The Spellbinder (8 page)

He shook his head. “I always shower after the performance.” His smile was self-mocking. “Though I may feel the urge for a cold shower before morning.”

Her brow wrinkled in a puzzled frown. “Does that happen very often?”

“Not since I was fourteen. Come to bed, Sacha.”

“In just a minute. I need to dry my hair a little more.” She set her clothes neatly on a maroon velvet wing chair, then sat down on her side of the bed and began to rub her hair briskly.

“There’s a blow-dryer in the vanity cabinet.”

“Is there? I never thought to look. It doesn’t matter. My hair is very fine and dries quickly.”

“It matters.” Her head was enveloped in the towel, and she didn’t see the tension that tautened the muscles of his abdomen as he watched the soft orange jersey mold and cling to her small
breasts when she lifted her hands to rub her hair. “It matters a hell of a lot.” His voice was hoarse. “Go get the dryer.”

She lowered the towel, her dark hair a wild frame for her flushed, glowing face. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m keeping you awake.” She jumped up from the bed and ran into the bathroom. She found the dryer and came back to the bedroom. “Do you know where the outlet is?”

“There’s one in the bathroom.”

“I’d rather do it here. It’s more companionable.” She came around to his side of the bed and looked behind the nightstand. “Here’s one.” She plugged in the hair dryer and sat down on the floor. She crossed her legs tailor fashion, facing him, and turned on the hair dryer. “Talk to me.”

He pulled his gaze away from the silken flesh of her naked thighs and forced himself to look at her face. “You have a thing about being companionable, don’t you?”

She nodded, holding the nozzle of the dryer to the left side of her head and lifting the curls with her fingers. “Oh, yes, I think it’s very important that we choose friends and become close to them. Otherwise it can be terribly lonely.” She looked at him soberly. “I think you’re very lonely, Brody.”

“I wouldn’t say loneliness was my problem. I have too many people around me most of the time.”

“But no one you let close to you. That can be even worse than being alone.” She switched the dryer to the opposite side of her head. “When I
was a little girl, I was surrounded by other children, but sometimes I still felt isolated. I guess we all do. That’s when I’d close my eyes and think about what it would be like to have a real family of my own.”

“Other children? Were you in an orphanage?”

She hesitated. “Something like an orphanage.” She suddenly scooted close to the bed and turned around so that her face was hidden from him. “Will you dry the back of my hair for me? It’s always the hardest to reach.”

He didn’t answer for a moment. “Hand me the dryer.” He swung his feet to the floor on each side of her as he reached for the dryer.

She closed her eyes in purely sensual pleasure as the soft warm air caressed her nape and Brody’s fingers combed through the damp tresses. His naked legs were cradling her between them. Brody really had beautiful legs, she thought dreamily. She had known they were well shaped; the tights of his costumes outlined every muscle of his calves and thighs, but bare, they looked far more virile and brawny. His feet, planted on the deep blue carpet, were strong and shapely, and the tanned thighs on each side of her were dusted with fine, sun-lightened hair.

“Are you asleep?” Brody asked.

“No, I was just thinking what nice feet you have.” She leaned the side of her head on his thigh, letting the warm flow of air weave through her hair. His skin felt deliciously rough against her flesh, and she rubbed her cheek back and forth with catlike pleasure, enjoying the textures of him.

“Stop!” Brody’s voice was suddenly charged with tension, the muscle beneath her cheek clenched and rigid.

She chuckled. “Am I tickling you?”

“You could say that.” His voice was guttural. He turned off the dryer and put it on the bedside table. “I think that’s enough.” His legs were gone from around her as he pulled them back, scooted up, and slid under the sheet. “Hell, I know it’s enough. Turn out that light and come to bed.”

Doubtfully she touched her hair. It still felt a little damp to her, but Brody was obviously impatient. She scrambled to her knees and reached over to turn out the lamp. In the darkness she padded around the bed and slipped beneath the satin coverlet. The springs were firm, the mattress comfortable, and the satin sheets cool and slick. Magic. Positively magic.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“That sigh almost shook the bed.”

“Contentment. No lumps. Do you know what a luxury a mattress with no lumps can be?”

There was a pause before Brody said slowly, “I guess I’d forgotten. The last time I even thought about comfort was in Vietnam. I was nineteen and I remember how cold and hard the ground was. And the rain.…” There was a silence then. “I thought I’d never forget that hell. I guess I didn’t really forget. I just blocked it out.”

“We all block things out. It helps us to survive and go on. But you’re so lucky, Brody. You have
everything you need to make a wonderful life.” She hesitated. “You could be happy if you let yourself.”

“I’m perfectly content. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Bah, content is for beds that aren’t lumpy. Happy is different. Happy is …” She searched wildly for words. “Oh, I don’t know. Rockets going off and flags waving and a shining inside. You don’t have that, Brody, and I want it for you.”

“Do you?” His voice was husky. “Thank you, Sacha, but you’ll find my ‘shining’ is a little tarnished with wear, and I launched most of my rockets a long time ago.”

“You sound like an old man. It’s a good thing I got to you when I did.” Sacha chuckled. “Stick with me, and we’ll find you brand-new rockets to send soaring.”

Lord, he felt jaded. There was nothing tarnished about the shining within Sacha. She glowed with a clear inner beauty that moved him profoundly. “I believe I may do that.”

There was a long silence before Sacha spoke again. “Being in bed with you is different from being in bed with Louis. He’s more … comfortable.”

“And I’m not?”

“No.” She sounded puzzled. “You’re so tense that I think you’re making me a little tense too. I feel … odd.”

“I suppose I’m not accustomed to sleeping with anyone.” He added silkily, “Of course, you don’t have that excuse.”

“I guess that must be it.” She paused. “But you’re always tense, aren’t you? I used to watch you on stage, and I could almost feel it. There were times when it was worse than others, but it was always there. Why?”

“Go to sleep.” His tone was suddenly abrupt. “I’m not in the mood to bare my soul tonight. Why should I confide in you, when you won’t tell me a damn thing about yourself?”

“No reason,” she said. “I guess I just want to know everything about you.”

“Well, you’ve found out enough for one night. Go to sleep.”

“I know I’m a chatterbox. Does it bother you?”

The flow of words didn’t bother him so much as her voice—soft, husky, stroking him in the darkness. He had thought once the light was out and he couldn’t see her, it would be easier. He had been wrong. The darkness enhanced the sensuality of the sensations he was experiencing. With every breath he took in the warm, floral scent clinging to her skin and hair. And that voice …

Would he ever be able to sleep? He was aching, throbbing, the blood tingling through his veins, surging into his groin. What an idiot he was being to let her do this to him. Why didn’t he just
tell
her, and then reach out and bring her to him? She was warm and responsive, and he was an experienced lover. He could
make
her respond.

But he didn’t want to make her respond. He wanted her to come to him and offer herself. He wanted to treat her with gentleness, show her
beauty, and know he hadn’t tarnished the wonderful shining within her. And if he did tell her, what if she left him and ran headlong into the dangerous situation Benoit said might kill her? How the hell had he gotten himself into this mess?

He heard her resigned sigh as she turned over and made herself more comfortable. A short time later her breathing altered, steadied, and he knew she was asleep.

He didn’t move for another five minutes, waiting for her slumber to deepen. Then he slipped from the bed, shrugged into his robe, and padded to the door leading to the sitting room. A minute later he was at the desk punching in Cass’s room number on the phone. Cass picked up the phone on the second ring. “Cass, I need you to contact Randal right away.”

Cass chuckled. “It’s three-thirty in the morning. Lord, Brody, you must be becoming an insomniac too. Not that I’m complaining, you understand. The worst thing about not sleeping is the loneliness. Why do I have to contact Randal? He’ll give me the report as soon as he gets it.”

“I want my security doubled and expanded to cover Sacha Lorion.”

Cass was no longer laughing. “You’re expecting trouble?”

“Possibly.”

“From whom?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Brody said. “Just take care of beefing up the security. It seems that Sacha has a past that may become very actively
present. I’m keeping her with me at all times both here at the suite and at the theater.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “How … interesting.”

“Cass …” Brody stopped. How could he clarify the situation to Cass when he didn’t understand it himself? “Oh, never mind. Good night, Cass.”

“I wish,” Cass said wistfully. “If you can’t go back to sleep, why don’t you come down the hall and we’ll play a hand or two of gin rummy?”

Brody hung up the receiver and strode back to the bedroom. He moved silently to the bed and untied the belt of his robe. He had a press conference at ten and he might as well try to get a few hours sleep even if—

The
scent
of her—floral, evocative, wafting to him in the darkness. His heart began to pound. Heat flooded his loins.

“Damn!” He turned on his heel and strode out of the bedroom and across the sitting room.

His hand was trembling as he reached for the phone. “Cass, I can’t leave Sacha alone here, but why don’t you bring that gin rummy game down to my suite?”

“Where to tonight?” Brody asked as he took Sacha’s elbow and propelled her down the hall toward the stage door. “I hear San Diego has some fabulous Mexican restaurants.”

“We could go to an all-night grocery store and shop for food. Then I could make a meal for us at the suite,” Sacha suggested. “I didn’t really get an opportunity to show you what a wonderful cook I am. Quiche is no challenge.”

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea.” Brody didn’t look at her as he opened the door and allowed her to precede him. “I wouldn’t want to impose. It’s late, and you must be tired.”

“Why? All I’ve done today is trail around after you to press interviews and previews and meetings. It’s you who should be tired.” She frowned disapprovingly. “You should not have stayed up
all night playing cards with Cass. Do you do that often?”

“No, not often.”

“Then, it
is
me,” she said despondently. “You could not sleep with me. You should have told me. You said you weren’t accustomed to sleeping with anyone but I thought— Tonight I will sleep on the couch.”

“Neither one of us will take the couch. I called housekeeping and told them to send up a rollaway bed and put it in the sitting room.”

“I am being a great bother.” She cast him a worried glance. “Perhaps I should not let you do all this for—”

“Hello, Barry.” Brody smiled at the thin sandy-haired man waiting outside the stage door. “Everything okay?”

The young man nodded. “No sign of trouble, Mr. Devlin.”

“Sacha, this is Barry Levine from Randal Security.”

“How do you do,” Sacha said. “Have you been standing out here all evening just waiting for us?”

Levine looked surprised. “Well … yes, ma’am.”

A flicker of concern crossed Sacha’s face before she smiled brightly. “I’ve always wanted to meet a private investigator. You must do a great many more interesting things than wait in alleys for people like Brody and me. Why don’t you come to dinner with us and tell us all about your job? I think Brody wants Mexican food. Perhaps you don’t like it?”

The young man looked slightly dazed. “I love Mexican food but—”

“Fine. Then it’s settled, you will join us for dinner. Do you have your own car or will you go with us? Harris is parked over there.” She gestured at the Lincoln and then turned to Brody. “Do you suppose Harris would like to join us too? It must be very lonely for him just sitting in the car.”

Brody’s lips were twitching. “We can only ask.”

“My partner and I have our own car,” Barry Levine said. “But I really don’t think—”

“Then you will follow us, and tell your partner he must come too.” Sacha started toward the Lincoln parked a few yards down the alley. “We will see you at the restaurant. I will tell Harris to go slow so that you can follow us and not get lost.”

“Mr. Devlin …” Levine looked at him helplessly.

Brody nodded solemnly. “Yes, Barry, be sure you don’t get lost.” He fell into step with Sacha, feeling Levine’s bewildered gaze on them as they walked down the alley. He suddenly began to chuckle.

“Why are you laughing?” Sacha asked.

“I was thinking about what Randal is going to say when he hears that his man had dinner with the client. He prides himself on his men’s discreet, self-effacing image.”

“This Randal sounds very stuffy. Why shouldn’t that poor young man have dinner with us?”

“Poor?”

“Well, can’t you imagine how depressed he must get just standing around waiting for something
bad to happen? And look how thin he is. I’m sure he doesn’t eat properly. We must make sure he has a good meal tonight, at least.”

“By all means. Now let’s see, tonight we take care of Harris’s boredom and Levine’s nutrition problem. Do you think we should pick up the cop on the beat and see what we can do for him?”

“Stop laughing.” Uncertain, she looked up at him. “You don’t really mind, do you?”

His laughter faded but the warmth lingered in his eyes. “No, I don’t mind,” he said gently. “We may have an interesting evening.” He opened the passenger door of the limousine for her. “I’m sure it won’t be boring.”