The Spellbinder: A Loveswept Classic Romance

  “No, but—”

  “Then I will cook you a fine meal.” She made a shooing motion with one hand as she picked up the receiver with the other. “Go to your bedroom and rest. I know you must be tired after your performance tonight. I’ll call you when the food is ready.”

  Brody felt his lips twitching with amusement. “Do you always supply chef service to your customers?”

  “But you are not my customer.” Sacha smiled sunnily. “You are a hungry man who has been badly treated by my employer. The least I can do is to see that you are fed and pampered un peu.”

  “You’re French?”

  She shook her head. “Hungarian mother, American father, but I grew up in Paris.” She made another shooing motion. “You go rest. All will be well, I promise you.”

  Brody found himself meekly obeying her command. As the bedroom door closed behind him he took off his tan Windbreaker and tossed it on the bed. It was odd, but the tension and boredom gripping him had eased since he had entered the suite. The little Sacha had surprised and amused him, but he had definitely not been bored.

  He sat down on the king-size bed and looked around in discontent. Why the devil had he let the woman banish him to the bedroom? He wasn’t tired. The energy was coursing through him as it usually did after a performance.

  “Brody?” The door opened and Sacha’s gleaming, dark head poked around it. “I’m sorry, but I will need you in the kitchen. Those idiots in the hotel have stocked the refrigerator with only milk, eggs, cheese, and bacon.” Her face lit with a gamine grin. “But all is not lost. I found”—she paused dramaticaly— “mushrooms. We will have a magnificent quiche, if you will only dice the mushrooms while I brown the bacon.”

  He rose swiftly to his feet, feeling as if he had been reprieved. “I think I can manage that.” He followed her to the small, gleaming kitchen, noticing she was taller than he had first thought. It must have been her slenderness that had created the illusion of lack of height. She had discarded her denim jacket, and he smothered a smile as he saw the pink T-shirt she wore had DISNEY WORLD printed on the back and a huge Donald Duck on the front. Lolita, indeed.

  Then his amusement vanished as his gaze lingered on her small breasts, outlined with such loving detail by the T-shirt that it was evident she was wearing no bra. He had a sudden impulse to lift the shirt and cup her breasts in his hands. That creamy rose tinting her cheeks was very alluring, and the texture fantastic. Would her nipples be as velvety as—

  “There will be a replacement here as soon as possible,” Sacha said. “Marceline’s manager apologizes profusely and hopes you will accept any small service I can do for you until she can make reparation.” She shot him a mischievous glance. “So you see, since she’s paying me, you must let me make you comfortable. I regard it as my duty, and I always do my duty.”

  “Do you?” Annoyance as unreasonable as it was strong suddenly jabbed through him. His tone became caustic. “I bet you’re damn good at those duties too.”

  Her smile faded, and he felt as if he’d slapped a child. “Sometimes. I try very hard.” She motioned to the red plastic and chrome chair beside the Formica table. “If you will sit down, I will get you the mushrooms.”

  “Sacha …”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry.” The words came haltingly. “That was uncalled for. Sometimes I can be a complete bastard.”

  She smiled. “Then we must work to correct that condition. Right?” She took a large bottle of mushrooms from the refrigerator, snatched up a cutting board from a hook on the wall and a paring knife from the drawer beneath the sink. She carried them to him and set the objects on the table. “If you do this job very well, I will consider it suitable penance.” She met his gaze steadily. “And you are not a bastard, Brody. I think you could be very difficult, but that is a different thing entirely.” She turned away, strode to the cabinet, and got down a mixing bowl. “Now, I must obviously feed you quickly. Probably hunger makes you bad-tempered.”

  He wasn’t so sure. When he had thought of Sacha in bed with one of her nymphet-loving clients, he had experienced a surge of rage that had caught him off-guard. He found the image lingering distastefully even now. “Probably.” He opened the jar of mushrooms. “I see by your T-shirt that you were at Walt Disney World. When did you go?”

  “A few weeks ago.” She was breaking eggs into the mixing bowl with economical efficiency. “I had a wonderful time. It’s truly a magic place. Have you ever been there?”

  He shook his head. “We played Orlando last month, but I didn’t bother to go.”

  “You should have. I know you don’t like crowds but—”

  “How do you know that?” he asked idly.

  She paused in the motion of breaking an egg. “I must have read it somewhere.” She cracked the shell. “I know people recognize you wherever you go, and that must bother you, but you can’t hide away when there are so many wonderful things to see.”

  It had been a long time since he had experienced the eagerness he saw in her face. He suddenly felt terribly old and cynical. “I’ll see it next time.” His gaze went to the front of her shirt. “You like Donald Duck?”

  She nodded decisively. “Oh, yes. He’s my favorite cartoon character, but I had trouble finding a shirt with his picture. Everything was Mickey Mouse. The salesgirl at the shop told me he was more popular.” She scowled. “Bah! Who would like a meek, bland character like Mickey over Donald Duck?”

  Bah? He didn’t think he’d ever heard the expression outside of vintage movies, yet he found the word entirely natural and even charming coming from Sacha’s lips. “Since Donald is irascible, crafty, vengeful, and underhanded, I could imagine a few misguided souls who might prefer Mickey.”

  “But he can also be affectionate and rather sweet, and it’s no wonder he behaves badly when he’s persecuted by those dreadful chipmunks. I feel quite sorry for him. He can’t help it if he’s difficult.”

  He chuckled. “You seem to make it a habit of forgiving difficult types. Not that I put myself in the same elite class as Donald.”

  She wrinkled her nose as she glanced at him over her shoulder. “It isn’t kind of you to laugh at me. I’m entirely sincere. I can’t help it if I’ve always found difficult people more worthwhile in the long run.”

  “Are you flattering me, Sacha?”

  “Bah! I do not flatter. If I can’t be honest, I do not speak at all.” She paused. “Well, that’s not exactly true. But if I lie, there’s always a good reason.”

  The smile of amusement lingered on his lips. “I see.”

  “Are those mushrooms ready? You’re being very slow.”

  “Sorry. I’ll try to do better.” He looked up. “In my job I don’t get much practice at cooking.”

  “That’s no excuse. In my job I don’t either.”

  Another flash of burning irritation surprised him as a vividly obscene picture flashed through his mind. What the devil was wrong with him? She was a high-priced hooker who was obviously content with her profession. Why should he care who she slept with after she left him tonight? “Maybe you have an affinity for it,” he said curtly, pushing the cutting board away. “I don’t think I’m hungry after all. You eat the quiche when you’ve finished and then run along.”

  She turned to face him, her expression clouding. “What did I do wrong? I was enjoying myself, and I thought you were too. I thought we were being very … companionable.”

  He felt a flicker of remorse. It wasn’t her fault he was being pricked by these weird emotions. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And we were being very companionable.”

  “Then what …?” She trailed off, looking at him pensively. “I know what it is. You didn’t like it that I criticized you.” Her expression softened. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I had no idea you were so sensitive. I will be careful not to do it again. You will stay?”

  He was having trouble tearing his gaze away from her pleading face. It
was getting out of hand. He couldn’t remember ever responding to a woman on the multitude of levels he was to Sacha. Surprise, amusement, tenderness, and the burning possessiveness that had been bothering him whenever he thought of Sacha in bed with another man. Jealousy. Talk about dog in the manger. He couldn’t desire this big-eyed street urchin.

  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.”

  Two

  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 c
onfused 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.”