Double Dealing (27 page)

“And you?” she whispered.

“My wife left me because she couldn’t bear to be associated
with the Sinclair family,” Gabriel told her dryly. “She came from good Boston
stock. From people who didn’t get involved with underworld figures.”

“But it wasn’t you who was involved, was it? It was your
father? Why did she leave you?”

“Samantha, marriages involve whole families, not just the
individuals. Especially marriages which are made for social or political
reasons. There was no way she could remain with me and stay unmarked by what
was happening to my family.”

“If she’d loved you she would have stayed!” Samantha muttered
rather violently.

He looked at her. “I guess she didn’t really love me, hmmm?
Oh, Samantha, you’re not that naive. Mushy, nebulous concepts like romantic
love don’t hold people together during times of real stress.”

She stared at him. “Then what does hold them together?”

“Hard-edged ideas like loyalty,” he said evenly. “Loyalty,
honor, commitment.”

“Those ideas only have strength if the one promising them
can be completely trusted,” Samantha said slowly.

He stared at her with a flat, uncompromising stare. Samantha
felt herself tremble slightly under the impact of that look. “Wise witch,”
Gabriel murmured softly. “You’re absolutely right.”

“Did you… did you trust your ex-wife? Could you have asked
those things of her?” Why was she asking him such incredibly personal
questions? But Samantha felt a driving need to know the answers.

“Glenna could not have given me the kind of commitment it
would have taken to keep our marriage intact. I knew, once I’d had a chance to
really think about it, that I couldn’t have asked those things of her. It wasn’t
in her to give them.”

He was still pinning her with that glittering,
hawklike
stare. It was almost unnatural in its intensity, a
little feverish. “Gabriel,” she got out huskily. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m not in shock, if that’s what you mean.”

“But you hurt, don’t you?” Feeling very womanly, almost
maternal, Samantha touched his bruised face.

“I hurt.”

“And it’s all because of me.” She shook her head, overwhelmed
with a feeling of guilt. “If it hadn’t been for me, you would never have had to
go through what you did tonight. You’d be safe and sound in your immaculate house
by the sea. Oh, Gabriel, I’m so very sorry!”

“Don’t expect me to play the gentleman and tell you it’s
nothing. I ache too much to say it was nothing,” he rasped softly.

“And phoning Emil brought back too many painful memories of
your father for you to be able to say it’s nothing,” she added sadly.

“Yes.”

He made no attempt to mitigate her guilt. Now that Eric was
safe, all she could think about was how unfair it was to have involved Gabriel
in the mess. But God! What would she have done without him? She owed him. There
was no way around that knowledge. The debt was mammoth in size, and she knew by
the way he watched her that he wanted to be repaid.

“Gabriel, how can I repay you for what you did tonight?” The
question was a tremulous whisper of sound in the quiet room.

His fist tangled abruptly in the seal-brown length of her
hair, holding her head so that she could not look away from him even if she
tried. Samantha felt the atmosphere charged with the same primitive, barbaric element
she experienced when Gabriel made love to her, and she knew a frisson of fear.
He was going to bind her to him further, somehow. She didn’t know how or why,
but she sensed the inevitable outcome even before he spoke.

“Your brother says he can trust you,” Gabriel observed in an
astonishingly neutral tone. “With his life.”

Helplessly she lifted one shoulder. “He’s my brother.”

“I’m not your brother.”

“Hardly,” she managed huskily.

“I want to be able to trust you, too.” His grip on her hair
tightened as he searched her taut face. “With my life. With everything. I want
to know you’ll be completely loyal to me, Samantha Maitland.”

She stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“You asked how I wanted to be repaid,” he gritted, the
neutral tone vanishing. “This is what I want. Tell me that from this night
forward I can trust you. Tell me that you owe as much loyalty to me as you do
to that damn fool brother of yours!”

The breath was tight in her chest. “Would you believe me if
I promised those things?”

“I’d believe you. You’re dangerous in some ways, reckless, a
little foolish at times, but I think that if you promise me loyalty, you’ll
give it.”

Her bewilderment grew. Was Gabriel afraid she’d sleep with
someone else while he was her lover? Was he afraid she would try to cheat him
on the Buchanan deal? Was he nervous of the possibility that he might lose
control of her during the term of the partnership and that she would do
something stupid and ruin everything? What was he after?

It didn’t much matter what he was after, Samantha thought as
the silence stretched out between them. She owed him, and he had told her how
he wanted to be repaid. She really had no choice. “Gabriel,” she said gently, “you
can trust me. I won’t cheat you.”

“Either in bed or in business,” he clarified grimly.

“No.” She felt the grip in her hair relax, realized some of
the tension was seeping out of him. “You’re hurt, Gabriel. Come upstairs and
let me take care of you. You need to be in bed, and I have some ointment I can
put on those cuts and bruises.”

Resolutely she got to her feet and reached down to tug at
his arm. For a second he seemed disinclined to move, and she realized she would
never get him out of the chair unless he cooperated. The man weighed a ton!

“Are you going to fuss over me?” he asked whimsically. “Cosset
me and salve my manly wounds?”

“I think you may have taken one too many blows to the head,”
she retorted dryly. “I’m not the domestic type, remember? Come on, Gabriel.
Upstairs.” She heaved again, and this time he came up out of the chair with a
groan.

“Jesus, honey, I’m not used to this sort of thing!” He gingerly
touched his bruised side. “I hope you don’t expect me to just be the muscle
part of this partnership.”

“Why not? You concentrate on that, and I’ll be the brains of
the outfit.”

“We’re lost before we even begin,” he complained, leaning
heavily on her as she slipped an arm around his waist and started him up the
stairs.

“Have a little faith, Gabriel. Angels are supposed to be blessed
with lots of faith. Live up to your namesake!” She staggered a bit under the
weight of his arm across her shoulders.

“Believe me, honey, I’m operating on pure faith already.”
The words were heartfelt. “It’s s-s-surely not common sense that’s gotten me
into this situation.”

“Are you going to spend the entire duration of our partnership
making snide remarks?” She edged him through the door of her room and watched
in sympathy as he sprawled gratefully on the tousled bed.

“They are not snide remarks.” His eyes closed as he laid his
head carefully on the pillow. “They are pithy little commentaries on the
vagaries of the human condition. Especially my condition. Come and soothe my
fevered brow, Samantha. I hurt.”

Samantha hurried to the bathroom to collect what little she
had in the way of first aid remedies.

***

The next morning Samantha was up long before either Gabriel
or Eric stirred. Dressed in a pair of narrow wool slacks and a hugely
overscaled
dolman-sleeved shirt done in red velour, she
went downstairs to investigate the damage which had been done to her front door.
Behind her she left Gabriel sleeping soundly, a condition he had fallen into
rather quickly under her first aid ministrations.

There had certainly been no further sexual demands from her
battered angel, she thought in affectionate amusement as she studied the
broken, splintered lock on the front door. Gabriel had wanted and needed more
practical help last night after the fight. He had fallen asleep while she was
still applying ointment to the bruise on his ribs. He was going to be black and
blue in a few places this morning.

But nothing, she decided grimly, would match the shiner
under her right eye. She grimaced at herself in the hall mirror and then
straightened her facial expression at once when it proved painful. Her only
consolation was that she had dealt out as good as she had got.

Eric was the first downstairs, sniffing hungrily as he strode
into the kitchen. “Bacon and eggs. Smells great. Who says you can’t cook?”

“You said it, for one.” She prodded the yellow mass in the
pan on the stove. Scrambled eggs were tricky, she had learned. They tended to
be either too slimy or too hard. Still, they were simpler than poached or fried
eggs, and over the years she had gotten fairly good at catching them before
they went from just right to rubbery.

“Geez, you’re sure a sight.” Eric studied her right cheek
with a critical eye. “It looked bruised last night, but it looks a lot worse
this morning!”

“Bruises always look worse a day or two later. How do you
want your eggs? Hard or sort of hard?”

“Sort of hard.” He sat down at the kitchen table and poured
himself coffee. “You and Gabe made some team last night.”

“Some team. If it had been up to Gabriel, I would have
stayed locked up in the guest room. He thought I was going to go hysterical on
him. How many strips of bacon do you want?”

“Three. You’re not the hysterical type.”

“I know that and you know that, but I guess Gabriel didn’t.
He was under a little pressure at the time.”

“I’ll bet. He saved both our asses last night, Sam. We owe
him a lot.” Eric sipped his coffee reflectively.

“I’ve already started making payments on the debt,” Samantha
said half under her breath. Loyalty. Trust. What else would Gabriel ask of her?

“What?”

“Never mind. Have some more bacon. It’s going to burn,”

“Are you really doing business with the man?” Eric asked
conversationally, digging into his sort-of-hard eggs. He paused after the first
bite to go to the refrigerator and get a bottle of catsup, which he poured
liberally over his plate.

“Yes. He’s backing me financially in a deal I have going in
Phoenix.”

“Sam, why did he happen to bring up Buchanan’s name last
night? And don’t tell me it was sheer coincidence. Does your business deal with
Gabe have something to do with Buchanan?”

“In a way,” she responded shortly, not wanting to discuss
it. Eric knew of her short-lived engagement to Drew Buchanan, but he didn’t
know of the taste for revenge she had been nurturing for three years. No one did.

“Does Gabe know about you and Buchanan?”

“No. And I’d appreciate it if you would kindly keep your
mouth shut about it!”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want him thinking there’s anything personal
in this deal. He might decide not to back me if he thought that I had some
personal reason for tackling Buchanan!” she said in exasperation. “I mean it,
Eric. I don’t want you dragging that three-year-old mess into the conversation.
Understand?”

“I understand.” He looked up at her. “Is there?”

“Is there what?”

“Anything personal in this deal you’re setting up?”

“No! Damn it, it’s strictly business. I worked for Buchanan,
remember? I know how he thinks and how he operates. I have a plan that will
enable me to take advantage of a certain situation in which he’s involved. That’s
all. Furthermore, if anyone’s got anything personal at stake in going up
against Buchanan, it’s Gabriel. Drew’s company aced him out of a major deal a
few years ago. Gabriel’s quite happy to have a little business revenge.”

“You know what I think, Sam?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“I think you’re playing with fire. Better be nice to Gabriel.
He’s the only one I know who might be able to keep you from getting burned. Any
more of those sort-of-hard eggs?”

“They have all gone quite hard,” she retorted nastily.

It was Gabriel’s voice which came next. “Sounds like s-s-she’s
in a great mood this morning,” he remarked calmly as he walked into the
kitchen.

Samantha looked up in consternation, but a quick glance at
his face assured her he had overheard nothing about Buchanan. She relaxed at
once. “Good morning, Gabriel. Want some scrambled eggs?”

“Why not? Since I’ve met you, I’ve started living dangerously.
Dish ‘
em
up.” He sat down across from Eric and looked
prepared for the worst.

“Start with the coffee,” Eric advised. “It helps pave the
way.”

“Thank you for the advice. Samantha, your face looks like
hell.”

“You and Eric both have such a way with words at this hour
of the morning,” she muttered. “You don’t look so terrific yourself.”

“I’m the one who came out of this with the fewest bruises,”
Eric said very seriously. “I owe you, Gabe.”

“Your sister’s already agreed to pay the tab,” Gabriel told
him laconically.

Neither he nor Samantha was prepared for the angry flush
which welled up in Eric’s face. “You mean by sleeping with you?” he asked
harshly.

Samantha nearly choked on the bite of bacon she had been
chewing. “Eric!”

“No,” Gabriel told the younger man very softly. “S-she was
already sleeping with me before last night’s little punch-up, remember?”

“Gabriel! Eric! Stop it right this minute! I will not have
my private life discussed over the breakfast table like this!” Samantha stood
angrily on the other side of the kitchen, her hands on her hips, her cheeks
burning.

The men ignored her, watching each other like circling wolves.
Samantha vaguely understood that something was being settled this morning
between the two of them. Something which would determine how Gabriel and Eric
dealt with each other in the future.