The Spellbinder (3 page)

Or could he? His body’s arousal testified that he most definitely did want her, and the idea began to intrigue him. She was certainly different, and his reaction to her had been … unusual. Bedding her would undoubtedly be a change of pace and might lessen his boredom as well as that damn tension. He would have to think about it.

He sat back down and picked up the paring knife. “I’ll stay.” He smiled mockingly. “As long as you remember what a delicate, sensitive person I am behind this hard facade. Just like Donald Duck.”

She looked a little uncertain before she nodded briskly. “I’ll remember.” She turned away. “And now I’ll tell you all about Epcot, which will cause you to gnash your teeth with envy.”

“When I was a little girl, I always wanted to go to an amusement park but I never—” Sacha
glanced up from her plate, her fork poised in midair. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Brody asked, leaning back in his chair and gazing at her innocently. “I was just thinking that you bake an excellent quiche.”

She made a face. “And you were thinking, ‘what a chatterbox she is’. I’ve talked your ear off for the last hour, and I’ve scarcely let you eat a bite. No wonder you look so hungry.” She pointed to the half-eaten quiche on his plate. “
Mangez.
I will be still as a mouse.”

“Mickey Mouse?”

She shook her head. “He talks too much. Maybe the mouse that ran up the clock.”

“You’re well versed in your nursery rhymes.”

“I used to tell them to the other children at the—” She broke off. “If I’m the mouse, then the way you are looking at me is definitely feline. What are you thinking?”

He considered telling her that he had been imagining her lying naked on her back on the king-size bed down the hall, her thighs thrown open as he moved between them. He’d been having similar erotic visions all through the meal and found himself enjoying the anticipation of the act to come almost as much as he usually did the climax with any other woman. He decided he would stretch his anticipation just a little longer before he took Sacha to bed.

Besides, there was no hurry. He was enjoying their dinner on another level. Her conversation had been both relaxing and amusing, and he had
found her bright, witty, and glowing with an enthusiasm that was very refreshing. “I was thinking I’d like another cup of coffee.”

She raised a skeptical brow but stood up and crossed the room to the coffeemaker on a cabinet.

She had an intriguingly pert bottom, Brody thought appreciatively, and the jeans molded it quite satisfactorily. He would like to mold it himself, run his palm over that delicious curve, feel the muscles flex at his touch. Perhaps he would have her bend down and—

She was coming back to him, setting the cup before him with a bright smile. “Coffee. Now you must finish the quiche.”

His hand closed on her wrist. It was time to end it. The muscles of his stomach were knotting, his groin swelling and aching. If he didn’t get her into the bedroom soon, he’d be taking her on this kitchen chair. “Call Marceline’s.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “But I told you that I already called her.”

He swiveled around on the chair so that she was between his legs. She smelled of clean soap and something sweetly floral, and her skin was even more velvety up close. His hand on her wrist was trembling, he noticed in amazement. He tightened his grip until he could feel the birdlike fragility of bone beneath the soft skin. His thumb slowly stroked the inside of her wrist, feeling the pulse leap beneath his touch. “Call her back. Tell her I’ve changed my mind.”

She seemed to be holding her breath. “You don’t want a woman?”

He lifted her wrist to his lips and his tongue licked delicately at the tracery of blue veins beneath the thin skin. “I didn’t say that. I just decided I’d like to try something different.”

She was staring at him dumbfounded. “Different?”

His knees closed, holding her captive. He could feel the warmth of her beneath the layers of material separating them. To hell with going to the bedroom. “You,” he said thickly. “Take off that damn Donald Duck shirt. I don’t want him looking at me accusingly when I—”

“You want
me
?” Her voice was not only stunned, it was panic-stricken. “But you can’t, that’s not possible. You only like blondes.”

His hand released her wrist and traveled around to cup the curve of her bottom. It felt as good as he had thought it would. “I don’t want to get into a rut.” His eyes twinkled. “Not that I’m unalterably opposed to that state. There are ruts and then there are ruts.”

“I’m too thin. And I have very small breasts.”

“Yes, and you have a fantastic derriere.” He leaned forward, his open lips nuzzling her nipple through the T-shirt.

“No!” Her hands were on his shoulders, attempting to push away from him. “You aren’t supposed to …” She backed away from him, her face aflame. “You can’t do this.”

“Try me.” He stood up. “If there’s a problem
about the other woman they’re sending, tell Marceline I’ll pay for both of you.” He inched even closer. “She won’t mind.”

“You don’t understand.” Her hands went to her hot cheeks. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I’m not the sort of woman you want. This is most disconcerting.”

He frowned. “Why? This is why you came here, so don’t start playing silly games.”

“No games.” One hand ran distractedly through the sleekness of her hair. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, I do. First, we take off Donald Duck. Then we sit down, and I—”

“No, it’s impossible. You don’t understand.”

His smile faded. “You keep saying that,” he said with soft menace. “What I do understand is that I’ve decided I want you, and you’re acting like a damn whimpering virgin. I also understand that I’m getting mad as hell. Is there anything else I should understand?”

“Yes.” She sighed resignedly. “One more thing.”

“Would you care to enlighten me as to what that is?”

“I’m your sister.”

He went still. “Would you mind repeating that?”

“I’m your sister.” She hurried on. “Your half sister, actually, but it’s the same thing. We had the same father.” He was gazing at her blankly. Oh damn, she hadn’t wanted to tell him so soon. She had known he would react like this. “So you can see why I can’t go to bed with you. It would be incest. Not that I would have gone to bed with you anyway. That wasn’t what I had in mind at all. How was I to know you’d behave so out of character? I’m not the type of person you usually—”

“Hold it.” He held up his hand to stem the flow of words. “Stop right there. What the hell are you doing here if you had no intention of going to bed with me?”

“That’s not the question you should be asking,”
she said reprovingly. “I’ve just told you I’m your sister. That’s far more important.”

“You’ll forgive me if I disagree,” he said caustically. “You’re not my sister, and at the moment, the fact you’re not going to bed with me is as important as hell. I’m
hurting
, dammit.”

Quick concern showed in her expression. “Are you? I’m sorry, I never planned on this happening, and I’m afraid Louis has already sent the woman Cass arranged for away. Perhaps we could call Marceline’s and have them send her back.”

“Louis?”

“My friend, Louis Benoit. You will like Louis. He thinks you’re the finest actor in the Western Hemisphere.”

“How nice. And is ‘friend’ a euphemism for pimp?”

“No, I can see you’re still confused about all this. I am no
poule.
It was just a pretense so we could get to know each other.” She smiled tentatively. “I didn’t realize when I first came to this country how superstars like you are guarded. I tried everything I could think of to arrange a meeting. I wrote to your manager and to the publicity department, even to your private secretary. No one would even let me speak to you on the phone. The hotel reception desks won’t even ring your room unless you tell them you’re expecting a call. It was very discouraging.” His expression remained both skeptical and suspicious, and Sacha sighed. “You’re going to be difficult about this, aren’t you?”

“Why not?” His brilliant blue eyes narrowed on
her face. “You told me you like difficult men.” He turned, walked back to his chair, and sat down. “And I’m about to demonstrate just how difficult I can be.”

“You’re angry?”

“You’re damn right. I don’t like my privacy invaded. I don’t like the idea of being a target for a confidence game and I don’t like to be teased by a hooker who has no intention of delivering.”

She studied him shrewdly. “I think it’s the last that’s bothering you the most. I told you I was sorry Louis has sent the blonde away.” She came forward to stand before him. “But it’s done now, and you must accept it. Forget about sex. We must talk.”

“Forget about …” Indignation, outrage, and incredulity conflicted in his expression. Then, to her infinite relief, they were all superseded by amusement. “Maybe you’re not a hooker after all. If you were, you’d know that sex isn’t something that you can forget easily.”

“Ah, now you’re behaving sensibly.” She smiled. “Of course, I’m not a hooker, nor a confidence woman. I’m your sister, and we’re going to become great friends.” She suddenly dropped to her knees before him and leaned back on her heels, gazing up at him earnestly. “That’s all I want from you, Brody. I know you find it very hard to trust people these days, but you can trust me.”

Her eyes were direct and without guile as they held his own. Brody studied her thoughtfully. My Lord, she actually believed what she was saying.
The realization brought a shock as profound as the initial announcement she had made. “And how do you know I have trouble trusting anyone?”

“Oh, I know all about you.” Her expression was grave. “I’ve been studying you very carefully for the past two months. I suppose it’s natural that you have to surround yourself with guards and walls, but it’s sad too. Take Disney World, for example. You would have enjoyed that so—”

“Two months?”

She nodded. “That’s when Louis and I came here from Paris. When I realized I wouldn’t be able to see you by the usual means, I decided I’d have to find another way to do it. So I’ve been following you from city to city and getting to know all about you.”

He leaned back in his chair, his face unreadable. “How interesting. You must be a determined young lady.”

She nodded. “Very determined.”

“And just what do you think you know about me?”

“Do you mean the surface things?” A tiny frown wrinkled her brow. “Well, of course, everyone knows you’re a great actor. Your mother was Elise Merton, a bit actress who died when you were eleven. Your father and mine, Raymond Devlin, was also an actor. You spent most of your childhood in private boarding schools in London and Switzerland. You’re not married, but have had many affairs.” She paused. “But most of those happened when you were in your twenties. Lately you prefer
to patronize very expensive call-girl services like Marceline’s when you want a woman.”

“I may think twice about that from now on,” he murmured. “It seems to involve unexpected hazards.”

She grinned. “Me? I’m no hazard. You’ll see, I’ll be very good for you.”

A faint smile hovered on his lips. “Oh, you will, will you?”

“Yes, that was another reason I studied you so carefully. I want to be able to help you.” She moved nearer, her face flushed with eagerness. “I’ve never had anyone of my own before, but I’ve always been very good with people. I’m sure I can be a wonderful sister to you.”

Lord, the intensity she was generating was both mesmerizing and poignant. “You’re planning on making that your full-time occupation?”

“No, that won’t be possible. I have no money, and I have to—” She broke off as she caught the slight stiffening in Brody’s demeanor and then shook her head sadly. “Don’t pull away from me. I’m not going to ask you for money. I would never take anything from you. I just want to know what it’s like to belong to someone, to belong to you. Family. I’ve wanted that since I was a little girl.”

“Look, I’m not your brother,” Brody said gently. “My father may have been a womanizer, but he wasn’t a bastard who would have ignored the existence of his child.”

“But he didn’t know,” Sacha said. Her fingers rose to rub absently at a spot behind her left ear.
“My mother was a gypsy singer in a cafe in Budapest. Raymond Devlin was there with a touring company for only a month and then returned to America. When she found she was pregnant, she was afraid to tell her father she was to have a
gajo
’s child. She would have been in disgrace with her tribe, and my grandfather hated
gajos.
She refused to tell anyone who my father was.” She moistened her lips. “But she died when I was seven and left a letter telling me the truth.”

“She named my father?”

Sacha shook her head. “She was still afraid my grandfather would hurt him. She only said he was a wonderful American actor.”

“That covers a hell of a lot of territory.”

“Not so much. There were only a handful of American actors in Budapest during that month.”

His gaze narrowed on her face. “How do you know?”

“I had a friend check the immigration records.”

“Evidently a very influential friend,” he said softly. “I imagine it would be quite difficult to obtain that information after all these years.”

Her gaze slid away from him. “He had certain … contacts.” She made an impatient gesture with her hand. “But that’s not important. Raymond Devlin was in Budapest during that month.”

“And why did you single him out?”

“I saw a picture of the two of you together in a newspaper.”

“And?”

“I have his eyes,” she said simply. “Your eyes, Brody.”

All trace of amusement vanished from Brody’s face. He felt as if he’d been slammed in the stomach. The eyes looking into his own were undeniably similar to the ones he saw in the mirror every day, the same shade of blue, the same upward tilt at the corners. He had a fleeting memory of the impression when he had first seen her of something familiar about those eyes. Lord, could it be true?

His rejection came immediately and with violence. No, she couldn’t be any relation; he wouldn’t have it. His response to her had been too erotic, too powerful. Hell, his body was still aroused. Surely there was some instinct that would signal forbidden territory. “It could be coincidence.”