Tangled Destinies
Passion and danger collide in a breathless story from New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer.
Saved from an abduction and unthinkable harm, Gabrielle Bennett owed her life to her rescuer. Marc Stephano, a stranger from the sketchy shadows of town, could’ve asked for money. Instead he introduced her to desire and claimed her completely—then he broke her heart.
Older, wiser and now a top New York model, Gabrielle is prepared for anything—except Marc’s reemergence into her life. It’s a merciless trick of fate. A successful, self-made millionaire, he’s as powerful as ever, but can Gabrielle forgive and forget—in the name of love?
Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author DIANA PALMER
“Diana Palmer is a mesmerizing storyteller who captures the essence of what a romance should be.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“Palmer returns with a splendid Western contemporary novel filled with passion, heartache and small-town life. The story serves as a reminder that life will provide second chances; we just need to be brave enough to hold on to them.”
—RT Book Reviews on Wyoming Brave (Top Pick)
“Readers will be moved by this tale of revenge and justice, grief and healing.”
—Booklist on Dangerous
“Diana Palmer is one of those authors whose books are always enjoyable. She throws in romance, suspense and a good story line.”
—The Romance Reader on Before Sunrise
“Lots of passion, thrills, and plenty of suspense...Protector is a top-notch read!”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A delightful romance with interesting new characters and many familiar faces.”
—RT Book Reviews on Wyoming Tough
Tangled Destinies
Diana Palmer
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Praise
Title Page
PROLOGUE
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 FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Extract
Copyright
PROLOGUE
SHE KNEW SOMEONE was following her. Icy dread numbed her throat. It was almost dark, and it didn’t help to know that her own stupidity had put her in this particular neighborhood as darkness fell over New York City. She could have waited for the bus, but she’d been too impatient. It was spring, and the few trees along the streets were just budding. She hadn’t thought what a long walk it would be from her piano teacher’s home to her own.
Her auburn hair blew in wavy strands around her thin face, and her big green eyes swept restlessly along the deserted street. There wasn’t a single person in sight. Clutching her cashmere sweater closer around her thin shoulders, she bit on her lower lip. She crushed her leather purse and sheet music against her small bosom as she held on to them like a life preserver. Stupid, she told herself. Stupid girl, wearing clothes that shouted money, walking through a neighborhood where you could be mugged for a dollar bill. Behind her, the footsteps suddenly grew quicker, more determined.
There were two sets of footsteps, Gaby realized suddenly as a feeling of panic came over her—one heavy, one lighter. She glanced nervously behind her as she turned the corner and quickly looked away again, her heart racing torturously. She’d caught a glimpse of them then, both ragged and greasy and mean-looking. Ahead were only alleys and dark buildings. She quickened her pace and noticed a garage a little farther down the street. If only it was still open.
She started toward it, but the footsteps were closer. They must be running, she thought. Would she be able to make it?
“No!” she cried, but it was too late. They reached her just as she was passing one of the alleys. The taller one caught her arm, and the shorter one tugged at her bag, sending her sheet music flying in all directions.
She held on to her purse with all her strength and tried to scream, but almost before she could utter a sound, one of them shoved her toward the alley, ignoring her furious attempts to fight back. If only she hadn’t been wearing silly flat rubber-soled boots! She’d have given anything for spiked heels.
“Don’t touch me!” she raged at them. Her hair came loose and flew around her shoulders as she struggled.
“Shut up, Red,” the taller one laughed, holding her by the shoulders. “Get it, Terry!”
“Let go,” the short one growled, tugging at the purse. “Come on, baby, you got all kinds of money, ain’t you never heard of sharing?”
“Yeah, we ain’t all rich, you know,” the tall one mumbled.
“Whew!” The heavyset boy whistled as he studied the contents of her bag. “Five big ones.” He held up the ten-dollar bills in his fist. “Not bad,” he grumbled, digging further.
Gaby was terrified. She didn’t care much about the money but wasn’t sure what would happen next. She’d never felt so alone or helpless. Tears stung her eyes when she saw one of the boys grin at her lecherously. She backed away, preparing to defend herself from them, knowing exactly what was on their minds, but she tripped on something and fell heavily to the ground. She felt her back hit the hard concrete, saw them looming over her, felt hands at her blouse.
“What’s going on here?” an unexpected deep voice demanded from the end of the blind alley.
The boys jerked up, staring toward the light. The figure blocking it looked massive, even at that distance. Very dark, wearing a white T-shirt and tight slacks that showed every bulging muscle. Even at this distance Gaby could see crisp, straight black hair and eyes so big and black that they de-emphasized the formidable straight nose, square jaw, and leonine quality of the rough face.
“Hey, Marc,” the shorter boy protested, hands palms upward. “Hey, no trouble, okay?”
The man he’d called Marc stared past him at the thin, disheveled redhead on the ground. “You okay, honey?” he asked her in a voice like deep, dark velvet.
She wanted to cry now that it was almost over, now that she had help. “Yes,” she managed, but her voice sounded quavering. She scrambled to her feet, clutching her blouse.
“Come on over here, then,” he coaxed. “You’re fine now, they won’t bother you again.”
Once she was safe behind him, Marc took two quick steps forward. He landed a powerful blow to the taller boy’s solar plexus, sending him crashing to the ground. Almost without pausing he spun around to Gaby’s other attacker, who by now was cringing. A quick right hook sent the boy sprawling next to his friend.
“That make you feel any better, honey?” Marc asked with a chuckle.
“Thanks,” she said, panting and holding tight to her open purse as she joined him. He looked good even close up, grease stains and all. His mouth was wide and had a chiseled look to it, and he was smiling mockingly.
“My pleasure. Terry and Gus aren’t my favorite neighbors. They take any money?”
“A little,” she said, glaring down at them. “Let them keep it. I don’t want to soil my hands by touching it.”
Marc scowled and moved forward again. He bent and jerked the ten-dollar bills from the grasp of the shorter boy, who was still groaning. “Forget it, Gus,” he said tightly. “You’re not getting paid to attack little girls. Stick your dirty nose in my neighborhood again and I’ll cut it off even with your eyelashes. Understand?”
Gus swallowed. “Yeah. Sure, buddy.” He looked nervous. “You, uh, you won’t mention this around your uncle?”
“Uncle Michael wouldn’t soil his hands on you.” Marc laughed mirthlessly. “He’s got too much pride to bother with garbage. Get out. Both of you.”
As the boys edged past, the bigger one shot a regretful glance at Gaby and took off running. One of them made a gesture that caused her to blush, but Marc returned it with interest.
“Hotshots,” he muttered, staring after them with his hands on his narrow hips. He looked down at the girl curiously, noticing her cashmere sweater, leather purse and boots, and real pearl earrings. Money, he thought. Not much to look at, poor little thing, all thin angles from her shoulders down to her feet. That wild auburn hair must look stylish to her own crowd, and her eyes were the biggest, greenest ones he’d ever seen. He cocked his head to study her. In a few years she might be something to look at, he concluded. And she had spirit, which appealed to him.
“Out of your league down here, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I sure am,” she agreed, brushing back her hair. “From now on it’s karate lessons. I’m being wasted at music class.”
He chuckled. “What’s your name?”
“Gabrielle, but I’m called Gaby. Gaby Bennett. And you?”
“Marcus Stephano,” he volunteered. His head jerked toward the garage down the street. “I own half of the neighborhood auto shop. God didn’t think I should be rich, but he gave me good hands. I can fix anything short of broken hearts.”
“You saved me,” she offered. “Thanks.” With a mischievous grin she gestured at herself. “It isn’t much, but it’s yours.”
He smiled, a genuine smile. “You’re not so bad, honey. I like your style, Gaby Bennett.”
“I like yours, too, Mr. Stephano.”
“Marc.” He pursed his wide lips. “What are you doing down here?”
“I walked home from piano class,” she confessed. “Not my brightest idea so far, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“You must lead a sheltered life.”
“Smothered, if you want to know,” she blurted out.
“Rich kid?”
“I guess.” She sighed, walking along beside him. He towered over her despite her above-average height. “My dad’s an investment firm and my mother is a jewelry store.”
“My dad was a petty criminal, and my mother wasn’t much better,” he said matter-of-factly. Her breath caught, and he grinned.
“Yeah, that’s right, you’re in bad company, pet,” he told her. “I’m a mean man. I come from a line of those swarthy gangster types your mama probably warned you about. My uncle’s big-time stuff around here.”
“You don’t scare me, big man,” she returned, smiling back. “I owe you my life, remember?”
“Not your life, exactly,” he said, letting his darker-than-night eyes go slowly down her slender body. “Do you eat?”
“No, I live on pure oxygen and Bach concerts in the park. But if you like, I’ll start sneaking cream cakes for breakfast.”
“You do that. We Italians like a little meat on our women’s bones.”
She laughed and fell into step with him. It was spring, and suddenly the world was bright and beautiful and blazing with new color. Overhead, the streetlights took on a magical quality as she walked toward home with a stranger who was rapidly becoming a friend...
CHAPTER ONE
“GREAT SHOTS, GABY,” Harry Dean grinned as he helped her up from a lounging position on the hood of a rebuilt 1956 Chevrolet. “Motocraft, Inc., will love it! You’ll sell auto parts by the barrelful.”
“I’d better sell transmissions.” She laughed, stretching lazily in the skimpy halter-and-shorts set she’d worn for the layout. They were white, and she was nicely tanned from her long auburn hair down to her pretty toes. Slender, green-eyed and vivacious, Gaby Bennett was a top model and earned big money at her profession. This layout for Motocraft, Inc., had been one of her best jobs to date. She was rapidly becoming known as the First Lady of Parts, an in-joke with her modeling friends.
Apparently the executives of the auto parts and transmission specialists corporation had been very picky, because ten girls had been turned down before they had approached her agency about the layout. Gaby had been picked immediately. This was the first of a series of commercials she was shooting for them, and it might involve some travel if the commercials caught on.
A thin, dark-looking man had been watching the photographer shoot the stills, and now he came closer. He had dark hair and eyes, and he looked oddly nervous. Gaby frowned, wiping her perspiration away with a towel as she relaxed away from the brilliant lamps she’d been bathed in for the session. He looked so familiar...hadn’t she seen him before?
“You’re Gaby,” the man said in a pleasant voice. His manner was hesitant, rather shy. She smiled because she liked that shyness. It was an unusual quality, making him seem very different from most of the men she’d known.
“Gaby Bennett,” she agreed pleasantly. “Excuse me, but do I know you?” she asked. “I’m sure that sounds like a line, but you look familiar somehow.”
“We’ve met, but it was a long time ago.” He looked at her hesitantly, as if not sure whether or not to go on. “I’m Joe Stephano,” he said, finally introducing himself. “I, uh, I’m the executive vice president of Motocraft, Inc.”
Gaby felt the blood draining from her face. No wonder he’d seemed familiar. She remembered him all too well, a shy, younger version of his big brother Marcus. Joe had always been nervous around her. They hadn’t seen too much of each other during that brief period of her life, but she remembered him. He brought back memories that were unbearable nine years later, memories of his brother.
She hadn’t connected Motocraft, Inc., with the Stephanos because the account had come through a Mr. Smith, an executive of the company. She hadn’t realized that Marc had achieved such fame and fortune. So he was Motocraft, Inc. Suddenly she realized why she’d been given the account. Was he trying to make amends? Well, it was years too late!
“It’s nice to see you again,” she said, forcing herself to keep smiling and extending her hand. After all, what had happened wasn’t Joe’s fault. “Do I thank your brother for this job?” she asked bluntly.
He flushed. His hand felt a little limp in hers, and he quickly removed it. “Uh, actually, you can thank me. Marc didn’t find out until it was too late. That is, he sort of wanted a blonde....”
“You don’t have to apologize, I’m just grateful for the work,” she said gently. So Marc hadn’t wanted her here. No doubt he wanted to forget her completely, since betraying her had gotten him so far in the world. Maybe his conscience still hurt him. She hoped it did.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled shyly. “I hope you won’t hold the past against me,” he began. “Marc and I never got along real well, even back then. I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you, but that was a long time ago.”
The memories engulfed her all at once, and despite her twenty-six years and all of her acquired sophistication, she went beet red.
Her gaze held his, cool, quiet, green glades of solitude. “How is your brother?” She didn’t want to ask, but she had to know.
He shrugged. “Marc’s okay, I guess,” he said, as if he disliked discussing his older brother. “The business is his life.”
She let her gaze drop to his collar, noticing a tiny spot on it, like ketchup, and she almost smiled. He was boyish, and she liked his apparent lack of sophistication. She glanced back up again, studying him. “Marc isn’t married?”
“They try,” Joe offered, “but he always escapes the noose. Slippery fish, my brother.” He cocked his head. “You married?”
“I can’t stand men,” she volunteered, and grinned.
He burst out laughing. “Hey, that’s good. I like that.” His warm, dark eyes slid over her slender, well-proportioned body. “You sure look good,” he blurted out, and quickly cleared his throat before she could speak. “Uh, you thirsty?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation.
She smiled. “I feel like I’ve been in the desert for a month! These lights are hot!”
“Would you... I could buy you a soda or a martini or something,” he volunteered.
“Sure,” she said easily. “Give me a minute to get dressed.”
He took a deep breath. “Okay!”
She laughed as she went to get her clothes back on. He was a nice boy, she thought. A brotherly type, if ever there was one. So she owed the account to him. That was surprising. But he’d always seemed attracted to her, even in the days when she was dating Marc. She’d liked him the first time she ever saw him, in the apartment he shared with his older brother. He was a nice, unassuming boy with a reserve that she’d taken for coldness until she saw the lack of confidence it camouflaged. Then she began to talk to him. Like most people, he responded to her smiling cheerfulness and opened up. He’d been a lot of fun. Apparently the shyness hadn’t abated in all those years, but she wondered if he was still the mischievous boy underneath. Or had a lifetime of living in Marc’s shadow left him without joy?
Marc. She closed her eyes as she donned a pair of white slacks and a multicolored silk blouse. She’d deliberately kept busy so that she wouldn’t have to think about him, to remember. And now Joe was here and bringing it all back. But despite her pain and the years of wounded pride, she couldn’t resist the hunger for bits of information about him. Was he well, how did he look, was he happy, was there a special woman...so many questions that she shouldn’t have wanted to ask. But her heart would feast on just such tidbits. And she was like a puppet on a string. She had to know. She had to hear that he was satisfied with what he had, that giving her up had been worth the profit it had gained him.
Joe took her to an elegant little restaurant less than a block away and persuaded her to have lunch as well as something to drink.
“You must be hungry,” he coaxed, smiling. “Come on, have a salad at least. That won’t put weight on you.”
“All right.” She gave in gracefully, smiling across the white linen tablecloth at him. “But if I gain one pound, my agent gets to park his car on your spine for an hour. Deal?”
He laughed, then folded his arms on the table and shook his head. “You’re a funny lady. I remembered your sense of humor best of all. You used to make me feel really comfortable.” He looked down at his hands, slender and tanned, sensitive hands. “I don’t mix with people very well.”
“Most of us don’t, if you want the truth,” she confided. “We learn to bluff. Put on a big smile and leap in with both feet. By the time people realize you’re not a live-wire personality, you’re talking to them and you forget how shy you are.”
“Come on,” he chided. “You’re not shy.”
“I certainly am!” she replied. She tucked a long strand of shimmering auburn hair behind one dainty ear. “I’ve been shy all my life. But I learned to act like an extrovert. Now everyone thinks I am one.”
“Yeah, well that doesn’t work for me,” he said. He studied her face. “Are you always as happy as you look in those product ads you do?”
She looked down at the silverware, touching her knife gently with a long, red-polished fingernail. “Is anybody happy all the time? I have my problems and I get lonely. But I suppose I’ve learned to like my own company. At least, I’ve had to until this past year. My mother died of a heart attack, and I’ve moved back in with my father, to keep him company.”
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I guess it’s hard to lose a mother.”
She sighed. “Yes, I suppose it was. We never got along very well, but I cared about her. So did my father. God bless him, he went crazy when she died. Just went all to pieces. She was the guiding force, you see. Mother made the rules and he followed them. This is the first time in his life that he’s had the freedom to do what he likes, and now he doesn’t quite know what to do with it,” she said, smiling tolerantly. “He’s a character, my dad. A dreamer. If he hadn’t inherited money, and had Mother show him how to make more, I suppose he’d been running an antique store and giving away his profits.”
“Do you look like him?”
“Not really. I have his awful auburn hair and green eyes,” she admitted. “But I have my mother’s facial features.” She studied him. “You look a lot like...like your brother.”
“Yeah, most of the men in the Stephano family kind of look alike. Why, we have an uncle who looks like he could be Marc’s and my father.”
“Uncle Michael,” she said suddenly, remembering Marc’s deep, gravelly voice telling her about his uncle, a slightly shady character if she remembered correctly.
“That’s right. Hey, girl, you’ve got a good memory.”
“Too good, sometimes,” she said with a wistful look in her eyes.
He started to speak, but the waiter came, and they paused to order. He took out a cigarette and glanced at her.
“It’s okay,” she said, “I’m used to people who smoke.”
“I’m not quite as bad as Marc,” he said, laughing. “He smokes like a furnace these days.”
“Has he changed a lot?” she asked, and her eyes were wide and softer than she realized.
He leaned back in his chair and studied her carefully. “Oh, he’s changed, all right. So much that I finally had to move out on my own. Well, not quite. I don’t like my own company that much, I have a roommate. Nice guy. He sells real estate.”
“Have you been out on your own long?”
“Three years,” he confessed. “Marc lives in an apartment on the East Side, overlooking the river. He’s got a great view. Mine’s a little closer in, and it faces another building. Not much to look at unless you look up, but it’s a place to sleep.”
“I guess Marc travels a lot,” she persisted.
“Not too much.”
The waiter brought their orders, and she gave up asking about the man from her past long enough to eat. Coffee was served when they finished, and they lingered over it.
“What about the men in your life?” he asked. “I don’t believe you’re that much of a man-hater.”
“Oh, I go out on the town once in a while,” she said, “but I work hard, and the weekends are the only time I have free.”
He looked at his coffee cup. “I’d like to take you out to dinner tonight,” he told the coffee. “It’s Friday, and I know you probably already have a date....”
“No,” she said, watching him color. “Actually I don’t.”
“Oh. That’s nice.” He crossed his arms on the table again and glanced at her hesitantly. “Well, would you come? I know it’s short notice, but I had to get introduced to you first, before I could ask, you know.”
She smiled secretly at his shy manner. She liked his style. In a way he seemed a lot like her. She tossed back her hair. “Well...”
“Be a sport,” he coaxed, brightening as he added, “I’ll take you to a restaurant that has a fountain. I’ll even let you swim in the fountain.”
She laughed delightedly. “Is there a fountain, honestly?”
“No. But for you I’ll build one,” he promised. He cocked his head to one side, studying her. “Be a sport!”
Her green eyes began to shine with amusement, and her face became exquisite. He caught his breath looking at her. Why not? she asked herself. She didn’t like the usual type of man who expected much more than a handshake at the end of the evening. She thought that Joe wouldn’t be like that. He didn’t seem to be looking for a serious relationship any more than she was. What would it hurt? It might even be a dig at Marc. Yes, perhaps it would anger him, after all these years, to know that she was seeing his brother. She’d never expected that she might feel vengeful; it was out of character. But the affair with Marc killed something in her, knowing how little he’d valued the love she’d offered him. It had damaged her in ways she didn’t even like admitting to. And the love-hate she felt for him, even after nine years, demanded some sort of reckoning. Wouldn’t this be a little recompense? It wasn’t as if she were using Joe. Joe knew the score; he just wanted a friend. Why not? Only the two of them need ever know it 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.