On Thin Ice (8 page)

“All right.” Very slowly, he dragged his hand down her thigh, leaving her aware of each agonizing, taunting inch of his journey, and placed a hand on either side of her hips. His voice was seductive, as deep and dark as the devil. “Come to my place.”

She shoved him away and bounded off the car before she could do anything else stupid. Like agree. “No.” Striving for composure, she pushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ears. In a firmer voice she repeated the word. “No.”

His eyes narrowed as he regarded her. His expression hardened. The line of his jaw tightened, as did his lips. Her heart began to thud again, from fear this time. Made uneasy by his continued silence, by the way he looked at her, she said, “Just because I let you kiss me doesn’t mean—”

His harsh laughter interrupted her. “Let me? Sweetheart, you melted into a hot puddle of honey. You were as much a participant in what just happened as I was.” He took a step forward. Gabrielle took two steps back.

His expression changed from angry to thunderstruck. “What’s the matter with you? Do you think I’m going to attack you?”

“I-I—” She stammered and fell silent, shaking her head. Oh God, this was getting worse by the second. Why did she always do idiotic things around him?

“You do. My God, you really think I would.” He stepped close to her, crowding her, overpowering her with his presence. His scent surrounded her, heady, masculine, potent. A throb of fury trembled in the air.

Her temper flared at his words. “Don’t act so sanctimonious. Men do this sort of thing all the time. I ought to know, I’ve defended several of them. You’re staring at me, looking like murder. What am I supposed to think?”

If anything, he appeared even angrier. But she felt a brief surge of . . . shame? Why should she be ashamed of a perfectly reasonable reaction?

Sarcasm laced his voice. “You can relax, sweetheart. I think I can manage to restrain myself.” He took a step nearer, almost but not quite touching her, his lips curving into a hard smile when she didn’t back away. “I don’t have to force women. They come to my bed willingly, or not at all. Don’t confuse me with your clients.” With that, he turned on his heel and left her.

Infuriated, Gabrielle watched him go. She kicked at her tire, then grabbed her foot, swearing at the pain. Normally she took care to let a man know exactly where she stood, but her relationship with Devlin was anything but normal. When it came to him she had a split personality. Her mind said, “Wait, this is stupid,” and her body said, “To hell with that. Go for it.” It was the first time she could remember that her body and her mind were totally at odds with each other.

Though tempted to ignore
the insistent ringing of her doorbell, Gabrielle didn’t. Hobbling on one shoe, the other one clutched in her hand, she stalked toward the door. Rocky weaved around her legs, tripping her along the way. Bleary-eyed, she cursed halfheartedly at the dog. Her foul humor was Devlin’s fault. She’d spent half the night tossing and turning and still hadn’t decided what she was going to do about him. Trying to smooth things over would be the reasonable way to go, but she desperately wanted to bury the scene in oblivion.

The doorbell’s repeatedly cheerful chime tempted her to throw something. She cursed again as she stumbled over the dog. Mr. Weber, she thought. Who else would it be at 7:00 A.M.? The man loved to come over and hassle her before she left for work, complaining about her trees dropping gum balls on his perfectly manicured lawn, or Rocky’s barking, or anything else he could find to nag about. He needed to get a life, she thought, and geared up to tell him so.

Yanking open the door, she pointed her shoe at him and began, “Mr. Weber—”

Franco. His identity registered with a shock, and she instinctively tried to shut the door in his face. He shoved past her, smirking.

“Gabriela, really. I only came to thank you for getting me out of jail.”

“How did you—?” Stupid question, she thought, halting in midsentence. Franco could find her house easily enough. “Get out. If you want to talk to me, call me at the office.”

He shook his head pityingly. “Why so hostile, Gabriela?”

“You know why. Don’t play innocent, Franco. That’s the last thing you could ever be.”

“I’m deeply wounded,” he said, covering his heart with his hand. “Is that any way to treat your oldest friend?”

More like her worst nightmare. “Cut the crap. What do you want?” Taking a deep breath, she strove for control. She was overreacting, and she knew it. At least he thought she was angry. She’d be damned if she’d let him know how much he frightened her.

“A little matter you won’t want made public,” he answered. “A private conversation,
bellisima.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. It never had, except a very few times . . .
Don’t remember,
she told herself. She forced away the images flashing in her mind, concentrating on the present, not the past. It wasn’t a great deal better.

Trapped for the moment, Gabrielle bit the inside of her cheek, welcoming the distraction of the pain. “Make it quick, I’m running late.” She heard an odd rumble, a sound she couldn’t place at first. Against her leg, she felt Rocky quivering and looked down at her. Hackles raised, the dog growled and bristled, staring balefully at Franco. Gabrielle almost fell over from surprise. To her knowledge, Rocky had never so much as bared her teeth at a human before. The growl grew harsher, coming from deeper in the chest. She put a hand on the big dog’s collar, aware of what could happen if Rocky attacked. Her other hand clenched around the navy pump in her hand.

“Hurry up,” she said. “I don’t think my dog likes you.”

Franco curled his lip. “Put it out.”

“Drop dead.” She met his gaze, knowing they were both remembering another time, another dog. Her grip tightened on Rocky’s collar, the leather biting into her palm and fingers. “Why are you here?” Knowing Franco, he had a gun or a knife hidden under his dark suit. Gabrielle knew Franco’s capabilities with guns. And knives. Especially knives. But she wouldn’t back down.

He smiled again, though less easily, and took a seat. His expression sincere, he looked up at her. “I must talk to you about Vito.”

“I told you, I won’t discuss Vito with you.”

“He’s very ill. If I could tell him I’ve seen you, that you’ve asked about him . . .”

“Ill?” In spite of herself, it worried her. But Franco could be lying, very likely was. “What’s wrong with him?”

Franco lifted a shoulder. “The doctors don’t seem to know. For myself, I think it’s a broken heart.”

She snorted. “Get real. Vito’s one of the least sentimental people I’ve ever known. If he’s pining, it isn’t for me, it’s because he lost a pawn. And I doubt he’s still concerned over something that happened years ago.”

“Do you really think he’s forgotten you? You know you’re more to him than a pawn.”

Was she? It didn’t matter. That part of her life was finished. She frowned, narrowing her eyes at him. Or it would be finished, once she got rid of Franco. “If that’s all you’ve got to say, you can leave now.”

“Wait! Gabriela, if you’d see him it would mean the world to him.”

And what would it mean to Franco if he went back with her in tow? Did he think her so stupid, she couldn’t see what he was up to? Play it cool, she thought. Don’t let him see how he gets to you. “It’s too late for Vito and me. Besides, I’m stuck here working on your case, remember?”

“After that. Come back with me.”

She stared at him, awed by his nerve. “Are you nuts? I wouldn’t go to a dog fight with you.” Though he covered it quickly, she saw the anger flash in his eyes. His looks and, even more, his power didn’t garner him many rejections. But she knew the real Franco. The soulless monster who lived behind the smooth, darkly handsome exterior.

Noxious sincerity oozing from every pore, he asked, “Was it so bad between us?” His voice dropped to a deeper tone. “Don’t you remember any of the good?”

“Franco, there was never an ‘us.’ There was me, and there was you and Vito. I was merely a pawn in your struggle for power.”

“I loved you, Gabriela.”

She closed her eyes, willing the nausea down. Opening them, she said harshly, “You’ve never cared spit for anyone but yourself. Least of all a woman. Now get out.” She gestured at the door with her shoe, holding it like a would-be sword. “And don’t do this again. I can still quit your case.”

His smile was knowing.

Her eyebrow lifted, and she gazed at him coolly. “Do you think I won’t?”

“You don’t dare risk it.” Softly, he asked, “What will CG and S do when they find out you’re the daughter of Vito Donati? The missing Mafia heiress. The woman everyone believes is dead.”

Malice curled around her with each of his words. Gabrielle couldn’t stop the sudden intake of her breath, though the threat was no surprise. She’d be out on her butt faster than a revolving door. But she wouldn’t buckle under to Franco’s threats. Not without a fight. “Fine. You tell them. But get ready for jail, because I swear if you expose me, I’ll make sure you rot there for the rest of your life. I promise you, I can do it.”

He shook his head, his expression sympathetic. “You misunderstand. We’ll talk more later, when you’re not so distraught. But I would never do anything to hurt you, Gabriela.” He rose and strode to the door.

Once there, he turned back to look at her. Handsome, powerful, he donned the guise of a charming businessman as easily as changing clothes. But Gabrielle saw the blood dripping from his hands.

He smiled and met her gaze. “Unless, of course, you force me to.”

The door closed behind him. Gabrielle relaxed her death grip on Rocky’s collar, and the dog lunged at the door, barking and growling furiously. “I know just how you feel,” Gabrielle said, sinking into a chair and burying her head in her hands. “God, what am I going to do now?”