don’t, usually. Here we are.” He stood aside to let her exit the elevator. She stopped just inside the office and looked around, fascinated. The carpet was shag, champagne colored. The furniture was mahogany. The drapes matched the carpet and the furniture. There were banks of screens showing every room in the casino. There was a bar with padded stools curled around it. There were computers and phones and fax machines. It looked like a spy setup to Delia, who never missed a James Bond film. “Wow,” she said softly. “Are you a spy?” He chuckled and shook his head. “I’d never make the grade. I don’t like martinis.” “Me, either,” she murmured, smiling at him. He motioned her toward the huge bathroom. “There’s a robe behind the door. Take off the dress and put on the robe. I’ll get some thread and a needle.” She hesitated, her eyes wide and uncertain. He pointed to the corner of the room. “There are cameras all over the place. I’d never get away with anything. The boss has eyes in the back of his head.” “The boss?” she queried. “Oh. You mean the man who owns the casino, right?” He nodded, trying not to smile. “You’re a…” She almost said ‘bouncer,’ but this man was far too elegant to be a thug. “You’re a security person?” she amended. “Something like that,” he agreed. “Go on. You’ve had all the hard knocks you’re going to get for one night. I’m the last person who’d hurt you.” That made her feel guilty. Usually she was a trusting soul—too trusting. But it had been a hard night. “Thanks,” she said. She closed the door and slid out of the dress, leaving her in a black slip and hose with her strappy high heels. She put on the robe quickly and wondered at her complete trust in this total stranger. If he was a security guy, he must be the head guy, since he’d told the other guy, Smith, what to do. She felt oddly safe with him, for all his size and rough edges. To work in a casino, a man must have to be tough, though, she reminded herself. She went out of the bathroom curled up in the robe that had to be five sizes too big for her. It dragged behind her like the train of a wedding gown. Her rescuer was seated on the desk, wearing a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses. Beside him was a sewing kit, and a spool of black thread. He was already threading a needle. She wondered if he’d been in the military. She knew men back home who were, and most of them were handy around the house, with cooking and mending as well. She moved forward and smiled, reaching for the needle at the same time he reached for the dress. “You sew?” she asked. He nodded. “My brother and I both had to learn. We lost our parents early in life.” “I’m sorry.” She was. Her father had died before she was born. She’d just lost her mother to stomach cancer. She knew how it felt. “Yeah.” “I could do that,” she said. “I don’t mind.” “Let me. It relaxes me.” She gave in with good grace and sat down in a chair while he bent his dark head to the task. His fingers, despite being so big, were amazingly expert with the needle. And his stitches were short, even, and almost invisible. She was impressed. She looked around the huge office curiously, and on an impulse, she got to her feet when she spotted a wall hanging. She moved toward it curiously. It wasn’t a wall hanging after all, she noted when she reached it. The pattern was familiar. The fabric was some of the newest available, and she had some of it in her cloth stash back home. Her eyes were admiring the huge beautiful quilt against one wall, hung on a rod. It was a symphony of black and white blocks. How incredible to find such a thing in the security office of a casino! “Bow tie,” she murmured softly. His head jerked up. “What’s that?” he asked. She glanced at him with a sheepish smile. “It’s a bow tie pattern, this quilt,” she replied. “A very unique one. I could swear I’ve seen it somewhere before,” she added thoughtfully. “I love the variations, and the stark contrast of the black and white blocks. The stitches are what make it so unique. There are stem stitches and chain stitches…” “You quilt.” It was a statement and not a question. “Well, yes. I teach quilting classes, back home in Jacobsville, Texas, at the county recreation center during the summer.” He hadn’t moved. “What pattern do you like best?” “The Dresden Plate,” she said, curious at his interest in what was primarily a feminine pursuit. He put her dress down, opened a drawer in the big desk, pulled out a photo album and handed it to her, indicating that she should open it. The photographs weren’t of people. They were of quilts, scores of quilts, in everything from a four-patch to the famous Dresden Plate, with variations that were pure genius. She sank back down in the chair with the book in her lap. “These are glorious,” she exclaimed. He chuckled. “Thanks.” Her eyes almost came out of their sockets as she gaped at him. “You made these yourself? You quilt?” “I don’t just quilt. I win competitions. National and even international competitions.” He indicated the bow tie pattern on the wall. “That one won first prize last year in a national competition in this country.” He named a famous quilting show on one of the home and garden channels. “I was her guest in February, and that quilt was the one I demonstrated.” She laughed, letting out a heavy breath. “This is incredible. I couldn’t go to the competition, but I did see the winning quilts on the Internet. That’s where I remember it from! And no wonder you looked so familiar, too. I watch that quilting show all the time. I saw you on that show!” He cocked a thick eyebrow. “Small world,” he commented. “Isn’t it just? I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name. But I do remember your face. I watched you put together a block from the bow tie quilt on that television show. Well, I’m impressed. Not that many men participate, even today.” He laughed. “We’re gaining on you women,” he said with a twinkle in his dark eyes. “There’s a Texas Ranger and a police officer who enter competitions with me these days. We travel together sometimes to the events.” “You’re good,” she said, her eyes going back to the book of photos. “I’d like to see some of your work,” he remarked. She laughed. “I’m not quite in your league,” she said. “I teach, but I’ve never won prizes.” “What do you do when you’re not teaching?” “I run an alterations shop and work with a local dry cleaner,” she said. “I do original fashions for a little boutique as well. I don’t make a lot of money at it, but I love my work.” “That’s more important than the amount of money you make,” he said. “That’s what I always thought. One of my girlfriends married and had a child, and then discovered that she could make a lot of money with a law degree in a big city. She took the child and went to New York City, where she got rich. But she was miserable away from her husband, a rancher back home, and she had no time at all for the child. Then they filed for divorce.” She shook her head. “Sometimes we’re lucky, and we don’t get what we think will make us happy. Anyway, I learned from watching her that I didn’t want that sort of pressure, no matter how much money I could make.” “You’re mature for your age. You can’t be more than twenty…?” he probed. Her eyebrows arched and she grinned. “Can’t I?” Chapter Two “I’ll bite, then,” he murmured, going back to pick up her dress and finish his neat stitches. “How old are you?” “Gentlemen are not supposed to ask ladies questions like that,” she pointed out. He chuckled, deep in his throat, his eyes on his fingers. “I’ve never been called a gentleman in my life. So you might as well tell me. I’m persistent.” She sighed. “I’m twenty-three.” He glanced at her with an indulgent smile. “You’re still a baby.” “Really?” she asked, slightly irritated. “I’ll be thirty-eight my next birthday,” he said. “And I’m older than that in a lot of ways.” She felt an odd pang of regret. He was handsome and very attractive. Her whole young body throbbed just being near him. It was a new and unexpected reaction. Delia had never felt those wild stirrings her friends talked about. She’d been a remarkably late bloomer. “No comment?” he queried, lifting his eyes. “You never told me your name,” she countered. “Carrera,” he said, watching her face. “Marcus Carrera.” He noted her lack of recognition. “You haven’t heard of me, have you?” She hadn’t, which he seemed to find amusing. “Are you famous?” she ventured. “Infamous,” he replied. He finished the neat stitches, nipped the thread with strong white teeth and handed the dress back to her. She took it from him, feeling suddenly cold. The minute she put the dress back on, their unexpected t?te-?-t?te was over. She’d probably never see him again. “There’s something about ships that pass in the night…” she murmured absently. His jaw tautened as he looked at her, his reading glasses tossed lightly onto the top of the desk. He summed her up with his dark eyes, seeing innocence and attraction mingled with fear and nerves. His eyes narrowed. He’d rarely been drawn to a woman so quickly, especially one like this, who was clearly from another world. Her connections were going to make her very valuable to him, but he didn’t want to feel any sparks. He couldn’t afford them right now. “What’s your name?” he asked quietly. “Delia Mason,” she replied. “You’re Southern,” he guessed. She smiled. “I’m from Texas, a little town called Jacobsville, between San Antonio and Victoria.” “Lived there all your life?” he probed. She gave him a wicked grin. “Not yet.” He chuckled. “Where are you from, originally?” she asked, clutching her dress to the front of his robe. “Not the Bahamas?” He shook his head. “Chicago,” he replied. She sighed. “I’ve never been there. Actually, this is the first time I’ve ever been out of Texas.” He found that fascinating. “I’ve been everywhere.” She smiled. “It’s a big world.” “Very.” He studied her oval face with its big green eyes and soft, creamy complexion. Her mouth was full and sweet-looking. His eyes narrowed on it and he felt a sudden, unexpected surge of hunger. She moved uncomfortably. “I guess I’d better get dressed.” She hesitated. “Do the cabs run this late?” she added. “They run all night, but you won’t need one,” he said as he closed up his sewing kit and put it away. He thought of driving her back himself. But it was unwise to start things he couldn’t finish. This little violet would never fit into his thorny life. She couldn’t cope, even if she’d been older and more sophisticated. The thought irritated him and his voice was harsher than he meant it to be when he added, “I’ll have Smith run you back to your hotel.” The thought of a journey in company with the mysterious and dangerous Mr. Smith made her uncomfortable, but she wasn’t going to argue. She was grateful to have a ride. It was a long walk over the bridge to Nassau. “Thanks,” she mumbled with suppressed disappointment, and went into the bathroom to put her dress back on. She hung the robe up neatly and then checked her face in the mirror. Her breath sucked in as she saw the terrible bruise coming out on her cheek. She put a lot of face powder over it, but it didn’t do a lot to disguise the fact that she’d been slapped. She did the best she could and went back out into the security office. He was standing out on the balcony with his hand in his pockets, looking out to sea. He was a sophisticated man. He had a powerful figure, and she wasn’t surprised that he was in security work. He was big enough to intimidate most troublemakers, even without those threatening dark eyes that could threaten more than words. The wind caught strands of his wavy black hair and blew it around his ears. He looked alone. She felt sorry for him, although it was probably unnecessary and would be unwelcome if she confessed it. He wasn’t a man to need pity, she could see that right away. She thought of not seeing him again, and an emptiness opened up inside her. She’d just lost her mother. It was probably a bad time to get involved with a man. But there was something about this one that drew her, that made her hungry for new experiences, new feelings. She sighed heavily. She must be out of her mind. A man she’d only just met shouldn’t have such an effect on her. But, then, her recent past had been traumatic. The loss of her mother, invalid though she’d been, had been painful. It was worse because Delia’s mother had never loved her. At least, not as she loved Barb; dear Barb who was beautiful and talented, and who had made an excellent marriage. Delia was only a seamstress, unattractive to men and without the live-wire personality of her much-older sister. It had been hard to live in the shadow of Barb. Delia felt like a bad copy, rather than a whole person. Her mother had been full of suggestions to improve her dull daughter. None of them had been accepted. Delia was satisfied with herself, loneliness and all. If only her mother had loved her, praised her even just once in a while. But there had been only criticism. A lifetime of it. She often wondered what she’d done to make her mother dislike her so. It really felt as if she were being punished for something. Nobody knew, least of all Barb, how difficult it had been for Delia at home. She’d done what was expected of her, always. But when she looked at this man, this stranger, she wanted to do crazy things. She wanted to break all the rules, run away, fall off the edge of the world. She didn’t understand why he should make her so reckless, when she’d always been such a conventional person. Apparently there was something to that old saying, that different people brought out different qualities in you, when you let them into your life. He must be a bad influence, because she’d never wanted to break rules before. As if he sensed her presence—because he couldn’t have heard her quiet steps above the wind as she joined him on the balcony—he turned suddenly and looked right at her. She didn’t say a word. She moved beside him and stared out over the ocean, enjoying the sound of the wind, and farther away, the subdued roar of the surf. “You’re very quiet,” he remarked. She laughed nervously. “That’s me. I’ve spent my life fading into the background of the world.” He gave her an assessing gaze. “Maybe it’s time that changed.” Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up at him in the dim light from the office. His dark eyes met hers and held them while the wind blew around them in a strange, warm embrace. He made her think of ruins, of mysterious places in shadow and darkness, of storms and torrents of rain. “You’re staring,” he pointed out huskily. “I’ve never met anyone like you,” she said unsteadily. “I’m just a small-town country girl. I’ve never been anywhere, done anything really reckless or exciting. I’ve never even been in a casino before in my life. But…but…” She couldn’t find the right words to express what she was feeling. His chin lifted and he moved a step closer, so that she could feel the strength and heat of his body close to her. “But you feel as if you’ve known me all your life,” he said huskily. Her eyelids flickered. “Well…yes…” He reached out with one big, powerful hand and lightly brushed her cheek with his fingertips. She trembled at that whisper of sensation and shock waves ran down her slender body into her sensible stacked high heels. “Oh, boy,” he ground out. “What’s wrong?” she asked in confusion. “And I’m old enough to know better, too,” he said, obviously thinking out loud. He looked confounded, even irritated, so she wasn’t really prepared when he suddenly reached for her. His big arms lifted her up against him as his head bent. His dark eyes riveted on her soft, parted lips. “What the hell. It’s midnight and you’re about to lose a slipper…” While she was trying to puzzle out the odd remark, his head bent, and his hard, warm mouth moved into total possession of her lips. Instinctively she started to struggle, but his mouth opened and she gasped at the unexpected flood of sensation that left her trembling. But not with fear. She melted into the powerful muscles of his chest and stomach, and drowned in the clean, spicy scent of his skin. She felt the sigh of his breath against her cheek while the kiss went deeper and slower and hungrier… In a daze of longing, she felt his arms crushing her against him while his face slid into her warm throat and he stood there in the wind, just holding her. His arms were warm against the chill of the wind coming off the ocean. She should have protested. She shouldn’t be behaving this way with a total stranger, she shouldn’t even be here with a man she didn’t know. But all the arguments meant nothing. She felt as if she’d just come home after a long and sad journey. She closed her eyes and let him rock her in his big arms. It was an intimacy she’d never felt in her life. Her mother had never been affectionate with her, even if Barb had. But that was in the past. Now, just the act of being held was a new experience. Marcus was dumbfounded by what he’d done; by what she’d let him do. He knew by her response to him that she knew next to nothing about men. She didn’t even know how to kiss. But she trusted him. She didn’t protest, didn’t fight, didn’t resist. She was like a warm, cuddly kitten in his arms, and he felt sensations that he’d never experienced before. “This was stupid,” he said after a minute, the strain audible in his deep, raspy voice. “You don’t look like a stupid man to me,” she said dreamily, smiling against his shoulder. He drew in a long breath and slowly put her away. His eyes were as turbulent as hers. “Listen,” he began, his big hands resting involuntarily on her shoulders, “we come from different worlds. I don’t start things I can’t finish.” “Well, don’t blame me,” she said with dancing eyes. “I almost never seduce men on dark balconies.” He scowled. She had a quick mind and a quirky sense of humor. It didn’t make things easier. She appealed to him powerfully. But he was at a point in his life when he couldn’t afford attachments of any sort, especially her sort. She was more vulnerable than she might think. What he had to do might put her in the path of danger, if he kept her around. And he was in a bad place to start looking for romance. “Ordinarily I wouldn’t mind being seduced,” he said. “But I’m not available.” She felt embarrassed. She stepped back, flushing. “Sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t think…!” “Don’t look like that,” he said harshly. He turned away from the embarrassment. “Come on. I’ll have Smith drive you back.” “I could get a cab,” she said, wrapping the tatters of her pride around her like an invisible cloak. “Don’t be absurd,” he said, his voice curt. Delia couldn’t hide her discomfort at the thought of enduring the drive back to Nassau in the company of Mr. Smith. “Surely you aren’t afraid of him?” Marcus drawled softly. “You aren’t afraid of me, and I’m worse than Smith in a lot of ways.” Her eyebrows arched. “Are you, really?” she asked in all honesty. He chuckled in spite of himself. “You don’t know anything about me,” he murmured as he studied her with indulgent amusement. “That’s kind of nice,” he added thoughtfully. “It’s been a long time since anybody was as comfortable with me as you seem to be.” “Now you’re making me nervous,” she told him. He smiled. It was a rare, genuine smile. “Not very, apparently.” She moved a little closer, tingling all over as she approached him. He made her hungry. She gazed up at him. “I think I’ve got it figured out, anyway.” “Have you now?” “You’re Mr. Smith’s boss,” she said. He pursed his lips and started to speak. “You’re a bouncer,” she concluded before he could get the words out. He was actually dumbfounded. He just stared at her with growing amazement. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she said firmly. “Somebody has to keep the peace in a place like this. Actually, my father was a deputy sheriff. I wasn’t even born until after he died, so I don’t remember him. But we still have his gun and gunbelt, and the deputy sheriff’s badge he wore.” “How did he die?” he asked abstractly. “He made a routine traffic stop,” she said quietly. “The man was an escaped murderer.” “Tough.” She nodded. “Mom was left with me and Barb, although Barb was sixteen at the time, almost seventeen.” She sighed. “Barb is beautiful and brainy. She married Barney, who’s worth millions, and she’s been deliriously happy ever since.” “So it’s just you and your mother at home,” he guessed. She grimaced. “My mother died last month of stomach cancer,” she said. “It’s why I’m here. Barb thought I needed a break, so she and Barney squared it with my boss at the dry cleaner—I do alterations for them—and then they dragged me on a plane. I hope I still have a job when I go home. Nobody seems to understand how hard it is to get work in a small town. I have monthly bills to pay and hardly any savings, so my job is very important.” She smiled ruefully. “Barb doesn’t understand jobs. She married Barney just out of high school, when I was two years old, so she’s never worked.” “Lucky Barb.” He watched the expressions play on her delicate features. “I guess Barb helped when your mother was so sick?” She nodded. “She paid all Mama’s medical and drug bills, and even for a nurse to stay with her in the daytime while I worked. We’d never have made it without her.” “Did she do any of the nursing?” “She came and stayed with us for the last few months of mother’s life,” she said quietly. “She and Barney decided that it was going to be too much for me, so they even got nurses to do the night shift. But mostly it was Barb who nursed her, until she died. Mother didn’t want me with her. Barb and Mom were very close—it wasn’t like that with Mother and me. She didn’t like me very much,” she added bluntly. He revised his opinion of the older sister. She’d done her part. “Are you close, you and your sister?” She laughed. “We’re closer than mother and daughter, really. Barb is terrific. It’s just that she thinks I can’t walk unless she’s telling me how to do it. She’s sixteen years older than me.” “That’s a hell of an age difference,” he pointed out. “Tell me about it. Barb’s so much older that I must seem more like a child than an adult to her.” He scowled. “How old was your mother when you were born?” “Forty-eight,” she laughed. “She said I was a miracle baby.” “Mmmm,” he said absently. “How old was your mother when you were born?” she asked curiously. He chuckled. “Sixteen. In the old days, and in the old country,” he drawled, bending closer, “women married young. She and my father were betrothed by their families. They only saw each other in company of a due?a, and they were married in the church. The first time they kissed each other was on their wedding day, or so my father always said.” She looked puzzled at the Spanish word he’d used for chaperone. “I thought you were Italian,” she blurted out. He shook his head. “My parents were from the south of Spain. I’m a first-generation American.” “Do you speak Spanish?” He nodded. “But I read it better than I speak it. My parents wanted me and my brother to speak English well, so that we’d fit in better than they did.” She smiled, understanding. She moved slowly back into the office and he followed, closing the sliding door onto the balcony. “I’ll ride with you to your hotel,” he said after a minute. He picked up the phone and told someone to take over for him while he drove into Nassau and back. She took one last look at the beautiful black and white quilt in its frame on the wall. “That really is majestic,” she remarked. “Thanks. I’d love to see some of your work.” She grimaced. “I don’t even have photos of it, like you do,” she said. “Sorry.” “I may get down to Texas one of these days,” he said offhandedly. She smiled. “That would be nice.” He glanced back at her. “It might not be, when you know more about me,” he said, and he was suddenly very solemn. “That isn’t likely.” “You’re an optimist. I’m not.” “Yes, I noticed,” she teased. He chuckled as he opened the door to let her out into the hall. Mr. Smith was waiting beside a huge black super stretch limousine in front of the hotel and nightclub. Delia actually gasped. “You can’t mean to drive me back in that!” she exclaimed. “Your boss will fire you!” “Unlikely,” Marcus said, with a speaking glance at Smith, who was trying not to laugh out loud. “Get in.” She whistled softly as she slid onto the leather seat and moved to the center, to give him room to get in. Smith closed the back door and went to the driver’s seat. Delia was stagestruck. She looked around wide-eyed, fascinated by the luxurious interior. “You could go bowling in here!” “It’s nice when you’re ferrying around a crowd of tourists,” he stated. “Want something to drink?” He indicated the bar, where a bottle of champagne and several bottles of beer and soft drinks were chilling in ice. She shook her head. “No, thanks. Is that television?!” she added, indicating a flat screen just in front of her near the ceiling. “Satellite television, satellite radio, CD player, phone…” “It’s incredible,” she said softly. “Just incredible!” “Your sister’s married to a millionaire,” he pointed out. “Don’t you get to ride in limos?” She shook her head. “There wouldn’t be any need for her to drive down to Jacobsville in one. They fly to San Antonio and rent a car. At home, they’ve got a Jaguar sports car.” “I thought you might visit her and ride in limos,” he teased. “In New York?” she asked. She shook her head. “We’d usually go down to Galveston together for vacation on the beach. I’ve never been to New York, and since Barney travels so much and Barb goes with him, they’re rarely home. I don’t even go up to San Antonio unless I have to, when I buy supplies. I’m very much at home in the little house I shared with Mama. We have a handful of chickens and a dog named Sam.” “Who’s looking after them?” “A neighbor,” she said. “Although, Sam’s being boarded. He’s bad to get in the road. You have to watch him constantly.” “What breed is he?” She smiled. “He’s a German shepherd—black with brown markings. I’ve had him for eight years. He’s a sweetie.” “Any cats?” She shook her head. “Mama was allergic. We couldn’t even have Sam in the house.” Smith was pulling out into the main road that led over the bridge to Nassau. Marcus leaned back against the soft leather of the seat. “I’ve never seen a chicken close up, except on television,” he remarked. She grinned. “Come to Texas and I’ll let you pet one.” “You can pet a chicken?” “Of course you can,” she said, laughing. He liked the sound of her laughter. It had been a long time since he’d done much of that. His life was lonely and dangerous, and he had a natural suspicion of people. He’d seen women who looked like virginal innocents roll a man and take everything he had. “Why were you at the club in the first place?” he asked unexpectedly. She sighed. “Because Fred said he wanted to talk some business with the manager of the casino and we might as well go there as anyplace else on the island. But he got cold feet and started drinking.” She was oblivious to the look on Marcus’s leonine face. “He’s mixed up in something illegal, I think, and there are some people he’s dealing with who want to hurt him.” She bit her lip as she looked up at Marcus. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. The owner of the casino’s your boss, right?” “Sort of,” he confessed. “Well, Fred kept throwing back hard liquor until he could hardly stand up. I wanted to go back to my hotel by then, because he was getting really out of hand. I had to fend him off in the taxi, and when we got to the club, I was going to go inside and call a taxi to take me back. But Fred got angry when I said that, and reminded me that he’d bought me an expensive dinner. He said I owed him a little fun,” she added coldly. She grasped her purse tight in her hands and glanced at Marcus. “I guess I’ve led a pretty sheltered life until now. Do men really expect a woman to have sex with them just because they buy her a meal? Because if that’s the way of it, I’m buying my own dinners from now on!” Her expression amused him. He laughed softly. “Well, I can only speak for myself, but I’ve never considered a steak currency for sex.” She smiled in spite of her irritation. “It shows that I don’t date much, huh?” she said matter-of-factly. “Even after I was in high school, I had to fight Barb and mother to get to go out with a man. Mother would call Barb if anyone asked me on a date. They said men were devious and they’d say all sorts of things to get you into bed with them, and then they’d leave you pregnant and desert you.” She shook her head. “God knows where they got those ideas. Barb married Barney just after high school graduation, and Mother didn’t go out with anybody at all after Daddy died.” “She didn’t?” he asked abruptly, surprised. “She was sort of old-fashioned, I guess. She said she and Daddy were so happy together that any other man she dated would fall short of that perfection. So she spent her time doing charity work and raising me.” “I didn’t think there were any women like that left in the world,” he said honestly. “What was your mother like?” He smiled slowly. “She was the kind of woman who kissed cuts and bruises and made homemade cookies for her kids. She worked herself half to death to give us the things we had to have for school,” he added, his face taut. “Was she pretty?” “What a question. Why?” “Well, you’re very good-looking,” she said, and then flushed as she realized she might be overstepping boundaries. He chuckled. “Thanks. I think you look pretty good, too.” “Oh, I’m plain,” she replied. “I don’t have any illusions about being beautiful. But I can cook, and I’m a fair seamstress.” He reached out and touched a loose strand of her blond hair, contemplating the high coiffure she wore it in. “How long is your hair?” he asked suddenly. “It’s to my waist in back,” she said self-consciously. “My boss at the dry cleaner where I do alterations says I look like Alice in Wonderland with it down, so I keep it in a bun or a ponytail most of the time.” “You don’t cut it, then?” She shook her head. “I look terrible with short hair,” she said. “Like a boy.” Both thick eyebrows went up. “Excuse me?” She shifted on the seat. “I’m rather bosom-challenged.” He burst out laughing. She was really blushing, now. “I can’t think of a better way to put it,” she confessed. “But it’s the truth.” His dark eyes were kind and indulgent. “Men have individual tastes in women,” he said. “I come from a background where women have ample curves. They say it’s what we’re not used to that attracts us, and that’s how it is with me.” She stared at him, uncomprehending. “I don’t like women with ample…bosoms,” he explained. She just looked at him, her eyes wide and hopeful. “You…don’t?” He shook his head. “And I’ve never met a woman who kept chickens until now, much less one who knew a Bow Tie pattern from a Dresden Plate.” She smiled. “I’ve never met a bouncer who could quilt before,” she replied. He chuckled. Let her keep her illusions. He’d never said what he did for a living on that quilt show he was on, or even in the competitions. He just said he was a Chicago businessman. He was enjoying this anonymity. It was rare for anyone not to recognize at least his name, if not his face. “Would you like to see Blackbeard’s Tower?” Her lips parted. “Blackbeard, the pirate?” she asked. “The very one.” He leaned toward her conspiratorially. “He’s not there.” She laughed. “That’s all right, I’d rather see it without his ghost,” She twisted her purse in her hands. “When?” she asked, without looking at him. He hesitated. He had a meeting that he didn’t really want to attend. Of course, he’d have to go. “I’ve got a lunch appointment. How about somewhere between one and two o’clock tomorrow?” Her wide eyes lifted to his, radiant and happy. “I’d like that,” she said huskily. “I’ll call for you in the lobby.” She smiled. “Okay!” He hesitated. “You may hear some things about me when Fred tells your sister what happened,” he told her. “Try not to believe them. Or at least, wait and make up your own mind when you get to know me a little better. Okay?” She was curious, but she smiled. “Okay.” “One more thing,” he added, when Smith was pulling up into the circular driveway that led to the hotel entrance. “If Fred calls you a liar and says it didn’t happen—and he might—you tell your sister and brother-in-law that I’ve got a tape of it and they’re welcome to look at it any time they like. It would stand in any court of law.” “You think I should have Fred arrested?” she exclaimed. He was torn between what was right and what he was bound to do. He couldn’t afford to have Fred in jail right now. “No,” he lied. “But you shouldn’t go out alone with him again.” “I don’t plan to,” she assured him. Smith was opening the door. Tourists standing inside the glass doors were gaping at the huge black limousine. “They probably think we’re rock stars,” she said with twinkling light eyes. “Let them think what they like. You’re sure you’re okay?” he added. She nodded. Her eyes caressed his broad face. “Thanks. For everything.” He shrugged. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Between one and two, in the lobby,” she agreed. Smith held out a hand and helped her out on the passenger side of the huge vehicle. He grinned at her. She flushed, because she was still nervous of him, and it showed. “Well, good night,” she said to Marcus. He smiled. “Good night, angel.” She walked on clouds all the way into the hotel, past staring tourists, and straight into the elevator. Barb was beside herself when Delia used the key to let herself into the suite. Her blond hair was mussed from her busy, beautifully manicured fingers. “Baby, where have you been?” she exclaimed, rushing forward to hug Delia half to death. “Oh, I’ve been so worried! Fred came back with this wild tale about your being kidnapped by some gangster…!” “Fred tried to assault me outside the casino in a dark corner,” Delia said angrily, and she pointed to her cheek. “When I wouldn’t cooperate, he slapped me!” Barb gasped. Barney, her husband, came into the room in an evening jacket. His balding head shone in the overhead light and his dark eyes narrowed. “So you’re finally back! Fred was worried sick…” “Fred assaulted me,” Delia began again. “Now, baby, you know that’s not true,” Barney said, his voice softening. “Fred told me you got a little upset because he was just slightly tipsy…” “Look at my cheek!” she raged. “I wouldn’t let him have sex with me, so he slapped me, as hard as he could!” Barney hesitated, and his dark eyes began to glitter. “Fred said the owner of the casino gave you that bruise,” Barney said, but with less confidence and growing anger. “There’s a videotape of the entire incident,” she said curtly. “And the head of security for the hotel says you’re welcome to see it. Both of you. Anytime you like!” Chapter Three There was a stunned silence. Barb’s breathing was audible as she looked from her husband to her sister. “I think Fred’s lying,” Barb said finally. Barney stared at her. “Fred said she didn’t do a thing for him, and he’s used to real lookers. I’m sorry, baby,” he told Delia, “but that’s the truth. It doesn’t make sense that Fred would be that out of line with a woman who didn’t appeal to him.” “A bowl of gelatin would have appealed to him at the time, Barney,” Delia said in her own defense. “He was stewed to the gills.” “I’ll talk to Marcus Carrera,” Barney said curtly. “He’ll tell the truth. He may be a pirate, but he’s an honest pirate.” “You know the head of security at the casino?” Delia asked. “Honey, I don’t know what you’ve been drinking,” Barney said dryly, “but Carrera is the owner of the Bow Tie. The closest he comes to security is when he turns Smith loose on somebody who’s tried to cheat him. They say he used to do his own dirty work in the old days in Chicago. Maybe he still does.” “Mr…. Carrera owns the casino,” Delia parroted. “He owns lots of stuff,” Barney replied casually. “Hotels and casinos, mostly, in the Caribbean and one off the coast of New Jersey. The Bow Tie’s his newest one. He’s been down here for a while. Since the oil drum incident, anyway.” Delia sat down, hard. She was feeling sick. “What oil drum incident?” Barney chuckled. “This really bad character did something nearly fatal to one of Carrera’s friends. They found him floating down the Chicago River in an oil drum. Well, most of him,” he amended. “There are still a few parts missing.” “Parts?” Delia exclaimed. “Now, now, baby, nobody said Carrera did it by himself. He’s always had people around him who would do what they wanted him to,” he continued. “But he’s got a reputation that scares even bad people. Nobody ever crosses him unless they’ve got a death wish.” “That isn’t what that Dunagan man said,” Barb reminded her husband. He frowned at her. “Dunagan was just passing on gossip,” he said with deliberate firmness. “Well, there is some gossip about that Miami gangster—what’s his name, Deluca?—who’s trying to set up his own operation down here on Paradise Island. They say he’s got his hand into all sorts of illegal gambling in Florida and now he wants to take over a casino or two in the Bahamas.” “He got caught for running an illegal betting operation,” Barney replied. “He opened a couple of shops so people could bet on greyhound and horse racing. But he reneged on the payoffs or lied about the bets that were placed. He did three years. Had a really good lawyer,” he added with a grin. Barb gave him a cold look. “He’s a crook.” “Sure he is,” Barney agreed. “But he’s got a lot of muscle, and that beautiful daughter who travels around with him. They say he uses her to set up men. But she’s got the personality of a spitting cobra.” “How exactly did you get home, baby?” Barb asked suddenly. “The head of security drove me over in a big black stretch limousine,” Delia said with a big smile. “It was incredible!” “I forgot you’d never been in one,” Barney said, sighing. “I wanted to bring you up to stay with us in New York and show you the town. But your…mother wouldn’t hear of it,” he added curtly. “She hated my guts. She said she didn’t want you around me.” “But, why?” Delia asked, appalled. Nobody had ever told her that. Barb gave Barney a warning glance. “Mother was jealous of Barney because he took me away from her,” she said. “They never got along, you know that.” “Yes,” Delia admitted, “but that doesn’t explain why she didn’t want me to go to New York.” Barney turned away, looking uncomfortable. “She thought you might like it there and want to stay.” “She didn’t want to lose you, baby,” Barb said, but she didn’t sound very comfortable herself. “But she never liked me,” Delia exclaimed. “What?” Barb asked sharply. Delia had never admitted that to them. She hated doing it now, but perhaps it was time to get it out in the open. “She didn’t like me,” she confided miserably. “Nothing I did was ever right. She didn’t like my hair long, but she liked it less if I had it cut. She didn’t like the clothes I wore, they were too dowdy. She ridiculed the ones I designed and made myself. She said I was lazy and shiftless and that I’d never amount to anything…” “Baby, you can’t be serious!” Barb exclaimed, horrified. “I never understood why,” Delia said heavily, sitting down. “It was almost as if she hated me, but when I asked her if she did, she got all flustered and said of course she didn’t, that it wasn’t my fault that I was the way I was.” Barb and Barney exchanged curious glances. They not only looked shocked, they looked guilty. Delia wondered why. “Baby, why didn’t you ever tell me this?” Barb asked gently, her green eyes soft and loving. Delia grimaced. “It wouldn’t have been right, for me to talk like that about my own mother. And what could you have done, anyway? You and Barney had your own lives.” “She never said why she made it so hard on you?” Barney asked. Delia glanced at him and thought, not for the first time, how strange it was that his face and hers were remarkably similar, from the small ears to the rounded chin and the very shape of his eyes. She’d even asked Barb once if he was kin to them, because of the resemblance. But Barb had laughed and said of course not. Not that she didn’t look like Barb, too, with the same green eyes and blond hair. Their mother had dark hair and blue eyes. But, then, Delia knew that she and Barb were throwbacks to their paternal grandmother, because Delia’s mother had said so. “I’m sorry,” Barb said, moving to hug her sister close. She’d always been affectionate like that, since Delia’s earliest memories. Barb hugged her coming and going, praised her, teased her, sent her presents on every holiday and birthday and all the time in between. Delia had never wanted for anything, especially not love. In fact, until three years ago, Barney and Barb had lived in San Antonio. They were always around. But when they were, Delia’s mother was on her best behavior. She loved Barb best, and it showed. She was sharp with Delia, though, and Barb had occasionally remarked on it. She didn’t realize how harsh their mother could be, when she wasn’t there. “Maybe I could come to New York and visit one day,” Delia mentioned. Barb’s face lit up. “That would be great! We could take you to all the touristy places and you and I could go shopping together!” Delia smiled. “I’d like that.” “We still haven’t finished talking about Fred,” Barney interrupted. “She’s not going out with him again,” Barb said firmly, with an arm around her sister. “I wasn’t going to suggest that,” Barney said gently. “But I need to have a talk with him about his behavior tonight,” he added, dark eyes flashing. “He had no right to manhandle her!” “I agree wholeheartedly,” Barb said. “At least you got home safely.” “Yeah, and Carrera didn’t send Fred home in a shoe-box, either, apparently,” Barney murmured. “You said Mr. Carrera doesn’t kill people,” Delia reminded him. She couldn’t believe that he did. She didn’t want to believe it. “He’s calmed down a bit,” Barney replied. He poured himself a drink. “He hasn’t bumped anybody off recently, at least. He’s keeping a low profile. I expect that’s why he’s down here in the Bahamas. Laying low.” “You look sick, baby,” Barb said worriedly. She sat down beside Delia and patted her knee. “You’ve had a bad night. Why don’t you go to bed and get some sleep?” “I think I’ll do that,” Delia said. “Did you actually talk to Carrera?” Barney asked curiously. Delia nodded, her throat was too tight for speech. Barney chuckled. “That’s one for the books. He never mingles with the customers. I guess he was afraid you might sue him, if Fred’s lying. He wouldn’t like the publicity.” “I thought you believed Fred,” Barb said curtly. He shrugged. “If Carrera got involved, it’s no wonder Fred’s trying to smooth things over. Nobody wants to cross him. Least of all Fred. He’s been working out a business proposition he wants to involve Carrera in. I don’t know what sort, but Fred does have a genius for making money.” He sipped his drink, frowning. “I might try to get in on it myself,” he added with a glance at Barb. “You stay out of business with Carrera,” Barb said flatly. “I like you alive, warts and all.” “Did Smith bring you back to the hotel?” Barney asked Delia. “He and Mr. Carrera did.” There were shocked stares. “Fred tore my dress and Mr. Carrera sewed it up for me,” she faltered. Barney finished the drink in one swallow. “That’s right, he quilts,” Barb said, brightening. “Delia teaches quilting. You told him, right?” Delia nodded. “No wonder he was nice to you,” Barney agreed. “He’s a sucker for a fellow quilter. We heard he gave a guy a week’s paid vacation in one of his hotels for two yards of old cloth.” “Antique fabric is very valuable,” Delia said softly, “and extremely hard to get.” “They say he keeps an album of his quilts,” Barney chuckled. “He does. I saw it. He’s won international competitions,” Delia replied. “His needlework is marvelous.” She showed the mend to Barb, who couldn’t find the stitches. “That’s really something,” Barb had to admit. “If he ever shoots me, I’ll ask him to sew me a quilted shroud,” Barney quipped. Barb stared at him. “Why would he want to shoot you?” Barney looked uncomfortable. Then he shrugged. “No reason right now. I had thought about suggesting we all take in a show at the casino. We might get special treatment now, what with him sewing up Delia.” Barb glowered at her husband. “We’re not putting her in his path again. I do not want my baby sister running around with a criminal!” “He’s not a criminal. Not exactly,” Barney said. “He’s a nice guy as long as you don’t try to steal from him or threaten anybody close to him.” “I don’t want to find out,” Barb said firmly. She turned to Delia. “You stay away from that man. I don’t care how nicely he sews, either.” Delia wanted to tell them that Marcus had asked her out the next day, but she didn’t quite have the courage. It was hard to stand up to Barb, who was mature and brimming with authority. Delia had never refused to do anything Barb asked. But she remembered the hungry kiss she’d shared with Marcus on the windswept balcony, the feel of his arms around her, the warm strength of him in the cool evening. She tingled all over with memory. She wanted to be with him. The only thing that bothered her was his reputation. What if he really did kill people…? Barb was studying her expression. “Dee, did you hear me?” she asked. “I said, I don’t want you going around with a gangster.” “I heard, Barb,” Delia replied. “He’s loaded, you know,” Barney interrupted. “They say he’s worth millions.” “It’s how he got it that bothers me,” Barb replied. “There are worse crooks heading up corporations all over the world,” Barney said carelessly. “He’s certainly got the midas touch when it comes to business. At least he’s honest, and he never makes idle threats. He loves senior citizens.” “So does the Japanese mafia, the Yakuza,” Barb shot back. Barney threw up his hands. “Everything’s black and white with you.” “I’ll go to bed and let you two finish your argument in private,” Delia offered. “You do that, baby,” Barb said gently. “I’m glad you’re okay. Imagine, riding around Nassau in the company of a killer!” “They never proved that he killed anybody,” Barney argued. “They never proved he didn’t!” Delia slipped out of the sitting room and closed the door on the loud voices. She got ready for bed in a daze. She couldn’t believe what Barney said about Marcus. Surely she’d have sensed evil if it was in him. He’d been kind, and comforting. He’d even been affectionate. He was attracted to her, as she was to him. Was it so wrong to spend time with him? She worried about what Barb would say. And then she thought, I’m a grown woman. I have to make my own decisions about people. She remembered suddenly what Marcus had said to her, about not believing what she might hear about him; about waiting until she knew him better to make that sort of judgment. It was going to be too much temptation anyway, to turn away from him now. She was already hooked. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. She was going to go to Blackbeard’s Tower with him, even if she had to do it covertly. She remembered that he’d said he’d meet her in the lobby, and she began to worry. It was a long shot, but what if Barb and Barney happened to be in the lobby at the same time? The thought kept her awake late into the night. She dreamed about the hot kiss they’d shared on his balcony as well. She’d always been a sensible, practical sort of person. But when Marcus Carrera touched her, she lost her head completely and became someone else. She’d never understood why women gave up their principles and slept with men before they were married. But it was becoming clear that sometimes physical attraction overran caution. Her body throbbing, she felt stirrings that she’d never experienced in her life. She could barely stand to have the sheet touch her body, she was so feverish with just the memories. Marcus’s body close to hers, his big hands flat on her back, his mouth biting into hers hungrily. She actually moaned. It was dangerous for her to see him again, because she wanted him with a blind, mindless passion. She knew already that she couldn’t resist him if he put on the heat. And he might be as helpless to stop it as she already was. She was very curious about sex. Her mother had been reticent and reluctant to even talk about it, just like Barb. But Delia had friends who indulged, and they told her the most shocking things about men and women in bed together. She thought of Marcus that way and her body ached for him. She knew that if he asked her out, she’d go with him as often as he liked. She’d lived in a cocoon all her life, without refusing to do whatever she was told. But she was twenty-three now, and already falling in love with that big, dark man from the casino. For once, she was going to do what pleased her, and she’d live with whatever consequences there were. She wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life alone without even one sweet memory to cherish in her old age. And if she had to go against Barb to do that, she was willing. It was, after all, her life. When Delia woke, she felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. She couldn’t believe that Marcus was a killer, no matter what anyone said. He had been tender with her, generous, kind. Surely a gangster wouldn’t have been so accommodating to a perfect stranger. But what did she know about gangsters? She was a small-town girl with no knowledge of people with mob connections, except by gossip. There had been some excitement in Jacobsville, Texas, over the past few years. A drug lord had decided to build a distribution center there, and a group of local mercenaries had stopped him. A local girl had been kidnapped in revenge and taken to the drug lord’s home in Mexico, and her stepbrother had rescued her. There had even been a shooting when Christabel Gaines and her guardian Judd Dunn had run afoul of a murderer; Christabel had been shot by one of the notorious Clark brothers, who had killed a young woman up around Victoria. Clark was now serving a life sentence without hope of parole. But other than those episodes, Jacobsville was mostly a quiet place to live. Delia lived in a cocoon of kind people and rustic charm. She was unsophisticated, not really pretty, and rather shy. So, why, she wondered, would a rich, worldly man like Marcus Carrera even want to take her sightseeing. If he was as rich as Barney said he was, surely he could get any sort of women he liked—beautiful women, talented women, famous women. Why would he want to take Delia out? Maybe he was desperate for company? She laughed at that thought. But then she remembered the torrid kiss they’d shared, and her heart raced. Perhaps he felt the same way she did. It didn’t have a lot to do with looks, social position or wealth. Nobody could explain physical attraction, after all. That fiery passion was unsettling to a woman who’d never felt it in her life. She couldn’t even consider an affair, she told herself. And he didn’t seem to be a marrying man. Surely if he’d wanted to marry, he’d have done it, at his age. There was another consideration—if she was going to go against her own best instincts and go out with him, she’d have to lie to Barb. She’d never done that in her life. Barb had loved her, sacrificed for her, taken care of her even more than her own mother had. In all honesty, she loved Barb more than she’d loved her poor mother. But the alternative was to forget Marcus and stand him up. Her heart ached at just the thought of not seeing him again. This sudden hunger to be with him, to hold him, to kiss him was overpowering. She couldn’t bear to stand him up. Even after only a brief meeting, her eyes ached for the sight of him. She told herself that she was an idiot. But she was going to meet him, no matter what the consequences. She couldn’t help herself. In the end, her fears of Barb seeing her with him in the lobby evaporated when Barney had an emergency call about his business back home. His headquarters was in New York, but he was opening a new hotel in Miami, and there were major problems with the contractor who was building it. The man had walked off the job, with his entire crew, after an argument with one of Barney’s vice presidents. Barney was going to have to fly there and solve the problem. Barb, who was in charge of the interior design for the building, would necessarily have to go as well, since the contractor had been authorized to supply the materials she required. “I hate leaving you here alone, baby,” Barb said worriedly. “Would you like to fly down to Miami with us while we sort this out?” Delia thought fast. “I think I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind,” she said. “I really wanted to get in some sunbathing on the beach.” “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Barb persisted. “She’s a grown woman, for God’s sake. You’re only her sister, not her mama,” Barney said furiously. Barb flushed. “Well, I worry!” she defended. “What about Fred?” she added. “Fred’s gone to Miami, too, for the week,” Barney muttered, searching for his wallet. “I didn’t know he had business interests there,” he said with an odd smile. “There!” Delia said, relieved. “That solves the problem.” Barb was frowning. “You aren’t going off with Carrera anywhere, are you?” she asked suspiciously. Delia managed to look dumbfounded. “Chance would be a fine thing!” she exclaimed. “I mean, look at me,” she added, spreading her arms wide. “Tell me why a man that rich would look twice at a plain, nobody of a seamstress from a little town in Texas?” “You are not plain!” Barb argued. “The right clothes and makeup and you’d be a knockout. In fact, we just outfitted you, didn’t we, and you have yet to wear a single thing I bought you!” “I will. I promise,” Delia said in a conciliatory tone. Barb sighed. “No, you won’t. You spend your life in sweats and old shirts. In fact, you didn’t even have any shirts without pictures or writing on them until I brought you down here and took you shopping.” “I’ll wear the new clothes,” Delia promised, and she meant it. Marcus might like her in something pretty. “We need to talk about this,” Barb continued. “But not right now,” Barney said impatiently, looking at his Rolex. “We have to go right now or we’ll miss our flight.” “All right,” Barb said reluctantly. She hugged Delia. “You keep this door locked while we’re gone,” she began. Barney was opening the door and motioning to her. “Don’t open it unless you know who’s outside!” “Yes, Barb,” Delia said automatically. “And do not go out at night alone…” Barb continued. Barney had her by the arm and was dragging her toward the door. She laughed. “Don’t take candy from strangers!” she called merrily. “Don’t go too near the ocean, and don’t pet stray dogs!” “I won’t, I promise,” Delia chuckled. “I love you!” The door closed on the last word. “I love you, too!” Delia called after her. There was a skirl of laughter and then, silence. Delia tried on three of the new outfits Barb had bought for her before she settled on a simple white peasant blouse with a lace-edged white cotton skirt and a wide magenta cotton wrap belt. She’d found the outfit in one of the local stores and the saleslady, an elegant tall woman, had showed her how to wrap the belt around her waist several times and tuck it in. The result was very chic, especially with Delia’s small waist. She was vibrating with nervous energy and indecision about her choice when the phone rang and made her jump. She ran to answer it. “Yes?” she said at once. There was a deep chuckle, as if he knew she’d been sitting on hot coals waiting for him and was pleased by it. “I’m in the lobby,” he said. “I’ll be right down.” She hung up and darted to the door, only then realizing that she was barefoot and had forgotten both her purse and the room key. With a rueful laugh at her own forgetfulness, she ran back to get her shoes and purse and key. Eight breathless minutes later, she arrived in the luxurious lobby, having spent five minutes waiting for the elevator. She stepped out into the lobby and looked around worriedly for Marcus. And there he was, lounging against the wall opposite the bank of elevators, lazily elegant and smiling. He was wearing a green knit shirt with brown slacks. He looked big and expensive and sexy. He was looking, too, his dark eyes intent on her trim figure and especially her wealth of long, wavy blond hair that she’d left cascading down to her waist in back. He smiled then, warmly, and she went straight to him, almost colliding with another hotel guest she didn’t even see, causing amused glances from passersby. “Hi,” she said huskily. “Hi,” he returned, his voice deep and soft. “Ready to go?” She thought about the risks she was taking, the danger she could be in, the anger and betrayal that Barb was going to feel. But nothing mattered except that look in his dark eyes. She threw caution and reason to the winds. “I’m ready,” she said. Chapter Four Marcus could hardly believe this was the same shy, conservative woman he’d met only the night before. She looked exciting in that lacy white thing, with her long hair down. He’d had second thoughts about involving her in his life when it was in flux, but in the end, he hadn’t had a choice. It had been pure luck that Fred had chosen to bring her along to the meeting they didn’t get to have. She was Barney’s sister-in-law and that gave him a connection to a badly needed contact. He could pass a message along in a very innocent way, through a woman he could pretend to be interested in. The fly in the ointment was Barbara, Delia’s sister, who was not going to approve of her baby sister dating a gangster. It was amazing, that of all the women he’d known—and there had been some beautiful ones—he honestly was interested in her. It wasn’t like him to be attracted to a small-town girl like Delia. She wasn’t his style at all. Then, too, there was the question of his past. She thought he was a security guard. She had no idea who, or what, he really was. It wasn’t fair to her to let her believe a lie. But he didn’t dare tell her the truth. She didn’t seem the sort of woman to be comfortable spending time with a gangster, even if he was reformed. And he needed her to spend time with him. For a few weeks, at least. He reached out slowly and caught her cold, nervous fingers in his, linking them together. It was like touching a live wire. Her hand jerked in his, as if she, too, felt the electricity. Her breath caught audibly. She winced when she realized that he knew exactly what she was feeling. “Don’t look like that,” he said in a deep, velvet tone, moving closer. “I feel it, too.” “I haven’t slept,” she choked, lost in his eyes. “Neither have I,” he replied curtly. He studied her perfect complexion, the faint flush on her cheeks a dead giveaway of her turmoil. “Where’s your sister?” “On her way to Miami with Barney. Some sort of crisis. And Fred’s gone there, too,” she added breathlessly. “To Miami?” He looked thoughtful. “So Barney said. God knows why, Barney says he’s got no business interests there.” “None that Barney knows about, maybe,” Marcus mused. He seemed distant for a moment. Then he blinked and smiled down at Delia. “I’ve got a big day planned for us. Let’s go.” “Okay,” she said softly. He didn’t ask any questions and she didn’t tell him about Barb’s warning about him. She was going to pretend that there were no complications. She was going to pretend she didn’t know who he was, too. This was one day she was simply going to enjoy. It might be the only one she had with him. She wasn’t going to waste it in worry. They walked out the front door holding hands, but Mr. Smith and the limo were nowhere in sight. A cab was waiting at the entrance instead. “I didn’t want to raise eyebrows, in case your sister had told you something about me,” he murmured. “What would she have told me about you?” she wondered, pretending innocence. His expression was priceless. He looked relieved. “What did you tell her?” “That Fred assaulted me and the head of security at the hotel brought me home,” she said simply. “Not my name?” he persisted. She grimaced. “I didn’t think of it until it was too late…” “Don’t think of it,” he said tersely. “I’ll explain later.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/diana-palmer/carrera-s-bride-39882280/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. 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