Baring It All (Mills & Boon Temptation)

by Sandra Chastain

  There was an enthusiastic outbreak of applause followed by “We hope to raise enough money tonight to turn this building into a state-of-the-art community theater. So, if you haven’t already done so, stop at one of our booths on the way out and buy your sweetheart a rose.” He laughed lightly and added, “Of course we’d appreciate it if you’d wrap the rose in a nice check for the Arts Council.”

  Ryan Malone was close enough to Sunny that she could have reached out and touched him. He never made direct eye contact with her. It was just as well. She’d have imploded, leaving nothing but the green dress in her seat. Every molecule of her body was, for lack of a better word, shimmering. There had been men in her life before, but there had never been an earth-moving relationship. Not even close. Now she was experiencing such an acute physical reaction that she entirely missed what he was saying. Unexpectedly, he leaned down, handed her the rose he was carrying and winked, then stepped back between the curtains. The stage went black, leaving Sunny Clary stunned in the darkness. Ryan Malone knew how to get to a woman and he’d done it without saying a word.

  There was a rectangle of paper wrapped around the stem of the rose that was probably a check. Great bit, Malone, she thought, letting out the breath she was holding. He was setting an example for the other guests. Apparently Lord Sin wasn’t the only showman present. And if he was half as sexy as this Malone, she was beginning to get a hint of the stripper’s appeal.

  Next a local rock group recently nominated for a Grammy performed their hit song to tempered applause. Then the outer curtain was raised for a beautifully choreographed modern dance presentation, and, finally, an original composition by the symphony who’d donated their services as the orchestra for the evening. By the time they’d finished, Sunny had gathered her senses and given herself a stern talk about staying focused on her assignment instead of Ryan Malone. She’d turn the check over to the council and send the rose home with Walt for his wife. For now, Sunny Clary, inquiring reporter, was ready for the grand finale, the last performance of Lord Sin.

  Once more the theater went dark. The orchestra began to play a haunting melody. The curtain went up, revealing the skyline of a Far Eastern city in the background. The stage had been transformed into the balcony of a palace in old Baghdad. Someone in the audience must have rubbed Aladdin’s brass lamp. Stars twinkled in the distance while clouds moved across the night sky. Sunny opened her purse and flicked on the recorder and placed it on the table beside the fake candle. The melody would be good background sound for the interview. The music increased in intensity, as did the tension in the audience. Then came a crescendo of sound and a swirl of smoke and there he was.

  Wearing the flowing purple and golden robes of an Arabian prince, Lord Sin sat astride a white stallion who held its head as proudly as the masked performer he was carrying. The horse stood motionless, until his master dismounted, administered an affectionate pat and let him go. A shake of his mane and the horse raced offstage and vanished into the wings. Then the smoke rose once more and Sin was alone on the balcony. Clouds seemed to surround him as he moved stealthily forward, his body swaying to the tinny sound of the flute and the heartbeat of the drums. An intense inner passion seemed to drive the dancer’s fluid movement.

  From the cobbled floor, Lord Sin nimbly leaped onto a wall, his golden robe billowing out, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of flesh beneath. Somehow, the music and the man gave the illusion of distance. Then, swaying and dancing nimbly along the top of the wall, he moved closer to the front of the stage.

  Sunny felt herself leaning forward, shook her head and sat up straight. She didn’t know what the other women were doing, but she knew that this man was a master of seduction. Finally, he reached the front of the stage that extended in the audience. The music died down and she realized that he was speaking. At first the voice was just lyrical, deep and throaty, not so much words as sounds. Finally, he looked down into the audience and, for just a moment, straight at her.

  He wore a mask that covered his face and head. Only his eyes and mouth were exposed. From beneath that mask a mass of golden curls fell across his shoulders.

  “Hello, my lady in green. Welcome to Sin’s house. You know about sin, don’t you?” He paused and waited, as if he expected her to answer.

  She swallowed hard and let out a deep breath.

  “No? Then I’ll consider it my pleasure to make you want to.”

  Someone behind Sunny whispered, “Oh, Lordy, he’s looking at me. I’m going to faint right here in front of God and everybody.”

  The woman was wrong. Lord Sin was looking at Sunny Clary and he was talking to her. She felt every word reach inside her and snatch her breath away. There was no air. The crowd all seemed to inhale at the same time. She stared up at him, trembling, shaking with a need that came out of nowhere. The fantasy setting. The hypnotic effect of the music. Lord Sin was a David Copperfield illusion, a dream lover. The voice, a melodic whisper, indistinguishable, yet compelling, saying the kinds of things women secretly wanted to hear. All combined to weave his magic and create desire.

  Sunny Clary was caught up in the spell of a master craftsman, the mysterious, passionate Lord Sin. At that moment, her rational mind knew that the story, whatever it turned out to be, was more than she’d bargained for. The sensual woman within her knew she’d never give up until she’d experienced the truth—whatever it was.

  2

  SUNNY GAVE HIM CREDIT, Lord Sin knew how to set a scene. There was a subtle scent of jasmine in the air, and the heated kind of stillness that would drive a passionate woman from her bed to walk on the balcony in the moonlight. The music softened to the lonely wail of a single flute. In the distance a drumbeat echoed across the night.

  The low whisper of his voice began once more. “Just use your imagination, darling. Close out everything. We’re alone together. Feel how I touch you.” She could have sworn she felt a faint feathery sensation skitter across her breasts, as though she’d been caressed.

  She gasped. How in the world could the man’s voice create such feelings? It had to be some kind of hypnotism. But how could that be? Though Lord Sin’s face was turned toward her, she could see neither his eyes nor his mouth. The deep fire of his voice was an illusion. Still, its very timbre fed the unmistakable arc between them. In spite of her best efforts, her breath quickened and she felt an answering throb inside her. “No,” she said. “You’re not getting to me.”

  “I want you,” he whispered, as if he’d heard the words she hadn’t known she’d spoken aloud. “You don’t have to speak. I see the blaze in your eyes. Let yourself go. Think of how we would be—our bodies joined, our lips together.”

  Sin waited for a moment. Then his expression registered surprise, as if some unseen spirit had touched him. He caught his robe, ruffled it and pulled it over his face so that he disappeared into the darkness. A collective moan rose from the audience. But not one woman moved. Other than the plaintive cry of the music, there was not a breath of sound in the theater.

  As mysteriously as he’d vanished, Lord Sin reappeared in midair, atop an onion dome at the corner of the balcony. A violin joined the flute and drum and Sin rippled his robe once more, giving the audience a tantalizing glimpse of his body beneath as he leaped to the floor. Then the robe was gone and the man stood, silhouetted by the illusion of moonlight, his body nude, yet not, shimmering in the light. She could see the muscles in his thighs and chest quiver as he breathed. Like some jungle creature poised to ravage its prey, he was truly magnificent.

  Sensually, slowly, his fingers began to move. He reached out, his palm touching the face of an unseen lover, lingering there, then moving down the column of a neck and lower, cupping the breasts of a woman who existed only in the mind of the watcher. He bent his head and there was no doubt that he was kissing her. With his other hand he reached down and seemed to pull her lower body to his. You could almost see her clasp his neck and arch her body upward. Like graceful, ghostly figures dancing throu
gh the silver smoke and golden clouds, he moved across the balcony with this imaginary woman. Like a man enchanted, he pulled her against him so that his lips could touch what no one but he could see.

  Sunny didn’t have to be told that every woman watching could feel his mouth on her own. His breathing, fast and shallow, grew louder. Then, just when he seemed to have reached the point of an explosion, Sin flung out one hand, sprinkling the audience with particles of fiery embers that flared, burned out, leaving only the shadow of their path in the darkness. The stage went black.

  Sin’s disembodied voice remained. “Oh, yes, my lady of fire. You want me, too. You feel my lips touching yours. Tonight, you’ll have erotic dreams of me and maybe I’ll come to you in secret. Not on a stage in a fantasy but to your bed, at the darkest hour of the night.”

  A moment later he was back at center stage, on one knee, his arms extended. Imploring. His imaginary lover was gone, leaving him bereft in the artificial moonlight. He lowered his head and, almost in anguish, flung one arm across his chest. He looked as if he was nude but he was not. Instead, he wore a flesh-toned fabric that fit him like a second skin, revealing every ripple of movement.

  The drumbeat grew louder. The man was on fire and so was his audience.

  Sunny shifted her weight, trying to erase the responding quiver of heat building inside of her. Lord Sin stood and reached out for her. A moan and a leap took him to the top of the wall and back to a spot directly in front of Sunny. The skintight costume was so transparent that she could see the hair on his chest, the clenching of muscles in his thighs, the fullness that hinted of arousal. He was caught up in desire. If he was faking, Lord Sin was a master at his craft. He moaned, his breath turning into a gasping pant in the sudden dead silence. In search of his imaginary lover, the dancer swept about the stage, each move more desperate. The tempo of the music began to build once more. A woman across the room let out a husky gasp. Sunny shook her head in a useless attempt to regain control of her own mind and body.

  Sin was moving toward her. Reaching the spot where she sat, the dancer stopped. “Don’t lie to yourself, darling. Your body is reaching out to mine even if your mind denies it. You and I were meant to be one. Together we’ll make a fire like you’ve never known. And when we love, the world will burn.”

  The music rose to a crescendo and the stage went dark for the final time.

  For a long minute, not one person in the audience moved. Sunny sat transformed, stunned. What had happened here? How had the man taken such overwhelming control of his audience? She felt her unused notepad slide from her lap but she hadn’t the strength to retrieve it. Her nerve endings were still tingling, protesting the abatement of the fire that had flamed them.

  “What? How?” she finally whispered. “How did he do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Walt’s booming voice said as he crouched in the darkness beside her table. “But I wish he’d bottle the stuff. I’d take it home and spoon some into my wife’s cereal.”

  Sunny looked at Walt. She shook her head, trying desperately to gather her senses. “Did we get him on tape?”

  “No, I didn’t videotape anything.”

  “Did they stop you?” Sunny’s voice might be in outer space, but the rest of her was still in a fiery pit. The theater lights came on, softly, maintaining the mood.

  “You bet. The minute I hoisted my camera onto my shoulder there was a man beside me, shaking his head. He didn’t say anything but I got the message. From then on, I was just a member of the audience. Never saw anything like it. I feel like I’ve been barbecued. From the inside out. Me—a guy. Don’t you ever tell my wife.”

  “He’s using some kind of mass hypnosis,” she said, her voice tight and low. She leaned over to retrieve her pad.

  Then she heard him. “Did you like my dancing, darling?”

  “What the hell?” she swore.

  “Not hell, darling, heaven,” Lord Sin whispered.

  “A microphone,” Sunny said. “You put a microphone in the candle holder.” She stared at the device on the table. “When my boss, Ted Fields, sent me over here, he said you spoke directly to the women in your audience. I didn’t believe him.”

  “Not to all of them. Tonight, I spoke only to you.”

  Walt groaned. “The boss was right. The man’s a hypnotist. He’s got you talking to a candle. And heaven help us all, the candle’s talking back.”

  “Shush!” Sunny said, her finger against her lips.

  “Not women,” Sin corrected. “Couldn’t you tell? Tonight my performance was just for you.”

  Sunny shook her head vigorously. Maybe she was kidding herself but she had the intoxicating impression that he was still as aroused as she. Was that the secret of his success, making every woman feel as if she were totally desirable? Pulling on every ounce of her professional control, she marshaled her thoughts and switched into reporter mode. “Thank you for the special attention, Lord Sin. But if you believe you were arousing me,” she added more bravely than she felt, “you’re out of your mind.”

  “Oh?” He didn’t try to conceal the amusement in his raw-silk voice. “I don’t think so. I watched you. I know what I feel. Don’t pretend I didn’t get to you.”

  Sunny swallowed hard. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not easily—seduced—by a voice. You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “Sorry, my love, that’s impossible. Didn’t you hear? This is Lord Sin’s last performance.”

  “But I have it straight from your own lips.” She was thinking desperately. “Lord Sin promised me that he’d make love to me soon. What’s the matter? Aren’t you up to seducing a real woman? Or do you just talk out of your candle?”

  He laughed, his deep voice soft and hoarse. “Oh, I’m up to it, all right. I’ll even admit it, you aroused me, too. It’s been years since a woman has had that effect on me on stage. Why do you think I didn’t strip to my G-string like I usually do?”

  That thought almost did her in. “Considering the fact that whatever it was you were wearing was like wearing nothing at all, I hadn’t thought about your G-string one way or the other.”

  “But you will, my beauty. You will. And if you really want me…I suppose we might meet again before I disappear forever. I’ve never indulged myself. For once, I just might.”

  “When?”

  But the voice was gone. And she hadn’t pinned him down for an interview. Her big chance and she’d failed and it was her own fault. Where had her mind been? Drowning in the physical sensation he’d created, that’s where. The scoundrel was everything they’d said he was. But who was he?

  Sunny came to her feet. “Get to the front door, Walt. If Lord Sin comes that way, video him, his car—whatever.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To his dressing room. Please, we have to hurry!”

  “You got it,” Walt said, muttering as he left. “Wish I’d brought my wife. She’ll never believe what I saw.”

  But a quick trip to his dressing room confirmed to Sunny that it was empty. Not even his costume remained. Sunny was beginning to wonder if Lord Sin was real.

  “MAY I HELP YOU?”

  Sunny turned to face the same woman who’d delivered her seat of honor ticket. “I was looking for Lord Sin.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss…”

  “Clary,” Sunny said. “Sara Frances Clary. But everyone calls me Sunny.”

  “…Clary, but he’s already left the building.”

  “I don’t understand how I missed him, Miss…?”

  “Lamour. Lottie Lamour,” the gray-haired woman answered pleasantly.

  “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to—to make an appointment for tomorrow,” Sunny said dejectedly.

  “I’m very sorry but that won’t be possible,” Lottie said and turned to walk away.

  “Just a minute,” Sunny said, “you don’t understand. This is my first assignment. Lord Sin donated this building to the Arts Council and I’m covering the fund-raiser for W
TRU.”

  Lottie kept walking, drawing Sunny away from the dressing rooms. “And I’m certain you’ll cover it very well.”

  “But surely Lord Sin would want to be given credit for this wonderful evening.”

  Lottie stopped and turned back to face her. “Of course, my dear. And you’ll do that, won’t you?”

  “I need to talk with him,” Sunny insisted. “Every reporter gives his subject a chance to respond.”

  “But Lord Sin isn’t your subject,” the older woman said patiently. “Your story is the theater.”

  “No, the theater is only window-dressing,” Sunny said. “My story is the man.”

  Lottie’s lips curved into a smile but her eyes were cold. “Good night, Miss Clary.”

  Sunny watched her walk away. There was no possibility she was going to reach Sin through Miss Lottie. She’d have to find another way to get to him. Sunny called after her, “Please thank Lord Sin for the seat of honor. Tell him I look forward to meeting him again.”

  She’d check with Walt but she already knew that he wouldn’t have seen the mystery man leave the theater. There were probably secret entrances and exits that nobody but the dancer knew about. She swore again under her breath. Then, confirming the presence of her tape recorder in her purse, Sunny hurried across the stage and down the steps. With the recorder directly beside the candle she had to have captured the dancer’s voice.

  Dancer. She’d called him a stripper before but he was truly more than that. Showman, entertainer, magician, hypnotist. She’d totally underestimated the extent of his sorcery and the difficulty she’d faced. Even knowing what was said about the man, she’d admit it, she’d let him get to her. Well, she wasn’t giving up her search, but tonight she resigned herself to going after her second choice for an interview, the bad-boy real estate tycoon, Ryan Malone.