The Spellbinder: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Iris Johansen

  “Do they?” He fastened the ermine-covered button at her throat and arranged the shining bell of her hair to free it of the jeweled collar. “I think it looks better on you.” He stood gazing at her and felt a familiar tightening of his throat. Her eyes—clear, honest, and warm with humor and joy—gazed back at him. His hands moved from her hair to cup her face gently. “Sacha, Sacha, what am I supposed to do with you?”

  Her face was suddenly alight with mischief. “You should know better than I, but I think you’ve done it. We have only to repeat. First, though, I believe it would be nice if you held me. I understand that is pleasant also.”

  He sat down on the bed and pulled her into his arms. “Like this?” His voice was husky. He rocked her gently back and forth, his lips brushing her temple. “Anything else, milady? Perhaps I should break into a few verses of “How to Handle a Woman.” Though I wouldn’t recommend it. A voice like mine needs all the help it can get from the orchestra.”

  “You do very well.” Her palm stroked the softness of his dark brown velvet surcoat. She was content enough to purr as her cheek nestled dreamily against his shoulder. “Though I never really understood why you took the part. It’s so much lighter than the roles you usually choose.”

  “I wasn’t going to do it.” His hand came up beneath her hair to rub the tendons of her nape. “I was prepared to turn it down right up to the very last page of the script. Then I came to Arthur’s speech to the boy Tom. Do you remember? He talks about mankind as less than a drop of water in the sunlit sea.”

  “I remember.”

  “And then he says, ‘Some of the drops do sparkle.’ He was a man with a broken dream, but he could still see hope shining in the darkness. I liked that. I think this weary old world needs all the hope we can bring to it.”

  “Yet you claim you’re a hardened cynic,” she whispered. “I don’t believe a cynic would take a role just because it was about hope.”

  “Maybe not.” His tone was self-mocking. “Maybe I really took it because I wanted to show the world how versatile I was. Vanity, pure and simple.”

  “No,” she protested. “It wasn’t for that reason. Why do you—”

  “You don’t think I’m versatile?” He bore her back on the bed. “I’m always willing to demonstrate.” His fingers were at her throat, unfastening the ermine closing he had so recently buttoned. His eyes darkened and his mockery vanished as he parted the robe and looked down at her. “If milady permits?”

  She could feel the heated tension start to spiral within her. The world was beginning to narrow down to checkered sunlight and Brody’s intent eyes gazing down at her. “Milady applauds,” she said, and reached up to touch his cheek with a fingertip. “Could I see your face this time?”

  He turned his head to catch her finger between his lips. “I’m not sure I want you to. You see entirely too much, and I don’t know if I care to be vulnerable to anyone.”

  “I’m vulnerable but I’m not afraid.”

  He nibbled at her fingers, not looking at her. Then his gaze swung back to her, and she experienced a little shock at what she saw there. It couldn’t be.… Then whatever emotion had been revealed was first veiled and then gone and she realized she must have been mistaken. “But you’re braver than I, Sacha.” He parted her legs and moved between them. “I thought you realized that by now.” The expression on his face was half sad, half tender, as he looked down at her. “But I’ll try to have a little of your courage.” His lips lowered until their lips were only a breath away. “Because I want to watch your face, too, love.”

  The drive back to Malibu was almost silent, and Brody was curiously remote and abstracted.

  Sacha gazed at him in puzzlement. “Is something wrong?”

  “What?” Brody’s gaze left the view passing by the window. “Oh, no. Everything’s fine. I was just thinking.” He reached over to take her hand and raise it to his lips. “I had a few decisions to make.”

  “The movie or the Broadway play? Which did you decide on?”

  He lowered his gaze to her hand. “I definitely decided on the play.”

  “When do the rehearsals start?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said vaguely. “I’ll have to see about making arrangements.” His gaze returned to the scene outside the window. “Soon.” He didn’t speak again until Harris drew up before the white stone-and-glass modernistic house and Brody had helped her from the car. “You go on inside.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the black Ford sedan coming up the winding cliff road. “I want to have a word with Levine. Why don’t you make us a light lunch?”

  “You’re hungry?”

  “Starved,” he said absently, his gaze never leaving Levine’s car. “Run along now.”

  “All right.” She started up the steps. “A salad and sandwiches?”

  “Anything.”

  The Ford had pulled up in front of the garage, and Brody walked toward it.

  Sacha paused uncertainly, her hand on the knob of the door. Brody had been behaving most peculiarly since they had left the theater, and now he was obviously trying to get rid of her. Barry Levine had gotten out of the car, and Brody was standing next to him, speaking to him in low, rapid sentences that were inaudible to Sacha from where she was standing.

  She gave a half shrug and opened the door. Oh, well. Maybe Brody was scolding Levine for letting her slip away from his man this morning. She would have to remember to tell Brody to deal more gently with Barry. The poor man had been having a difficult time of it since she had appeared on the scene.

  Lunch. Sandwiches seemed entirely too commonplace today, when she felt like a celebration. Perhaps she would make a salmon crepe. If Brody was truly hungry, she could fix him a few canapés to hold him over until the culinary masterpiece.

  She shut the door and hurried down the hall toward the kitchen, trying to recall the recipe for the cream sauce for the crepes.

  “What are all these?” Sacha gazed in astonishment as Harris set down two large pigskin suitcases in the foyer.

  “Your luggage.” Brody strolled forward to stand beside her. “How many more bags are there, Harris?”

  “Three suitcases and one overnighter.” Harris said with a grin. “I’ll be back in a minute. You want them in the master bedroom?”

  Brody nodded. “We’ll unpack them later.”

  Harris nodded as he turned to go. “Right you are.”

  “Unpack?” Sacha pulled her gaze away from Harris’s departing figure and lifted it to Brody’s face.

  “I called a shop in Rodeo Drive and had them send out a few things for you to wear. You said you had to leave Paris with practically nothing.”

  “A few things. Five suitcases constitutes more than a bare minimum, I would say.” There was a caustic edge to her words. “It borders on the ridiculous.”

  “Well, I actually prefer you in the bare minimum, but I decided not to indulge myself. It’s very bad for my character.” His light eyes twinkled down at her. “After all, letting you get dressed occasionally might make the other times more titillating.”

  The color rose to her cheeks. It was true neither of them had been overly concerned with clothes for the past twenty-four hours. After they had returned from the theater yesterday afternoon, Brody had not only failed to do justice to her wonderful lunch, he had ignored it altogether, whisking her off to the bedroom with a practiced seductive skill that had set her head spinning and her heart pounding. There had been an almost frantic urgency about his lovemaking that had puzzled her at first. Later she had not been able to think at all as he wove about her a fiery web of sensuality that excluded everything but sensation. “I don’t think you have need of titillation,” she said dryly. “And I will not take these clothes.”

  His smile faded. “Why not?”

  She made an impatient gesture with one hand. “It’s impossible. Like something from a romance novel. Gestures like this … It’s too much.”

  “Heaven knows I don’t pretend to be
a hero from a romance novel.” Brody’s lips tightened. “Who should know better than you that the superstar has feet of clay? It’s only a present, for heaven’s sake.”

  “It would smother me. I told you I couldn’t bear to take—”

  “I liked you in that blue velvet robe,” he said, his expression growing stormy. “I wanted to see you in something besides jeans and Donald Duck T-shirts. I bought them for me, dammit.”

  “Then I’m sure they’re definitely the wrong size and that they wouldn’t suit you at all.”

  “Sacha …” Exasperation turned into a flare of anger. “All right. Let’s put this on a strictly business level. You don’t seem to know how to accept a gift graciously.” He was speaking through clenched teeth. “Marceline’s women are fifteen hundred dollars a night, base price. I figure yesterday afternoon at the theater should count for at least one night. Then there was last night. That’s three thousand dollars. Of course, some of the things we did would have cost me extra. Say, four thousand.” He grabbed her wrist and strode down the hall, pulling her behind him. “Does that coincide with your figures?”

  “Yes … no …” Sacha stammered. “Where are we going?”

  “The guest room. Harris will be taking the bags to the master suite, and we don’t want to be interrupted.” He threw open the door, jerked her into the room, and slammed the door. “I don’t know how much those damn clothes cost, and I certainly wouldn’t want you to feel in debt. I’d say another six or seven hours in the sack ought to do it. If you’re lucky, I’ll be the one owing you.”

  “Why are you so angry?” she whispered.

  “Because you’re cheating me.” His eyes blazed into her own. “You’re stealing the pleasure I would have gotten from giving to you. You’re always talking about giving. What about me? I’ve been a selfish bastard all my life, and never even wanted to give to anyone before. It’s the first time for me, and I have to pick a woman who records everything in credit and debit columns. Well, what are you waiting for? Take off your clothes.”

  She was gazing at him in surprise. Her fingers automatically moved to unbutton her blouse. “Very well.”

  “You’d do it.” He jerked her hand away from her blouse. “Over a bunch of stupid rags. What kind of man do you think I am that I’d make you— Why the hell are you laughing? It’s not funny, dammit.”

  Her eyes were dancing. “Oh, but it is.” Her fingers reached up to touch the broad plane of his cheek. “Brody, I’ll take the ‘stupid rags,’ and I absolutely refuse to pay for them on my back. Are you satisfied?”

  “You’re not just saying that?” he asked suspiciously.

  She held up her hand. “No, truly. What is more, I refuse to cook you even one meal to pay for them.”

  He began to relax. “Not even one meal? I may have created a monster.”

  “Too late.” Her finger moved down to trace the clean cut of his lips. “I may even decide to demand more from you. Perhaps a new Mercedes or a Rolls-Royce.”

  “Why?” he asked softly, his gaze searching her face. “Why, Sacha?”

  “Because you’re right. I am selfish. I never realized how selfish I was being before.” Her eyes were thoughtful. “It is a joy to me to give to people, and yet I refused to accept gifts from anyone else.” Her expression became grave. “It will not be easy for me; I’ll probably backslide quite often.”

  “I’ll break you in easy. We’ll skip the Rolls.”

  She laughed huskily as she nodded. “I probably wouldn’t have time to drive it during the short time I’ll be here anyway.”

  His smile vanished. “That’s right, you wouldn’t. I forgot for the moment this was only a temporary arrangement.” He took her hand from his mouth and lingeringly kissed the palm. “So why don’t you get undressed?”

  She grinned. “I’m afraid to waste my time. You can’t seem to make up your mind on that score.”

  “It’s made up now.” There was a flicker of pain in his face before he smiled. “I’d be a fool not to take advantage of our time together, wouldn’t I? We’ve already discussed what a valuable commodity you are.”

  Sacha’s smile faded. Yes, and she would also be a fool. These were golden moments, perhaps the only ones she’d ever know. Giving, taking, what difference did it make? In years to come the shards of memory would all mellow and merge into one halcyon whole. She smiled tenderly as she resumed unbuttoning her blouse. “And I’m only a beginner. I’m sure I’ll increase in value with experience.” She shrugged out of the blouse and tossed it on the chair beside the bed. “And with your expert tutelage, of course.”

  “Of course,” he repeated lightly as he took a step closer. Yet there was nothing light in the expression in his eyes, they held only gravity, tenderness, and a strange melancholy. “My poor talents are always at your disposal, milady.”

  And his hands gently cupped her naked breasts.

  “A sand dune!” Sacha laughed delightedly as she ran toward the knoll that had been tinted a rose-beige hue in the last light of the setting sun. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I seem to recall you saying something about a sand dune.” She tilted her head and pretended to think. “Now, what was it?”

  “It would be better for both of us if you forget that particular fantasy until we get back to the house,” Brody said dryly. “Levine and his men are watching our every move, and I find I’m not as much of an exhibitionist as I thought.” He paused. “Not with you.”

  Her eyes softened. “Good. I like that.” She threw herself down on the sand, leaned back against the dune’s cushioning softness, and sighed with contentment. “Though I’ll admit you draw a very exciting word picture, I would not like to share our lovemaking. Particularly since Barry is such a camera bug.”

  Brody became still. “Camera bug?”

  “Yes, didn’t you notice? He’s been shooting pictures of us ever since we started walking on the beach.”

  Brody’s eyes shifted to the scarlet and mauve brilliance of the sunset. “I guess I didn’t pay any attention.”

  Sacha chuckled. “Maybe he takes pictures of all his famous clients as old-age insurance. Someday he’ll probably write a book—Bodyguard to the Stars—and make a million dollars.”

  “I doubt it. Randal makes his men sign an oath of confidentiality that probably precludes exposés. It’s more likely just a hobby.” He reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. I’m hungry. Let’s go back to the house and I’ll cook dinner.”

  “You cook?”

  “Why not? I don’t have any hang-ups about keeping women in the kitchen.” A tiny smile tugged at his lips. “And since your declaration of independence, I’d be afraid to ask you to be chef.”

  “But I like to cook. I’m a wonderful cook.”

  He gave a mock martyr’s sigh. “Very well, if you insist. I’ll make the supreme sacrifice and just sit and watch.”

  She made a face at him. “Oh, no. You have a wonderful talent also. While you’re sitting watching me cook you can work on it.”

  He gazed at her warily. “Work on what?”

  “That sand-dune fantasy. I think, if you tried, you could embellish it with all kinds of interesting highlights and variations for me. It might be very exciting.” She frowned sternly. “But for later. We must not waste another meal. It will be something to look forward to after dinner.”

  A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Like dessert?”

  She nodded. “Exactly like dessert.”

  His laughter rang out over the beach as his hand tightened on hers and they started toward the steps leading to the house on the cliff.

  Nine

  The pistol shone with a deadly cold luster in the soft diffusion of the lamplight.

  Sacha gazed with shock at the gun in the drawer of the bedside table. It was as if she had opened the drawer to see a snake coiled and ready to strike. She reached out a tentative finger to touch the mother-of-pearl handle.

  “Sacha, where di
d you put—” Brody stopped, pausing in the doorway of the bathroom wearing only a towel knotted around his hips, his chestnut hair water-darkened to deep brown from the shower. “Don’t touch it. I’m not sure the safety is on.”

  She jerked her hand back as it had been burned. “I was looking for a nail file. I thought I saw one in here this morning.” She turned slowly to look at him. “There was no gun in this drawer then.”

  “No, there wasn’t.” Brody came forward and decisively shut the drawer. “I asked Levine to give me a few guns for the house. There’s also one in the cutlery drawer of the kitchen cabinet and another in the hall closet.” He smiled. “Just so you don’t receive any more unpleasant surprises.”

  “Three guns.” She shook her head dazedly. “Why so many? Why even one? You have all those guards outside. There’s no chance anyone could get inside.” Her eyes widened in sudden alarm. “Or is there?”

  “I just like to be on the safe side.” He didn’t look at her as he turned back toward the bathroom. “Where did you put the hair dryer? I can’t find the damn thing.”

  “In the bottom drawer of the vanity.” She followed him across the bedroom. “But why now? We’ve been here three days, and there has been no sign of Gino. Why would you want to make the house an armed camp?”

  “Three guns don’t make an armed camp.” Brody plugged the hair dryer into the socket on the wall beside the vanity. “Why don’t you make us an Irish coffee? I liked that touch of cinnamon you used—”

  “Why are you always sending me off to cook when you want to distract me?” She came forward into the bathroom and unplugged the hair dryer. “And you should not use electrical appliances in the bathroom. I read an article that said many people are electrocuted while using hair dryers near water. That’s why I put it in the bottom drawer. We will buy you a portable one that runs on batteries.”

  A smile curved his lips. “Yes, ma’am. Is it all right if I use it in the bedroom?”

  “Of course.” She felt a melting deep inside as she looked at him. That lazily mischievous smile should be against the law, Sacha told herself. “In fact, I will do it for you. Remember, you dried my hair one night?”