Carrera's Bride. Diana Palmer

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 It had been replaced by an interest in textiles and needlework.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