The Spellbinder: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Iris Johansen

  “I thought the pain would disappear.”

  “And when you found it wouldn’t?”

  “I thought I could stand it.”

  “Why?” he asked explosively. “Why would you pretend not to be in pain?”

  “I was afraid you’d send me away,” she said simply. “I wanted to be with you, Brody.”

  He felt as if she’d hit him with a sledgehammer. Her expression was completely free of lies or armor, and he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away. “My God,” he whispered.

  “I love you,” Sacha said softly. “I belong to you. I didn’t want to let this silly injury interfere with your getting to know me.”

  He finally managed to look away from her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, I do. I know you, Brody. It’s you who doesn’t realize what’s happening. We’ve found each other. Can’t you feel how important it is to both of us?”

  “Sacha, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “Cass received a …” His words trailed off as his glance returned to her face. Eagerness, radiance, happiness. How the hell could he destroy all that when she was also in physical pain? “Cass likes Chinese food, but I prefer Italian. How about you?”

  “Anything.” The radiance deepened. “You’re not sending me back to the hotel?”

  “We’ll see.” He opened the first-aid kit, took out an elastic bandage, and began winding it around her swollen wrist. “I’ll take you out to a formal dinner tomorrow evening but perhaps we can go for a quick bite tonight before I take you back to your hotel. But you’ve got to promise to tell me if the pain gets worse.”

  She nodded. “I promise.”

  He pinned the bandage. “And let me comb your hair and wash your face. I refuse to be seen with a ragtag urchin like you.” He took the damp washcloth and gently smoothed it over her flushed cheeks and forehead. “It’s very bad for my image. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Her gaze was full of wonder. “I like this. I find it very … sweet.”

  He flinched. “That word again. Much more talk like that will really ruin my image.” He took a small comb from his back pocket and began tidying her hair, which was as sleek and silky as it looked. The tresses flowed between his fingers, igniting a familiar tingling sensation. He hurriedly jerked the comb away and thrust it back into his pocket. He pulled her blue-jean jacket closed, covering her torn blouse. “That should do it. If the lights are dim, you might even pass for respectable.” He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. Harris should be out in the alley with the car by now.”

  “I liked Harris,” Sacha said. “I found him very—”

  “Sweet?”

  She thought about it as she preceded him from the room and down the hall. “No, that’s not the word. No one who weighs nearly three hundred pounds and scowls a great deal could be called sweet. Interesting, I think.”

  “He smiles more in New York. In fact, that’s the only place he does smile.” Brody opened the heavy stage door leading to the alley. “I don’t know why he insists on coming on these tours with me.”

  “Don’t you?” Sacha smiled as she stepped out into the alley. “I think he cares very much for you. He would probably miss you if you left him behind in—”

  “Hold it!”

  A flashbulb went off, the brilliant light blinding Sacha, making it impossible to see the man behind the camera. “Thanks, Mr. Devlin.” Then the shadowy figure was gone, running down the alley toward the street.

  Brody muttered a low imprecation.

  “Who was it?” Sacha’s voice was tense.

  “I couldn’t see. I’ve still got spots in front of my eyes.”

  “Do you think it was a newspaper reporter?”

  “Maybe. Or it could have been just a fan. Everyone is a photographer these days.” He took her arm and found she was trembling. “You’re shaking. Are you cold?”

  “No,” she whispered. “You’re right. It didn’t have to have been a newspaper man. It could have been anyone.”

  He frowned, puzzled. “Sure. Is there anything wrong?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “No, nothing’s wrong. I guess I’m hungry, that’s all.”

  Brody chuckled. “Brawling obviously whets your appetite.” He urged her toward the beige Lincoln Continental parked a few yards away. “But please refrain from any further fisticuffs with Naomi. Like Cass, I believe I’m getting too old for this kind of thing.”

  “I promise there won’t be any more brawls.” Sacha’s mind was obviously on something else. “But it’s not finished.”

  “Sacha …”

  She looked at him, her eyes grave. “She struck that boy. I have to make sure she never hurts a child again. Children are too easy for adults to victimize.”

  “Jimmy has an agent, a manager, and a very pushy stage mother to protect him. He doesn’t need you.”

  “None of whom were there tonight.”

  “And he has me, Sacha,” Brody said quietly. “Do you think I’d let that bitch hit Jimmy again?”

  “No.” She hesitated. “But it’s still my responsibility. I promised him.”

  “Sacha, you can’t—”

  “Don’t worry.” She smiled. “I won’t do anything violent. I promised you, remember? I’ll have to think of something else.” Her smile faded and her eyes narrowed pensively. “Yes, I’ll have to think about it.”

  Naomi was gazing straight ahead, her demeanor suitably tragic as her hands were tied behind her at the stake by the soldiers of Camelot. The words of “Guenevere” resounded rhythmically from the chorus, and Brody Devlin was center stage in the throes of agonizing over the decision to burn his beloved.

  Now was the time, Sacha thought. The stage was milling with soldiers and knights, and Brody, as usual, was holding the audience enthralled. No one would notice anyone but him while he was speaking. She slipped on stage, dressed in the steel armor and helmet of a medieval soldier, her hand holding the flaming torch steady as she drifted toward the stake from the rear.

  Naomi caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye, then felt the loose ropes looped and then tightened about her wrists. “What …”

  “It’s only me.” Sacha moved to stand beside the stake, looking straight ahead and at attention. “I told you it wasn’t finished.”

  The soprano stared in disbelief at Sacha. “What is this, some kind of masquerade?” she hissed furiously. “Loosen these ropes. Lancelot will be here any moment to rescue me.”

  “Then he may have a difficult time of it. I knotted the ropes, and none of those play swords are sharp enough to cut butter. In fact, you may even appear ridiculous.” Sacha paused. “I’ve been wondering whether I should save you from that fate. Surely it would be better for an actress to be tragic than foolish.” She lowered the torch toward the wood piled high around the stake. “It’s very tempting.”

  “Are you crazy?” Naomi’s eyes widened with fear. “I’ll scream.”

  “They’d only think you were overacting, trying to steal the scene. I’ve noticed you do that quite frequently.” Sacha lowered the torch another few inches. “Just one spark and—poof.”

  Naomi moistened her lips nervously. “For heaven’s sake, it was only a little slap, and the brat deserved it.”

  “Are you feeling helpless?” Sacha asked mockingly. “It’s not very nice, is it? Children are helpless too. They can be manipulated and victimized just like you at this moment.”

  “You’re not going to do it. It would be insane.”

  “Are you frightened?”

  “Yes!”

  “Good, then maybe you’ll remember how it feels. Because if I ever hear of you striking a child again, I’ll be back. I’ll find a way of getting to you just like I did tonight. There are worse things than a frog in your cold cream jar. How would you like a rattlesnake in your shower stall?”

  “You wouldn’t do that!”

  “You’ll n
ever be sure, will you? The only thing you can count on is that I’ll find a way of punishing you.” Sacha stepped behind the stake and cut the ropes. “Yes, you can definitely count on that.”

  The music was rising, and Lancelot was fighting his way toward the stake. Sacha faded quickly off the stage and into the wings. She didn’t have much time to get back to the wardrobe room and change out of her costume before she met Brody in his dressing room. She took off the helmet, shook out her hair, and turned to take one last look at Naomi. The actress was gazing at her with anger, outrage, and fear, but it was fear that was paramount. It was the response Sacha had striven to attain. Fear would keep Naomi firmly under control and Jimmy safe from abuse.

  Sacha lifted her hand in a mocking salute. Now it was finished.

  When Brody walked into his dressing room fifteen minutes later, Sacha was sitting in the easy chair reading a copy of Variety she had found on the coffee table.

  “You know, I thought I understood English very well, but this paper is practically unintelligible to me. I suppose it’s because it’s some kind of trade jargon.” She looked up with an innocent smile. “You’re late. You must have had more curtain calls than usual. I’m not surprised. From the glimpse I caught from the wings, you outdid yourself.”

  “Well, someone outdid themselves,” Brody said dryly. “I’ve just spent ten minutes trying to calm down a near-hysterical Guenevere. She barely made it through the last scene.”

  “Really?” Sacha looked down at the paper again. “Well, it was probably no loss. That was your scene anyway.”

  “She kept muttering something about human bonfires and rattlesnakes in shower stalls.” Brody sat down at the dressing table and gazed at her suspiciously. “I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?”

  “Should I?”

  “Sacha, I want the truth.”

  She looked up with a glowing smile. “The truth is that Jimmy won’t have any more problems with a very unpleasant lady.” She held up her bandaged arm. “And that my wrist is very much better. It bothered me only a little at work today.”

  “You went to work today?” Brody asked with a frown. “Why the devil did you do a crazy thing like that?”

  “Having my wrist in dishwater all day was therapeutic,” Sacha said soothingly. “If I’d gone to that hospital you were trying to force on me, they’d probably have told me it was just the right medicine.”

  “I’d doubt if they’d—” He broke off and shook his head ruefully. “You lay a very tempting red herring. I take it you’re not going to talk about Naomi’s hysterical state?”

  “It’s over.” Sacha threw the copy of Variety on the table. “Why talk about unpleasant things?” She stood up and turned in a circle. “Look at me.”

  She was dressed very much the same as she had been the other times he’d seen her, in blue jeans, a white T-shirt and a blue-jean jacket. “What am I looking at?”

  “I washed my own face and combed my hair.”

  “Amazing. Another red herring?”

  She laughed. “Just a little one.” Her smile faded. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything pretty to wear to dinner. Usually I don’t care, but I would have liked to look nice tonight.”

  He frowned. “You look fine. I was joking when I gave you all that crap about my image last night. I thought you knew that.”

  “I did.” Her eyes were suddenly twinkling. “You don’t think I was apologizing to you? I’m sorry for me. I’m very vain and I like to look pretty.”

  He chuckled. “You do look pretty.” She looked more than pretty, he thought. She was sparkling, shimmering, glittering with vitality. The impulse to reach out and touch her was a raw hunger within him. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep his hands off her. He would have to tell her tonight. He looked away. “Where’s Benoit?”

  “He’ll be here soon. He wanted to watch the performance. I told you he loved your work.”

  “And you wanted him out of the line of fire,” Brody guessed shrewdly. “It seems that Jimmy isn’t the only one who arouses your protective impulses.”

  “It’s natural to protect the ones you care about.”

  “Is it? I’m afraid I’ve never been subject to that particular emotion.”

  “No?” She smiled gently. “And yet you’ve been protective of me, Brody.”

  “I haven’t—” He stopped. “That’s because you’re so blasted stupid about taking care of yourself. You don’t think, dammit.”

  “I always think … sooner or later. I just don’t let it get in the way of my instincts.”

  “That’s a very dangerous philosophy.”

  “But it works,” Sacha said softly. “It brought me to you.”

  “Which should be a warning in itself. Sacha, I want—”

  There was an urgent knock on the door before it opened and Louis Benoit walked in. He completely ignored Brody as he turned to Sacha. “I think you should see this.” He tossed her the folded newspaper in his hand. “It’s the evening paper. I got it in the machine outside the theater.” He shut the door behind him, watching Sacha’s face as she glanced at the captioned picture.

  She inhaled sharply. “Oh, damn, he was a reporter.”

  Brody stood up and crossed the room to stand beside Sacha. The picture was very clear, and Sacha’s features were quite beautifully defined as she stood in the stage doorway beside Brody. “You photograph very well,” he said casually. “It must be those great cheekbones. Have you ever done any modeling?”

  “Yes, once.” Sacha’s gaze had not left the picture. One finger lifted absently to rub a spot behind her left ear. “They don’t have my name. Will this be carried overseas?”

  “If the AP picks it up.”

  “And they probably will,” Louis said quietly. “Devlin is big news.”

  “I think they will too,” she whispered. “Oh, damn!”

  “What’s wrong?” Brody asked, his gaze narrowed on her face. “You’re white as a sheet. Look, I’m sorry you’re upset about being seen with me. I know it can’t do your reputation any good, but it’s not that big a deal. No one will remember this photograph next week.”

  The newspaper slowly crumpled as her hand clenched on it with white knuckled force. “I have to leave. Blast it, I didn’t want this to happen now. Not now.” Her eyes were glittering with tears. “It was all going so well.”

  Brody took a half step closer. “Look, tell me what’s bothering you. It can’t be all that bad. Let me help you.”

  “You can’t. It’s my problem.” She turned suddenly, threw herself into Brody’s arms, and hugged him with desperate strength. “I can’t stay. Oh, Brody, don’t forget me. Please don’t rally all your guards around you to keep me away from you when it’s safe for me to come back.”

  “Safe?” A chill trickled down Brody’s spine. “Why shouldn’t you be safe now?”

  Sacha stepped back, and her arms fell away from him. “Good-bye,” she whispered. Then she was gone, dashing through the door held open by Louis and disappearing down the hall.

  Brody took a half step forward but was stopped by Benoit’s hand on his arm. “No,” the Frenchman said quietly. “Let her go. You’ll only be a danger to her.”

  “Danger? What the hell is going on?” Brody’s gaze searched Benoit’s face. “And why should I make the situation any worse? It’s clear she’s scared to death.”

  “A spotlight follows you around.” Benoit shrugged. “Sacha can’t afford to share that spotlight right now. Let her alone.”

  “With you?” Brody asked fiercely. “You don’t like to share her with anyone, do you?”

  A flicker of surprise crossed Benoit’s face. “You think we are lovers?” His eyes narrowed on Brody. “I wonder why it should matter to you if we are? I find your attitude curiously unbrotherly. You might almost be … jealous.”

  Brody muttered a low curse and threw off Benoit’s grasp. “I gather you know why she’s so frightened?”

  Benoit nodded.
“But I’m not telling you. That’s Sacha’s right to tell or not.” He turned to the door. “But I can say that the consequences could be very serious if you persist in enlarging the spotlight on you to include Sacha.”

  “How serious?”

  Benoit looked back over his shoulder as he once more opened the door. “You could get her killed.”

  Four

  Brody’s first knock on the hotel-room door went unanswered. He knocked again. No response. “Sacha, dammit, let me in. I know you’re in there. I checked downstairs at the desk.”

  The door was immediately thrown open. Sacha stood there, her cheeks flushed, her dark hair ruffled. “You shouldn’t be here, Brody. I told you—”

  “Nobody has told me anything that makes any sense.” Brody pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

  Louis Benoit, sitting on the bed beside an open suitcase, gave him an unsmiling nod. “You don’t listen very well. Stay away from her, Devlin.”

  Brody slammed the door behind him. “The hell I will.” He turned to Sacha. “Now, tell me who you’re running away from. The police?”

  Sacha shook her head. “We’ve done nothing against the law. It’s something else entirely.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t tell you. Not now. I won’t involve you in my problems.” Sacha crossed to the bureau and drew out the remainder of the clothing in the top drawer. She crossed the room and placed the pile of garments in the open suitcase. “Louis is right. It would be better if I stayed away from you. I would never forgive myself if you were hurt.”

  “So you’re just going to disappear and leave me wondering what’s happened to you?” Brody strode across the room, slammed shut the suitcase, and fastened the metal latches. “Sorry, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let you get away with that. I don’t like to worry, and you’d have me a basket case before the week was out.”

  Sacha became still. “Why, Brody?”

  “I told you I was a very sensitive fellow.” Then he looked up to meet her gaze. “I don’t know. Anyone will tell you it isn’t at all like me to become involved in something that’s obviously going to be a big headache, if not actually lethal. I’m too selfish to ask for trouble.” He suddenly smiled with surprising gentleness. “I guess I want to help you. Benoit seems to think that being with me would give you away to whoever is after you, but it could also offer you protection. You said yourself I was surrounded by guards wherever I went, and I’ll order security doubled immediately. Maybe we can even catch whoever is after you. Isn’t that a better plan than running away and hiding in the shadows? You can stay with me at the Ventura until the show closes two nights from now, and then I’ll take you to my home at Malibu.”