Chapter Six
The hotel sent their supper order over to his house in a van. They shared shrimp cocktail, steak and salad, and a bottle of champagne. But Marcus had her stay in the bedroom when it arrived, because he didn’t want his staff to know that he had a woman in his house.
“It isn’t that I’m ashamed of you,” he told her when they sat at the table savoring the delicious food. “But I don’t want it to get back to your people.”
“Especially Barb,” she agreed.
“Yeah.”
She finished her meal and reached for a piece of lemon cake with a pudding center as Marcus refilled their cups with fresh coffee that he’d brewed.
“This is delicious,” she said with real feeling, savoring it. “I can make a lemon cake, but not with this filling!”
“I’ll have the chef share his recipe and you can make it for me.”
“But you’ve got a chef,” she argued.
He reached across the table for her hand. “Nothing wrong with home-cooked food. The way to a man’s heart…?”
She smiled.
“Has Karen lived in the Bahamas a long time?” she asked.
He nodded. “She’s British, but she came down here for a holiday and never went home. She used to be an anthropologist,” he added. “She went on digs in Egypt in her younger days. Now, she’s happy piddling around in her flower garden or knitting.”
“Does she quilt?” she asked.
He nodded. “She taught me machine piecing, although I rarely use it. I much prefer hand-quilting.”
“Me, too,” she agreed.
The cell phone rang suddenly. He picked it up and listened. “No,” he said curtly. “No, I can’t. Not today.” He looked over at Delia thoughtfully. “That was your fault, not mine. How long are you going to be in Miami? The end of the week. Yeah. You can call me when you get back. We’ll see. I said, we’ll see. Yeah.”
He hung up, but immediately dialed again. “Smith? Listen, I don’t want any more calls today. I’m forwarding everything over to you.” He listened. “Tell them I’m unavailable until tomorrow night. Got that?” He pursed his lips. “None of your business. Do what I told you. If there’s an emergency, you handle it. Yes, I’ll back you up. Fine. Thanks.”
He put the phone away and pulled his own slice of chocolate cake over to him. “Don’t you like chocolate?” he asked.
“I get migraine headaches from it sometimes,” she said. “I don’t want to ruin tomorrow.”
He grinned and dug into the dessert with gusto.
He liked the windows open at night, Delia noticed. She lay in his arms in the king-sized bed and thought how difficult it was going to be to explain this to Barb. Then she felt the warmth of his big body next to her, and the wonder of intimacy she’d had with him, and she didn’t care. Whatever the cost, she was truly happy for the first time in memory. She’d take the consequences and deal with them, whatever they were. He felt her move and his arms brought her close, enfolded her in their warm strength.
“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, half-asleep. “Don’t ever leave me.”
“I never will,” she whispered back. “I promise.”
She curled into his body with a sigh and went back to sleep. If Barb called the hotel to make sure she was all right, they’d tell her that Delia was staying at Karen Bainbridge’s house, and Karen would tell them the same thing. It was nice to have an alibi. She didn’t consider that it would be the first time she’d lied to Barb. A lot of firsts were happening to her. She’d grown up and she was certainly old enough to make her own decisions, her own choices. Maybe this was terribly wrong, but she’d never wanted anything more than these days with Marcus.
A tiny voice in the back of her mind warned her that some things came at an exorbitant price. She refused to listen. All that mattered was this sweet feeling of belonging, of…love. She sighed softly and fell asleep.
The next morning, Delia was dressed and waiting in the living room when the boutique owner, a pert olive-skinned woman with dancing dark eyes, waltzed in behind two men carrying boxes.
“Hi, Bibbi,” Marcus greeted.
“Hi, yourself. I brought a selection,” she told Marcus, turning a cheek for his kiss. “¿Esta ella?” she added in Spanish, nodding at Delia. “Bonita,” she added with a grin.
“She’s pretty, all right,” Marcus agreed with a smile. “Okay, honey, take a look and pick out what you want.”
“Do you take credit cards?” she asked Bibbi.
“I’m paying,” Marcus began.
“You are not,” Delia said firmly, smiling at Bibbi. “I’ve got my credit card.”
Bibbi gave Marcus a speaking glance. “A woman with principles,” she said. “That’s a novelty in your life, cousin,” she added wickedly. “Yes, I take credit cards and you’re in luck, because you hit a sale. All these are thirty percent off.”
“Wow!” Delia exclaimed, and dug into the boxes.
An hour and six outfits later, Bibbi took down the information, shook hands, packed up her merchandise and followed the two men who carried it out. She waved at Marcus with a wide grin.
“You’re going to be a pain in the butt, aren’t you?” Marcus asked Delia as she tried to decide which outfit to wear sailing.
She glanced at him. “About letting you buy me things? Of course. Did you expect to have to pay me off for last night?” she added seriously.
He stuck his hands into his slacks’ pockets. “I always expect to pay for whatever I get,” he replied, his tone somber and disillusioned.
She could only imagine the sort of women he was used to. She put her new treasures down and went to him.
“I wanted what happened,” she said in a gentle tone. “I didn’t do it for personal gain. I don’t play that sort of game.”
He grimaced. “Sorry,” he said tersely.
She searched his dark eyes quietly. “It’s all right. We don’t know a lot about each other. We’re bound to make assumptions.”
“A few, here and there, maybe,” he agreed. He tugged her close. “We’ll stop by a restaurant along the way to Karen’s boat and get breakfast. I told her we’d be there about ten. That suit you?”
She smiled. “Yes. But I still haven’t decided what to wear.”
He went to the pile of clothing and tugged out pink Capri pants and a filmy white cotton top and a black and pink floral bathing suit. He handed them to her.
“You’re going to be bossy,” she surmised.
He grinned. “Count on it. I come from a macho culture. You’ll have to be pretty tough to stand up to me.”
“I think I’ll manage,” she replied, smiling back. “Okay, I’ll go change.”
She started toward the bedroom and suddenly stopped. She turned and found him watching her hungrily.
He cursed under his breath, hating his own weakness as he moved into the bedroom behind her.
He tossed her clothes on the bed and bent to her mouth, sweeping her up against him ardently.
“You’re all I think about,” he muttered against her mouth. “I’m sure it’s unhealthy.”
She linked her arms around his neck, tingling at the pleasure it gave her. “There’s probably a pill for it.”
“I don’t want to be cured,” he whispered, kissing her again.
His hands worked on her clothes, smoothing off everything except her bra and panties. He looked down at her with unbridled desire and his eyes asked a question as he brushed his thumb against her nipple through the lacy fabric.
She grimaced. “I want to,” she assured him.
“But you’re still sore,” he guessed.
She nodded grimly.
He laughed shortly. “It’s my own fault. I was greedy.”
“So was I.”
He kissed her lightly and reached for the Capri pants, holding them for her to step into. He fastened them around her small waist and then stuffed her into the blouse. He reached up and loosened the hair she’d tucked into a bun. “There,” he murmured, studying her. “Much better. I think I like having my own dress-up doll.”
“We’ll run out of clothes eventually,” she said.
He shrugged. “I’ll learn to make them.”
She laughed. “I don’t have to learn. I can already make clothes.”
“Show off.”
“I’ll teach you,” she promised.
His smile was wicked. “There are several more things I plan to teach you, too,” he added, and he didn’t mean sewing.
“Be still my heart,” she whispered.
He kissed her slowly, fiercely. “We’ve barely touched the surface,” he said. “Wait and see.”
He put her away after a minute and tugged her by the hand. “Breakfast,” he said again. “I’m starved, but food will have to do for now.”
She laughed as she went with him.
He stopped at the little sports car and looked down at her for a long time.
“What are you looking for?”
“I was wondering what you looked like when you were a little girl,” he said. “I was thinking that kids are nice.”
Her heart jumped wildly. “We’ve only known each other for two days,” she began.
“Hell. How long does it take to know how you feel?” he demanded. “Two days, two years, I’d feel the same. There’s already a connection between us. Tell me you don’t feel it. You want my kids. I can see it in your eyes.”
She blushed. “I’ve always wanted children,” she said in a husky, aching tone.
“I haven’t really thought about having them until now,” he told her. “Maybe I had some vague idea of the future, but nothing definite. You’d look right at home with kids around you.”
She nibbled her lower lip. “Aren’t you just making the best of a mistake, by saying that?”
“When you know me better, you’ll see that I never make mistakes,” he said blandly. “Being perfect, I’m above that sort of thing.”
“Right.”
He grinned. “Get in. We’re wasting daylight, isn’t that what you Texas girls say? I love Western movies.”
“Listen, I can’t even ride a horse,” she protested.
“I’ll bet you look smashing in a cowboy hat.”
“We’ll have to try one on me and see,” she said.
“I’ll take you up on that.”
She wasn’t sure if he was serious, but he certainly seemed to find her fascinating, because all the way to the restaurant he asked about her life back home.
The connection between them was staggering to Delia, who’d had very little to do with men all her life. She felt comfortable with Marcus in a way it should have taken years to accomplish. She loved just looking at him. He was big and dark and imposing, but he had a tender heart. She loved the way he spoke to little children they passed in the restaurant, the easy way he had with waitresses, making them feel at ease and not throwing his weight around. For a millionaire, and a gangster, he was remarkably polite.
The gangster part still nagged at her. So did her easy surrender to him. She’d lived by a code, one that didn’t allow for such romantic escapades. She’d planned to get married and then sleep with her husband. She’d made no allowances for letting a man seduce her before then.
But she’d had no control whatsoever with Marcus. She still looked at him and ached to lie in his arms again and thrill to his kisses. It was scary.
She tried to hide it from him, though. It wouldn’t do to let him see what a marshmallow she was.
There was also the problem of Barb, and that one wasn’t going to go away. Barb was going to be disappointed in her, furious with her for cavorting with a known hoodlum.
There was one more complication that might arise—the consequence of a child. Even if Marcus was willing to do the right thing, how was she going to feel about having the child of a gangster?
She remembered reluctantly what Barney had said about Marcus and people who crossed him. He was a frightening figure to many people. If he had enemies, and surely he must, their child would be right on the firing line with Delia. It was a sudden and sobering thought. Marcus had asked her to trust him until she knew him better. She wanted to. For the moment, at least, she was going to make enough memories to last a lifetime. Just in case. And she wasn’t going to think about tomorrow.
Karen Bainbridge was sixty, short, blond, and a live wire. She didn’t look her age. She had beautiful skin and saucy blue eyes. And she liked Delia at once.
“She’s just the way I pictured her,” Karen told Marcus as they climbed aboard her yacht. She paused to talk to her captain and tell him where they were going, while Marcus handed the picnic basket Karen brought to the steward to be put down below in the galley.
“What’s in this?” he asked Karen as he gave it to the man.
“Chicken and biscuits, salad, fruit and a lovely cherry pie,” Karen told him. “We have champagne, as well. Tell me, dear, where did you meet Marcus?” she added, pinning Delia with those bright blue eyes.
“At the hotel,” Delia began.
“She had an abusive date and I rescued her,” Marcus said lazily. “What a shock I had when I took her up to my office and discovered that she knew how to quilt!”
“I’ll bet.” Karen turned to Delia. “You know, dear, he’s never been around women who could sew, except me. And as sad as it is to admit it, I’m simply too old for him. You’re much more his style,” she added wickedly.
“Yes, she is,” Marcus agreed, smiling warmly.
“Tell me about yourself,” she encouraged.
Delia hadn’t planned to talk much about herself, but Karen was easy to open up to; very much like Barb. She related the abbreviated story of her life, ending with her mother’s recent death.
Karen was sympathetic without being artificial. She patted Delia’s hand gently. “We all have to learn to let go of the people we love most,” she said softly. “It’s one of life’s hardest lessons. But, just think, someday we have to let go of life, all of us.”
“I suppose so,” Delia replied.
“Not that you’d dwell on it, at your age,” Karen said with an indulgent smile. “There’s one little thought I’d like to share with you. I heard it from my mother when I was small. All the people we loved, who have died, are still alive in the past. The only thing that really separates us is time.”
Delia eyed the older woman curiously. The thought really was comforting.
“See?” Karen added. “It’s a matter of perspective. In other words, it isn’t what happens to us, it’s how we react to what happens to us. That’s what separates optimism and pessimism.”
“You’re a deep thinker,” Delia mused.
“I’m old, dear,” came the laughing reply. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn a lot, if you’re the least bit observant.” She glanced toward Marcus, who was talking to the captain in a relaxed, easy manner. “For instance, you’re in love with my friend, there,” Karen teased.
Delia drew in a long breath. “Hopelessly. I’m not an impulsive person, but I fell and fell.” She met Karen’s eyes. “It’s only been two days,” she said worriedly.
Karen didn’t blink. “Love doesn’t take a lot of time. It just happens.”
Delia managed a watery smile. She stared at Marcus’s broad back hungrily. “Do you…know about him?”
“That he runs around in, shall we say, shadowy company? Yes. But he’s one of the best men I’ve ever known. He’s a soft touch, and he never deserts a friend in trouble. Reputations are usually exaggerated, child,” she added gently. “If I were your age, I wouldn’t even hesitate. He’s very special.”
Delia wiped her eyes, smiling. “I thought so, myself. Sometimes, maybe taking a chance is the right thing.”
“Count on it,” the older woman advised. “And never judge a book by its cover,” she added. “Or a quilt by its fabric alone.”
“I won’t forget.”
They sailed out into the bay and then into the Atlantic Ocean. The high-tech fabric of the sails rippled in the wind and made whispery sounds. Seagulls darted to and fro. Delia sat beside Marcus and felt as if she belonged. Karen told her about the history of New Providence while they ate crisp salads and cold cuts.
Later, Karen drowsed while they sailed, and Marcus held Delia in front of him, idly kissing her neck and her ear and teasing her with the wind blowing noisily off the sea.
“This really is the Atlantic Ocean, isn’t it?” she murmured, leaning contentedly back against his chest. “I used to think the Bahamas were in the Caribbean.”
“A lot of people do. It’s the Atlantic.” He kissed her neck. “How do you like your vacation so far?”
“It’s the best time I’ve ever had in my whole life,” she said simply.
He hugged her closer. “Mine, too,” he said huskily. “How much longer are you going to be here?”
“Three more weeks,” she said, hating the thought.
“A lot can happen in just three weeks,” he reminded her.
She turned into his arms. “A lot already has,” she whispered, lifting her face.
He bent and kissed her warmly, hungrily, groaning deep in his throat as the kiss kindled fierce new fires in his big body.
“You’re just incredible,” she whispered when he lifted his head. Her eyes were misty with pleasure, her mouth swollen.
He enjoyed the way she looked. “So are you,” he replied. “We need to make a quilt together,” he mused.
She laughed. “I’d really like that.”
“We’ll talk about it.”
“I like your friend Karen.”
He glanced toward the elderly woman, still sleeping peacefully. “I like her, too,” he said. “She’s an odd bird. But then, so am I.”
“Not so odd,” she replied, touching his face with the tips of her fingers, exploring its broad strength, its nooks and crannies. “I like your face.”
“It’s a little banged up,” he pointed out.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It just gives you a sort of piratical look. I find it very attractive,” she added shyly.
He chuckled, swinging her back and forth in his big arms. “I would have been a pirate in the old days, I guess.” His face hardened. “Maybe I still am.”
She put her fingers over his wide, sexy mouth. “You’re just Marcus, and I’m crazy about you,” she said simply. “Although maybe it’s too soon to say that.”
He shook his head. “I’m crazy about you, too, baby,” he said huskily.
She laughed with pure joy, her eyes radiant with it as she looked up at him. “Is there really a future for us?”
He moved restively, thinking of all the complications in his life right now. He grimaced. “Look, we have to take this one day at a time,” he said, searching her eyes. “It isn’t what I want, but it’s how it has to be. There’s a lot going on that you don’t know about.”
“Not something…illegal?” she faltered.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you think I’d involve you in something illegal?” he asked openly.
She sighed. “No. Of course not. I’m sorry.”
He touched her mouth with his fingertip, tracing its soft outline. “I will never hurt you deliberately. I promise.”
She relaxed. “And I won’t hurt you deliberately,” she vowed.
“I now pronounce us dedicated to truth,” he chuckled.
She reached up and kissed him. “Do we get to do what we did again?” she asked.
He drew in a long breath. “I want to get to know you,” he replied. “Sex clouds the issues. Even if it is the best I ever had.”
She brightened. “I like that idea, too. I’ll bet you were a tough little boy.”
“Very,” he assured her. “I got in fights from kindergarten up. Broke my poor mother’s heart.”
“I never got in trouble at all,” she replied wistfully. “Unless you count pouring salt on another girl’s mashed potatoes because she called me a fat frankfurter in second grade.”
“Were you? Fat?”
“Roly poly,” she admitted, smiling. “I lost weight.”
“Don’t ever get skinny,” he said gently. “I like you just the way you are.”
She beamed at him. It was, in many ways, the most perfect day so far.
They discussed movies and television shows and even politics, and found that they were amazingly compatible.
“Do you have a DVD player?” he asked her.
She grimaced. “I hate to admit it, but I can’t figure out how to hook one up. I’m still using VCR tapes.”
“Primitive,” he remarked. “I’ll have to come to Texas, if for no other reason than to show you how to move into the modern age electronically. Do you like music?”
“Yes. Latin music, especially,” she confessed. “I have most of Julio Iglesias’s albums, some Pedro Fernandez, some Luis Miguel, and half a dozen others. I even have some of Placido Domingo’s opera performances.”
“I’m impressed,” he teased. “That’s a fairly mixed bag.”
“All terrific, too.”
“Truly. How about reggae?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “What’s reggae?”
He grinned. “We’ve got a Jamaican reggae band playing at the casino. I’ll take you there one night and let you see if you like it.”
“Could we dance?” she asked hopefully.
He laughed. “I may not look it,” he said gently, “but I won dance contests when I was younger.”
She was delighted. “I’ll bet you still could.”
“We’ll find out,” he promised.
They were on the way to landing at a small, deserted island when Marcus’s cell phone rang insistently.
He excused himself and Delia frowned at the expression on his face. He seemed first curious, then angry, then furious. He barked something into the phone and hung up, glowering at the ocean.
After a minute he came back. “Some businessmen from Miami have turned up unexpectedly. We’ll have to go back. Now,” he added when Karen joined them.
“There will be other days for sightseeing,” Karen said in a conciliatory tone. “Marcus, go and tell the captain to make for port, will you?”
“Of course,” he said, but he was distracted.
At the marina, Delia said her goodbyes to Karen and let Marcus call a cab for her instead of sending her back in the limo.
“There are plenty of reasons that you don’t need to be seen with me right now,” Marcus said gently. “And the least of them is your sister. I’m really sorry about today. But I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. We’ll go sightseeing all over the island. How about that?”
“I’d love it,” she said radiantly.
He grinned. “Tomorrow it is, then.” He opened the door and put her into the cab without touching her. “See you in the morning.”
“Yes. Take care,” she said.
“You, too.”
He closed the door. She looked back as the cab pulled out of the marina. He and Smith were still standing beside the limo, in deep conversation.