Notorious

by Iris Johansen

  “I wasn’t.” Mallory came out of the tiny bathroom after dressing for dinner. “You didn’t have to sleep on them.”

  “That’s true.” He met her gaze. “Neither did you. You know Sabin would have—”

  “I haven’t seen Sabin lately.” She tried to keep her tone casual. “Has he left Sedikhan?”

  Carey shook his head. “He’s been having meetings with the reigning sheikh. I’ve seen him almost every day.” He grinned. “Shall I tell him you inquired?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I only wondered why … He said he’d be around.”

  His grin faded. “I told you Sabin couldn’t stand around idle when things aren’t going to his satisfaction. He’s very protective of you, and I’d bet he knew the only way he could allow you to fight your own battles was not to be there to see them.”

  Happiness and relief flowed through her. “You think so?”

  He nodded. “Now that you’ve slain your dragon, he’ll be knocking on your door.”

  A knock sounded at the trailer door.

  Carey chuckled. “Right on cue.” He threw up his hands. “As God is my witness, I swear I didn’t stage this.”

  Her heart gave a leap. Sabin?

  She jumped up, crossed the room in three strides, and opened the door.

  James Delage stood on the grass outside the trailer looking as cool and Brooks-Brothers-neat in the hot Mideastern sun as he had when she had last seen him in New York.

  She blinked, gazing at him in disbelief. “James?”

  He smiled. “The same. Don’t I get a hug after traveling all this way?”

  Mallory flew down the steps and into his arms. “James, what on earth are you doing here?”

  He kissed her cheek, his arms holding her close. “You know Gerda and I didn’t like the idea of your going to this outlandish place. We were worried about you.”

  “So you came halfway around the world to check up on me?”

  “Are you kidding?” He shook his head ruefully. “You know I couldn’t afford a trip like this if it wasn’t on an expense account. Sedikhan Oil threw some business my way, and I let them pick up the tab.” He kissed her lightly on the lips again. “I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. Put Gerda’s mind at rest and dip my toes into international law.”

  “I’m glad you did.” Mallory hugged him again. “Did you bring Gerda with you?”

  He shook his head. “Sedikhan Oil wouldn’t shell out for my spouse.”

  “Really?” Carey stood in the doorway looking down at them. “We’ve dealt with them before and found them very generous to their employees when they bring them overseas for any length of time.”

  Mallory felt James stiffen against her as he looked overhead at Carey. “Who the devil are you?”

  Carey looked surprised at James’s belligerence. “Carey Litzke.”

  “Carey’s connected with Global Cinema,” Mallory said. “He acts as a liaison between the production company and Wyatt Enterprises. This is James Delage, Carey.”

  “Hi,” Carey said casually. “I understand you and Mallory are great friends.”

  “Yes.” James didn’t smile. “Very good friends.”

  Mallory stepped back out of James’s embrace. “We were just going to dinner. Come with us?”

  James’s gaze was still fixed coldly on Carey. “Delighted.”

  “Good.” Carey came down the steps and closed the door. “Wyatt Enterprises has a good deal of clout with Sedikhan Oil. Maybe I could put in a word with them and ask them to bring your wife over.”

  “No,” James said and when Mallory looked at him in surprise, he smiled easily. “I’m only going to be here for a short time, and I don’t want to make waves with a new client.”

  Carey shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

  Mallory slipped an arm through each of the men’s and asked eagerly, “Tell me what’s happening in New York, James. It seems as if I’ve been gone a decade.”

  “Where should I start?”

  “Gerda, of course.”

  “She’s tinted her hair red.” James grimaced. “And she’s wearing kelly green contact lenses. She looks like a punk rocker.”

  Mallory laughed.

  “And she’s learning to play the guitar.” James added, “You should hear the racket she …”

  James’s dialogue went on through the drive into Marasef, dinner, and the drive back to the location. He appeared to have completely discarded his belligerence and was being charming with Mallory and courteous to Carey.

  James left Mallory at the door of the trailer with an affectionate kiss and a promise to call her in the next few days. He nodded politely to Carey and strode off toward his navy blue rental car parked a short distance away.

  Carey watched him walk away with a slight frown on his face. “He’s different from what I imagined from Sabin’s description.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “I’m not sure. Someone older and more … settled. Maybe Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird.” He grimaced. “He didn’t like me being here in your trailer.”

  “He and Gerda are very protective of me.” Mallory unlocked the door of the trailer. “I wish she could have come with him.”

  “Yes, it’s too bad Sedikhan Oil didn’t come through for him.” He brushed her forehead with his lips. “Good night, Mallory. Sleep well.”

  “On my new deluxe couch?” She cast him a smile over her shoulder and opened the door. “It’s a sure thing.”

  Mallory was instantly aware of Sabin the moment he walked onto the set the next day. He settled himself on a chair in the corner of the room, watching the proceedings with keen interest. When she had finished her scene, she came over to his corner.

  He stood up. “Are you finished for the day?”

  She nodded. “We’re done with the café shots unless the rushes aren’t up to par. In fact, my work in the picture should be finished in the next few days.”

  His gaze searched her face. “Are you all right? Carey says Handel’s been treating you pretty well.”

  “Working with Handel could never be a tranquil experience, but it hasn’t been hellish either.” She paused, her gaze on his face. She couldn’t seem to look away from him. “How have you been?”

  A rare smile broke the impassiveness of his face. “Impatient.” His gaze traveled slowly over her. “Did I ever tell you how much I like that gown? Sexy but romantic. Like you.”

  “Not Pollyanna?”

  “Not tonight.” He glanced around the rapidly emptying room. “Stay here. I left a picnic basket in the refrigerator at the commissary tent.”

  “But I have to change.”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. Humor me. Okay?” He touched her cheek with his index finger, and she felt the familiar tingle of response. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I want it to be right.”

  She could feel the breath catch in her throat as she looked up at him. Lord, she had missed him. She hadn’t realized until this moment how hollow the days had been. “Okay.”

  His rare smile illuminated his face. “Great. Sit down at one of the tables and rest. I’ll be right back.”

  She gazed after him bemusedly for a moment before turning and moving back onto the set and sitting down at one of the small damask-covered tables. She mustn’t feel this excited, she told herself. It would be too difficult to face being without him if she let these moments mean too much. She deliberately tried to concentrate on her surroundings, the framed pictures of World War II aviators on the walls, the ceiling fan whirring softly, the huge lights focused on the set. …

  It was no use, she was excited. She could feel the blood pounding in her veins and the exhilaration soaring through her like a wild bird.

  The set was completely deserted by the time Sabin walked back into the café carrying a huge picnic basket. He stopped at the door and shot the bolt before turning to face her. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  “Neit
her am I.” He came toward her. “Suppose we save dinner for later.” He set the picnic basket on the table and foraged in its interior and brought out a tape recorder. “A little music …” He pressed the button on the tape recorder and the triumphant music of “Shall We Dance” poured from the small machine. “Shall we dance, Mallory?”

  Mallory began to laugh helplessly. “The King and I. I’m sorry, your majesty, I can’t dance the polka in these four-inch heels.”

  “I know.” He fast forwarded the tape. “That was just to make you laugh and relax you. This is for us.” He pressed the button, and her own husky voice soared out over the set singing “I’ll Be Seeing You.” “I had Carey bring a tape recorder to the set the other day.” He held out his hand. “Let me hold you, Mallory.”

  Mallory stood up and flowed into his arms, moving languidly to the music. His body was big, comforting in its strength against her. Yet there was no real comfort in this embrace. The heated response between them was too intense to ever be soothing. It had been too long since that night at Kandrahan, and she only wanted him closer. She cuddled nearer and felt him stiffen against her.

  “Not yet,” he said thickly. “I’m trying to be romantic, dammit.”

  She looked up at him. His face was flushed and his lips heavy with sensuality. “Why?”

  “Because you deserve it. Because I want you to look at me like you did that Greek god who played opposite you in that scene.”

  “That was acting.”

  “Well, I want the real thing,” he said roughly. “I want it all.”

  She laughed helplessly. “And you think a romantic setting will get it for you?”

  He frowned. “No?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “For Pete’s sake, Sabin, who wants Little Lord Fauntleroy when they can have the Sheikh.”

  “I thought most women these days preferred the polished approach.” He stopped in the middle of the dance floor. “You’d rather have me the way I am? Rough edges and all?”

  A faint smile touched her lips. “Rough edges can be very… stimulating.”

  He smiled down at her. “Thank the Lord.” He drew her close. “Then I can tell you that hearing your voice singing that song reminds me of the first time I saw the videotapes.”

  Her amusement vanished as she remembered those erotic tapes. “It does?”

  He nodded against her temple. “Your voice wraps around me, pulling at me.” His hands slid around her, cupping her bottom in his palms as he began to dance again. “Stroking me.”

  A liquid tingling started between her thighs. His big hands were a heavy, sensual weight, and every step felt like an erotic caress. “Handel … didn’t think I did the song all that well.”

  “Every man in the theater audience will disagree.” His hands slid up her back, unfastened the catch of the gown, and began to massage her nape. “I may decide to bury the film like Howard Hughes did The Outlaw.”

  “You wouldn’t do that,” she whispered. Her breasts were swelling against the gown’s thin material, and she could feel the nipples harden in helpless response as his hands slid around to caress her. “Would you?”

  “No.” He pulled the gown down, baring her shoulders. “But only because I know I couldn’t get away with it. You’d tip your hat and say good-bye.”

  As he was going to do, she thought sadly. But not yet. Not tonight. The thought brought a frantic urgency in its wake. She stepped back and pulled the gown down to her waist and pushed it over her hips to pool on the floor, leaving her in only a garter belt, stockings, and high heels. “I’m not wearing a hat.”

  He went still as his gaze traveled over her bare breasts. “You’re not wearing much of anything. I don’t believe that was the style in the forties.” He bent forward, his mouth opening to envelope one breast. “But who am I to complain?”

  She cried out and arched forward as his teeth closed on her nipple. Fire streaked through her, the muscles clenched in her stomach. “Sabin …”

  He lifted his head to smile down at her. “Hard edges? I’ll show you hard edges.” He lifted her and set her on the table. “I’m nothing but rock hard and edged. I feel as if every breath is cutting into me.” He took a step back and stripped off his gray coat, jacket, tie, and shirt, his gaze fastened on her. “Take off the rest, Mallory.”

  She gazed at him, startled.

  “No cameras. No Ben. Just me. Do it for me.”

  She gazed at him thoughtfully, and the realization came to her that he needed this. He had told her how jealous and tormented he had been as he had watched those blasted tapes.

  “For you,” she said softly. She reached down and slowly unfastened the tab holding the stocking on her left thigh.

  It was different.

  She had been acting the temptress when she had performed on those other tapes; there was no acting now. Every muscle of her body was charged with a desire and hunger so intense, she could feel it ripple through her with every motion as she slowly peeled off the few pieces of clothing still remaining. Sabin’s gaze was hard, hot, his body tense as he watched every movement. She could feel her breasts ripen, become heavier beneath his stare, and every breath was an effort as her lungs contracted. When she was done she sat there, looking at him, her cheeks flaming with color.

  “Lie down.” His voice was almost guttural as his hands undid his belt.

  Her eyes widened. “On the table? There’s no room.”

  He took three steps forward and with one sweeping movement dashed the vase and candle from the table to the floor. “Now there’s room.” He undid her chignon, and her hair flowed down her back. “Lie down, love.”

  His gaze held her own as he carefully lowered her backward on the small round table, arranging her hair so that it hung in a curtain over the edge of the table. The other side of the table supported only her upper thighs.

  “It’s too small,” she whispered.

  He shook his head and brought her palm to rub his chest. “It’s just right. You’ll see.” He widened her thighs, his thumb searching, pressing.

  She cried out, her back arching up from the table.

  His thumb rotated slowly. She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming with pleasure.

  He drew a harsh breath. “Now stay there. Don’t move. I want to look at you as I finish undressing.”

  He moved out of her line of view, and she could hear the rasp of his belt as he drew it through the loops. Her heart began to pound harder, and her muscles tautened with unbearable tension. She was acutely conscious of the ceiling fan whirling above her, the hot camera lights staring down at her. There was something intensely erotic about lying here before Sabin, open to him, knowing he was looking at her and yet unable to see him. The heavy weight of her hair streaming down, pulled by gravity and her position, was like a manacle holding her for his pleasure … and her own. She began to tremble helplessly. “Sabin?”

  “Soon.” She heard the soft thud of a shoe dropping somewhere across the room. “Think about it.” His deep, beautiful voice reverberated in the room. “Think about how it’s going to be. How I’ll feel inside you. How we’ll be together.”

  Her jaw clenched as a burning began deep inside her. She moaned deep in her throat and moved, undulated, on the table.

  She heard the sharp intake of his breath. “Lord, do you know how you look? I can’t—”

  “Sabin!” It was an urgent cry.

  “Shh, I’m here.”

  He was standing over her, naked. His expression intent, his deep chest lifting and falling with the harshness of his breathing. The muscles of his stomach and thighs were tight, locked with the tension of anticipation. She wanted to reach out and run her fingers over the triangle of hair thatching his chest. She just wanted to touch him.

  He lifted her thighs and drew her to the edge of the table. “Wrap your legs around me,” he murmured, his hand cupping, squeezing her. “Hot. Lord, you’re on fire. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

  She knew only ho
w it made her feel. Her legs encircled him as she started to pant, her breath coming in gasps, her head thrashed back and forth on the damask cloth. “Sabin, I need you. I can’t stand—”

  He sank deep, hard, thick, wonderful.

  She shuddered and moistened her lips with her tongue. “Yes,” she whispered. “That’s what I need.”

  He was still, looking down at her with narrowed eyes, his nostrils flaring. His palms slid around and cupped her bottom. “Hard edged?” He lifted her high and plunged deep at the same time.

  She cried out, staring up at him in mindless pleasure.

  He did it again, and again, and again, his hips jerking with pistonlike regularity, sending her a hot, almost brutal message of lustful pleasure. “This is me. Is this what you want?”

  She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t breathe. She felt as if every inch of her flesh was burning with the waves of pleasure going through her.

  “Is it?”

  “Yes …”

  He plunged wildly, his eyes above her as glazed and mindless as her own. He touched her to the quick. “Take …”

  The tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried to take more of him.

  Searing hunger.

  Pleasure.

  Madness.

  And, at last, completion.

  Mallory couldn’t stop sobbing as Sabin collapsed over her. Her arms slid around him, holding him frantically as the last rapturous spasms shuddered through them both.

  “I wish you’d stop crying.” Sabin’s voice was uneven. “I can’t be sure if I’ve hurt you with those tears pouring down your face.”

  She laughed shakily. “You didn’t hurt me. It was …” She trailed off and shook her head. “I think I went a little crazy.”

  He straightened, gently patting the curls surrounding her womanhood before stepping back and leaving her. “Me, too.” He lifted her to a sitting position on the table and smoothed back her hair.

  The caress was poignantly familiar, peculiarly his own. How many times before had Sabin reached up and gently stroked back her hair in just that way?