Damaged goods. That's one way to describe Jackie Bertoni. Survivor is another after the traumatic childhood she endured at the hands of her father in Italy. With the help of the American filmmaker her boyfriend sold her to for a week of sexual pleasure, she is able to fulfill her lifelong dream to escape to America. Life is good to her in the land of the free. She becomes a successful movie producer. Sixteen years slip by before the big betrayal when Jackie knows she'll never be free-never whole-able to trust another man until she gets even with the three who shattered her heart.
Excerpt:
Jackie’s gaze wandered from headstones to somber faces. But not to the casket that held the body of her only true friend Desmond Sinclair. She recognized the people standing around her. Except for…
Now she knew she hadn’t worn the black net veil because it matched her black suit. She’d worn the veil to hide her eyes. She continued to stare at the man. The handsome stranger looked familiar even though she was positive she’d never met him. She searched her memory until it came to her. Andrew Michaels. His picture appeared in her Los Angeles newspaper a lot. The last time he’d posed on the courthouse steps, relief radiated from his eyes when he smiled for the cameras after achieving a guilty verdict on a high profile murder case.
How dare he show up here? Thanks to her Desmond couldn’t harm anyone anymore. A cold chill rolled through her. Perhaps the district attorney had come for her. Undecided if she should bolt or approach the man, Jackie was suddenly frozen in a time past when Marcus DeMario stepped into view.
The sight of him took her breath away just like the first time she saw him all those years ago. He stepped away from the limousine and weaved around headstones in her direction. As he neared, she saw his features had changed little. What had changed was the hardness in his composure, a coldness that sent another chill through her.
With her chin tucked into her chest, she watched him step up to the casket to pay last respects. Once or twice his steely eyes glanced her way. He showed no signs of recognizing her.
Of course he wouldn’t recognize you, she reminded herself. You were a disposable piece of property to the man.
But Marcus did recognize her. Not the first time he glanced in her direction. The second time his gaze traveled up her black nylons he knew of only one pair of legs so perfect. But what was Jackie Bertoni doing at Desmond Sinclair’s funeral? What was she doing in America?
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Until Next Time...Debra
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