The Spellbinder (11 page)

“Can we?” He looked down at her in bemusement.

She nodded. “Talk to me. That’s all you have to do. We’ll take care of it together.”

“It’s not that simple, Sacha.”

“Yes, it is.” She scooted a few inches closer and rested her arms on his knees. “Something went wrong tonight?”

“No more than usual.”

“How many curtain calls?”

“Nine.”

“Then you were a great success. What’s the problem?”

“I wasn’t a success,” he burst out with barely leashed violence. “I’m terrible in this role. I can’t sing and I ham up every soliloquy. All I have is presence, and a decent pair of legs in tights.”

She started to laugh then stopped as she saw his face. He was perfectly sincere, and she had an idea the problem was more far-reaching than his few words indicated. “The critics don’t seem to agree with you.”

“Subjective. I know my own capabilities.”

“Do you?” Her brow wrinkled in a thoughtful frown. “How did you feel about your performance in
Hamlet
last year?”

He laughed harshly. “Tolerable. At least I didn’t have to make an ass of myself singing.”

Only tolerable. Yet the critics and public had hailed him as the greatest Hamlet of the generation. “I see.” She
was
beginning to understand. “Then you think you failed?”

“I always fail.” His jaw tightened and his teeth clenched. “I try so damn hard, but it’s never what it should be. I don’t see why they can’t see it. Someday …”

“Someday they’ll find you out. The critics and the public will realize you’re not what they thought. They’ll know you fooled them.”

He nodded.

She shook her head. “No, Brody. They’ll never realize how you cheated them. Not in the next century.”

“They will. I know—”

“Listen, Brody.” Her hands closed on his knees, her expression intent. “What did you think of Peter O’Toole’s performance in
Becket
?”

“Mesmerizing.”

“And Delacroix’s painting
Liberty Leading the People
?”

“Magnificent.”

“And the way Shakespeare constructed
Macbeth
?”

“Sacha, what the hell has this to do with anything?” he asked impatiently.

“I’m trying to make a point. Don’t you see? I bet if you asked O’Toole or Delacroix or Shakespeare, they would have said that they had failed too. It’s
the tragedy of the creators of this world that their final work of art
never
fulfills the vision of what they think it should be. That doesn’t mean their accomplishment isn’t great or special. Yes, you have presence. You’re a real spellbinder, but you’re more than that. You’re a great actor. You give us all memories that we’ll cherish forever. You may never be satisfied with what you give us, but that doesn’t mean we won’t be satisfied, Brody. We can’t see your vision, so we don’t know what we’re missing. The beauty you reveal is enough for us.” She added softly, “More than enough.”

“Sacha—” His eyes were glittering in his tanned face as he reached out with one gentle finger to trace the high contour of her cheekbone. “I believe I’m … overwhelmed. I feel quite peculiar.”

“You believe me?” she asked urgently. “It’s most important that you know what you are. Then the tension will go away.” She snapped her fingers. “Like that.”

“Sounds easy.” A faint smile curved his lips. “You almost convince me.”

She studied him shrewdly. “But not entirely. I think this may be more difficult to accomplish than I had believed. You’re a very bullheaded man, Brody.”

“But I have decent legs in tights,” he reminded her lightly. “I have it on the best authority.”

She sighed. “I can see you’re not going to talk about it anymore. Oh, well, I’ll just have to keep working on it.” She sat back on her heels. “But you’re still tense. Is there anything that helps?”

He was silent for a long moment. “One thing.” He met her gaze. “But it’s not an option that’s available to me at the moment.”

Heat. A fluid melting. A breathless tingling. There was something in his eyes that caused sensations to cascade over her in a wild, jumbled flow. Her breasts felt strange, swollen, the nipples taut and engorged, ready.…

“Brody …” Her voice sounded faint and uncertain even to her own ears, and she couldn’t seem to pull her gaze away from Brody’s. “What …?”

It was finally Brody who managed to look away. He pushed the half-empty bowl of stew impatiently aside. “Go to bed. I’ll put the rest of the groceries in the cabinet.”

“No, I’ll—”

“I said, I’ll do it.” His tone was sharp. “Did Cass get you settled in the guest room?”

“Yes, I’m very comfortable.” She slowly got to her feet and stood looking at him. “Brody, don’t push me out. I want to help you.”

“You did help me.” He didn’t look at her. “You fixed me a wonderful meal and listened to my self-pitying blather. Now that you’ve done your duty, you deserve a good night’s rest.” He stood up, strode over to the counter, and began to put away the remaining groceries. “Good night, Sacha.”

She stood watching him uncertainly. His movements were jerky and uncoordinated and the line of his spine taut. It was clear she had been dismissed. It was also clear Brody was going to refuse to let her help him. Oh, dear, she thought,
he was exhibiting quixotic and unreasonable male characteristics she had never been aware he possessed. Well, she would just have to act on her own initiative to overcome his resistance. She immediately felt more assured once her decision was made. “Good night.” She started for the door. “Oh, one more thing, Brody.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You know the authority who assured you your legs in tights were decent?”

He frowned in puzzlement. “Yes?”

“He was wrong.” She winked with mock lasciviousness. “They’re not decent, they’re absolutely fantastic.”

She heard him utter an amused chuckle as she strode out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the guest room.

Sacha turned out the light and ran swiftly across the bedroom. The silk sheets were cool against her naked flesh as she slipped into the wide bed. Too cool. Sleeping on silk had seemed wonderfully luxurious that night at the Ventura but now she longed for the comfortable familiarity of the textures to which she was accustomed. Silk was as foreign to her as this beautiful, cold house; as foreign as this wild situation into which she had been plunged.

The water abruptly cut off in the shower, and Sacha’s grip unconsciously tightened on the sheet covering her. Her heart was pounding so hard, she could scarcely breathe. Stupid. She was being so stupid to be this nervous. She consciously forced
herself to relax and took several long, steadying breaths.

The bathroom door opened and the light flicked out. She couldn’t hear Brody’s footsteps on the deep pile of the thick rug but she knew he was coming toward the bed. She could discern the solidness of his moving shadow among the darker shadows in the room. Then the shadow stopped short in the middle of the room. Brody stood still, painfully alert, as if sensing some unknown danger.

“Sacha?”

She drew a deep quivering breath. “How did you know I was here?”

“Your scent.… What the hell are you doing in my bed?”

“It’s where I belong,” she said simply. “You said you wanted me.”

Brody muttered a low curse and was suddenly walking toward the bed again. She involuntarily tensed. He sounded furious, but surely that would pass when … She blinked as he turned on the light and instinctively made a motion to pull the sheet up to cover her naked breasts. Then she stopped and deliberately let her hands fall to the counterpane of the bed. She tried to smile. “I’m sorry but I suddenly feel shy. It’s not at all like me. I’ll be better soon.”

“The hell you say,” he said grimly. “Well, I don’t think I will.” He gazed swiftly around the room. “Where the devil is your robe?”

“I don’t have one.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “But I wouldn’t wear it, if I did. It’s
better that I become accustomed to being naked in front of you. Then I won’t feel quite so awkward. I notice you appear to be very comfortable.” Her gaze traveled over him admiringly. “You’re even more stunning nude than clothed. I didn’t realize you had such a truly fantastic tush and the muscles of your shoulders are—”

“Sacha,” he said between clenched teeth. “Shut up!” He saw his own terry-cloth robe slung over the back of a chair, snatched it up, and tossed it to her. “Put this on.”

She shook her head.

“Dammit.” He strode across the room, grabbed the robe from the bed, and draped it around her shoulders. “Now, keep it on.”

He smelled of soap and musk and something deliciously male. She could feel the furnacelike heat radiating from his body, and it warmed her, taking away the nervous chill. She impulsively leaned forward and pressed her lips to the warm smoothness of his shoulder.

He flinched away as if she had burned him. “Don’t do that!” he said thickly. He backed away a few paces, gazing at her as warily as if she were a wild animal occupying his bed.

“Why not?” Her gaze flicked to his lower body. “It’s clear you want me to touch you very much.”

His gaze followed her own and he muttered a low imprecation.

She shrugged his robe from her shoulders and it fell to the bed behind her. “You see? You’re not being at all reasonable. You want me and I’m
here. It would be foolish not to make love to me. I know you generally prefer a different type of woman, but I seemed to attract you before. And then in the hospital you said—”

“Go back to your room, Sacha.”

She shook her head. “You’re breaking your promise. You said you would let me help you any way I could.”

His gaze was fastened compulsively on the beautifully delicate swell of her naked breasts. His tongue unconsciously moistened his lower lip. “I was thinking about cooking and washing the dishes.”

She smiled. “I wasn’t.”

Brody forced his gaze to move from her breasts to her face. “Dammit, I won’t have you doing this for me. I feel like a white slaver. You don’t want this.”

“How do you know? I’m not sure myself. It’s difficult to tell when I’m so nervous.” She met his gaze. “But I do know that I want to give you whatever you need from me.”

“Gratitude,” he bit out.

She shook her head. “Debt.”

“Well, you can take your debt and cram it,” he said roughly. “You don’t owe me a thing. I never do anything I don’t want to do.”

She sighed. Brody was being very difficult about this. She would obviously have to escalate matters at once. Unfortunately she wasn’t sure exactly how to go about it. Well, when in doubt …

She threw aside the sheet and stood up.

“For heaven’s sake, Sacha!”

She walked slowly toward him. “I want you to know it’s not only the debt,” she said earnestly. “I do care about you very much, Brody.” Ah, that was better, she thought with satisfaction. There was a flush mantling his broad cheekbones, and his eyes were smoky with something both hot and urgent. “I might want to do this regardless.”

“Might? How flattering,” he said caustically.

She stopped before him, her gaze searching his face. “I’m being very clumsy. It’s only because I’m so nervous. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t—” He broke off as she reached out and touched him. A great shudder ran through him and he closed his eyes.

“So smooth.” Her hand tightened around him. “And warm. I always wondered—”

“Let … me … go.”

“All right.” She released him, then stepped close until her breasts were pressed against the chestnut thatch of hair on his chest.

She gasped. The abrasiveness was wildly erotic. Her nipples burned, then hardened, engendering a strange hot ache between her thighs. “Oh, I like this.”

His lids opened slowly, heavily. “You do?”

She nodded emphatically, rubbing against him with catlike sensuality. “Yes.” She arched her head back and her eyes half closed until they were brilliant blue slits veiled by her dark lashes. “I feel an odd sort of hurting, but the pleasure makes up—”

The words were smothered as his lips covered
her own with hot, almost brutal desperation. He groaned deep in his throat as his mouth opened. His tongue entered her: hot, moist, urgent.

He lifted his head. “Sacha, I didn’t want—” His lips met her own again. “Don’t let me do this—It’s not what—” His tongue traced the pouty curve of her lower lip. His hands suddenly slid around her, cupping the pert cheeks of her bottom. He squeezed slowly, rhythmically, his tongue licking teasingly at her lower lip. “I love the feel of you,” he whispered. “So firm.” He suddenly lifted her with both hands. “Put your legs around me.”

She obeyed, clutching his shoulders desperately as he pressed her to him. She gave a low cry as she pushed mindlessly against him. “This is even—” She forgot what she had been about to say as he shifted, rubbing against the heart of her womanhood. Fire. Heat. Male. “Brody, I think …”

“Stop thinking,” he muttered, his cheek burning against her own. “Heaven knows, I have. Just let me come into you. I’m hurting so.”

“Yes.” She instinctively nestled closer and felt another shudder rack him. “I told you it was all right.” She tenderly smoothed the hair at his nape. “I want to give to you.”

He froze. She could feel the stiffening of his muscles hardening against her. “Brody?”

He was suddenly shifting her, carrying her toward the bed. A surge of relief went through her.

He dropped her on the bed and jerked the satin sheet up over her.

His light eyes were blazing down into her own.
“I don’t want you
giving
me anything, dammit. How can I make you understand? Just once I wanted to give something to someone else without asking what was in it for me.”

“You did give me something,” she whispered. “My life.”

“Dammit, Sacha, listen to me. I’m not going to let you—” He broke off as he saw the glittering brightness of her eyes. “Hell!” He turned on his heel and strode toward the door. “You stay here. I’ll take the guest room tonight.”

She struggled to a sitting position, her hands trembling as they clutched the silk sheet. Cold. The silk was so icy against her after Brody’s fiery warmth. “You don’t understand,” she said huskily.