Deadly Embrace (49 page)

"So do I," Madison said, more exotic looking with her smooth olive
skin, green eyes, and long dark hair. "What's going on at
school?"

"Th» same old crap," Jamie said. "Boys, boys, and more
boys."

"That can't be all bad."

"It
is
! They're
so
gross," Jamie said, making a
face. "And stupid. I dig older men—not dumb-ass
adolescents."

"I
know
," Madison agreed. "So do I."

"You'll have a great time with Michael," Jamie said wistfully. "I
wish I could call
my
dad by his first name."

"You're lucky, you've got terrific parents," Madison said. "They
never sent
you
off to boarding school."

"Agreed. Only, look at all the freedom
you
get. I don't get
any. You
can do whatever you want."

"I think my dad was kind of a wild kid himself," Madison said
thoughtfully. "So he doesn't believe in discipline."

"What about your mom?"

"Stella doesn't care, as long as I stay out of her way. She's much
too busy getting her legs or pubes waxed. That's if she's not having
silicone pumped into her face."

"Sounds painful!"

"Our apartment is more like a beauty salon than a home. I'm kind
of glad
I'm never there."

"It's so cool the way you get to call them Michael and
Stella."

"That was
her
idea," Madison said. "She thinks being called
Mom makes her sound old."

"Ego alert!" Jamie giggled. "She
is
old."

Madison nodded. "In her thirties."

"How old's your dad?"

"Forty-something."

"Ancient!"

"Ha!" Madison said. "Bet
you
wouldn't turn him down."

"That's so
rude
!" Jamie giggled, blushing.

"You've always had a crush on him. Fess up."

"He's your
father
, Maddy."

"I could definitely go for an older man."

"Like
who
?"

"Michael Douglas. Kevin Costner."

"Wow! Cool! They're both
sooo
sexy."

"Even Clint Eastwood."

"
Too
old," Jamie said, wrinkling her nose.

"Not for me," Madison said. "I dig older men."

"I was so jealous of you when we were little," Jamie sighed.

"You still are," Madison teased.

"I suppose I am," Jamie admitted. "You've got to tell me all about
Miami. Maybe you'll get laid."

"Oooh, exciting!" Madison said. "I
don't
think!"

I
can do anything
, she told herself.
Anything I
set my mind to
.

Michael had taught her that. Michael had instilled in her a
confidence that achievement started in the mind.

She adored her father. He was the best.

* * *

Madison talked nonstop on the flight to Miami. She told Michael about
her teachers, the thesis she was working on, a journalism course she
was planning to take, and how much she was looking forward to
college.

"I
really
want to be a writer, Michael," she said
earnestly. "What do
you
think?"

"I think I'd be the proudest dad in the world," he said. "You have
no idea where I come from, sweetheart. To have a writer in the
family—well, that'd
really
be something."

"Yes?"

"Oh yeah."

"You'll see, I
will
make you proud. That's a promise."

"It is, huh?"

"Yes, Michael," she said determinedly. "It is."

He picked up a
Time
magazine and began reading. Madison
gazed out the window, imagining herself as a published author along
the lioes of a Tom Wolfe or a Mario Puzo. She loved their books.
The Godfather
was her all-time favorite, and she'd just finished
reading
The Bonfire of the Vanities
, which she'd devoured over
two nights. Then again, she wouldn't mind being a
journalist—covering wars and world events.

Shortly before Dani left for Miami, Dean dropped by her house.

"You're insane, you know that?" he said, trailing her into the
kitchen.

"
I'm
insane?" she replied. "
You're
the one who's
been married twice, and I understand you're about to embark on your
second divorce."

"Where did you hear that?"

"Word gets around, Dean," she said, pouring him a cup of
coffee.

"Why you ever got back together with Michael Castelli is a mystery
to me," he grumbled, reaching for the cream and sugar. "And then to
have another baby. Wasn't one enough?"

"I don't need a lecture," she said, walking into the living room.
"I'm extremely happy."

"Happy because he won't marry you?" Dean said, following her.

"Don't go there, Dean," she warned. "I've told you many times,
it's none of your business."

"
You're
my business, Dani. And as much as you fight it, you
always will be."

"Why?"

"Because I love you," he said simply. "And nothing you do or say
can ever change that."

He didn't have to tell her, she was well aware how much he loved
her. And over the years she had to admit that it was quite comforting
to know he was always there—ready to catch her if she fell.
Dean was her safety net, and they both knew it. So did Michael, who,
although the two men had never met, hated Dean.

"That loser just wants to get into your pants," Michael often
informed her. "Why do you still see him?"

"He's not a loser. He's my friend."

"Some friend," Michael usually muttered. He had never forgiven
Dean for showing her the press clippings regarding his arrest for
Beth's murder—thereby separating them for seven long years.

Dean put down his coffee and began pacing around the living room.
"You're throwing your life away, Dani," he said.

"Why?" she responded crisply. "I'm with a wonderful man who loves
me. I have two great children. I live in a beautiful house. So tell
me—exactly
how
am I throwing my life away?"

"You're with a married man who only sees you when it suits him. He
has a
wife
, and whatever you think—he'll always put her
first."

"Not necessarily," she said, a defensive thrust to her chin.

"He uses you. Surely you know it?"

"Our relationship isn't like that."

"I think it is."

"Quite frankly, Dean, I couldn't care less
what
you think.
I'm happy, and that's it. So, if you'll excuse me, I have to get
ready for my trip."

Sofia toddled into the room, all curly hair, dimpled cheeks, and
enormous eyes. "Hi, Uncle Dean," the little girl said, flirting
outrageously.

"Hi, Crunchie," he said—his nickname for her.

"Wanna play dolls?"

"Not right now."

"Blow bubbles?"

"Next week."

Sofia wandered off.

"Things weren't meant to turn out this way," Dean said. "It
should've been you and me."

Where had she heard
that
before? From Michael. Only, Dean
was always proposing marriage, and Michael wasn't.

She understood. Michael had explained it to her enough times. He'd
made an irrevocable pact with himself to stay with Stella for
Madison's sake, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She pretended not to care. Only, sometimes, late at night, when
she hadn't seen him in a while, she cried herself to sleep, because
maybe Dean was right—perhaps he
was
using her.

Anyway, he certainly kept them in great style, never denying her
anything she wanted.

She couldn't help it, she loved him with every fiber of her being.
What was so bad about that?

Later, Vincent came by to wish them a safe trip to Miami. Vincent.
So tall, dark, and handsome, exactly like Michael.

He picked up his baby sister and began tossing her in the air.
Sofia squealed with delight.

"Careful, you'll drop her," Dani warned.

"Yeah, yeah, like
I'm
gonna drop her!" Vincent said,
throwing Sofia even higher.

"Enough!" Dani said.

"More!" Sofia begged.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Dani asked, hoping his answer would
be yes, because she did not get to spend enough time with her
handsome son.

"Can't," he said apologetically. "Got a date."

"Who is she this time?"

Vincent grinned; he had Michael's grin along with everything else.
"You know you don't want to know."

"That's true," she sighed. "I wish you could meet a nice
girl."

"They're nice enough for me."

"That's the problem."

"You're beginning to sound like a mother."

"I
am
a mother."

"Gotta go," he said, tickling Sofia until she screamed for mercy.
"Have a great trip."

"I wish you were coming with us," Dani said wistfully.

"Too busy."

"I know."

She watched from the window as Vincent jumped into his black
Corvette—a twenty-first-birthday present from his
father—and roared off.

He drove too fast. He'd inherited
that
particular skill
from Nando, who was into race cars and often encouraged Vincent to
join him on the practice track.

She'd given up worrying about Vincent. Michael had taught her that
worrying did absolutely no good at all.

* * *

Vincent was leading a bachelor's dream life and he knew it. Girls,
girls, girls. Blonds, brunettes, redheads. He had his pick.

Unlike Nando, he did not care to indulge in sex with a different
girl every night. He tried to be more discerning than that. Only it
wasn't easy; the girls who came into their restaurant and bar were
begging for it. He and Nando were prizes. Score with one of them and
it meant you were
really
a hot chick.

Vincent liked girls. In fact, he loved them. But sometimes he
yearned for a girl who wasn't so damn available.

Nando laughed at him when he tried to discuss it. "Take it when
you can get it" was Nando's philosophy.

So he did, but not as much as Nando—who seemed to possess an
alarmingly active libido. Two or three girls a night was not
unusual.

Vincent enjoyed the restaurant business—he ran a tight
operation, while Nando was Mr. Personality, luring the prettiest
girls and the guys with money to hang out at their place. Vincent
preferred taking a backseat, although somehow he got to do all the
work. Nando was into the music and the look and the minor details,
while Vincent made sure the chef ordered wisely, the bartenders
didn't steal too much, the waiters kept a high standard, and the
bills were paid on time.

They both wanted more. Their dream was to build their own hotel
and casino. And one of these days, Vincent was convinced they would
achieve their dream.

The hotel in Miami was big and luxurious. Michael had booked them
into a suite. Naturally. He always did things in style.

As soon as they arrived, Madison ran around inspecting everything,
from the two huge marble bathrooms to the spacious, palm-bedecked
terraces overlooking the ocean.

"This is
so
wild," she exclaimed. "Can we go down to the
beach and take a walk along the shore?"

"What's so interesting about the beach?" Michael asked, enjoying
her excitement.

"I've never been to the ocean before."

"First time?"

"You
know
it is, Michael."

This was his second trip to Miami. The first time had been when
he'd visited Vinny. He hadn't seen his father since, although he knew
that Vinny was still living in the same place. He sent him a check
every month, a check that was always cashed.

"You go take a walk along the beach," he said. "I've got a couple
of calls to make."

"Oh no! Business!" Madison said, making a face. "You
promised
, no work."

"Only two calls, sweetheart, then we'll have a wonderful dinner
together. Just the two of us. You like lobster?"

"Who doesn't?" she said, already hungry.

"So ... will you be my date?"

"You bet!"

As soon as Madison left the suite, he called Dani. "How was the
flight?" he asked.

"Uneventful," she replied, always delighted to hear his voice.

"That's my girl."

"Who- me, or Sofia?"

He laughed. "Hey, look, after you've put Sofia down for the night,
leave her with a baby-sitter and drop by the restaurant in my hotel.
I'm having dinner with Madison. I'll see you walk past—pretend
you're an old friend and ask you to join us. How does that
sound?"

"You don't think Madison will suspect anything?"

"What's she gonna suspect?"

"How would I know? She's
your
daughter."

"Do it," he ordered. "I'm not staying here without seeing
you."

"And how will you cope if Sofia spots you on the beach tomorrow
and runs over yelling, 'Daddy, Daddy'?"

He laughed. "That's the reason I booked us in different
hotels."

"Clever."

"So... later?"

"Whatever you say."

* * *

"Michael? Michael Castelli?"

Beautifully executed. He couldn't have done it better himself.

He stood up from the table. "Dani Castle, what a pleasure to see
you again."

Madison glanced up, green eyes on alert. Who was this beautiful
blond woman talking to her father, interrupting them while they were
trying to enjoy a quiet dinner for two?

"Are you by yourself?"

Shut up, Daddy, we do not need company
.

"As a matter of fact, I am," Dani replied. "Business trip, you
know."

"Then why don't you sit down and join us?" Michael said, making it
sound as if it had only just occurred to him. "This is my daughter,
Madison. Say hi to Mrs. Castle, dear."

Dear? When had he ever called her "dear"? Damn! This woman
appearing out of nowhere was a big pain in the butt
.