The Spellbinder: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Iris Johansen

  “He’s going so he can do the play,” she said numbly.

  “I’m not sure,” Cass said. “He just told me he was going to New York, and that I should make sure you were well taken care of.”

  “Just like that? Without waiting to say good-bye or letting me thank him for all he’s done for me?”

  “You can’t say he didn’t think about you. These are very generous arrangements.”

  “Oh, yes, very generous.” Her hands clenched on the coverlet. “Did he actually think I’d accept his fine ‘arrangements’?”

  He pulled a face. “It’s my job to make sure you do.”

  “Then you’re not going to succeed at your job,” she said shakily. “He can take his arrangements and—” Her voice broke, and she took a deep quivering breath. “Why? Why would he leave without seeing me?”

  “I don’t know, Sacha. He’s a complicated man, and he can be pretty inscrutable when he wants to be.” He paused. “But don’t think it was easy for him. I know Brody well enough to realize he was hurting.”

  “Hurting!” Her eyes were suddenly blazing. “Well, I’m sorry he’s hurting, but I’m hurting too.” She threw the coverlet aside and swung her feet to the floor. “And I deserve better than this. At least he should have let me say good-bye. He shot a man for my sake, he set me free, and now he just walks away without even giving me a chance to thank him.” She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. One fifteen. There was still time. She jumped to her feet and walked quickly toward the bathroom. “Tell Harris I’ll want the car in fifteen minutes.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “The airport. How can I find him there?”

  “He’ll probably be in the VIP Lounge, but—”

  The bathroom door slammed shut behind her.

  Sacha threw open the paneled teak door of the VIP Lounge and strode into the deep carpeted luxury of the room.

  A pretty uniformed woman sitting at an elegant desk by the door gave Sacha’s shabby, jean-clad figure one swift glance and rose hastily to her feet. “I’m sorry, but these are private rooms, and I’m afraid—”

  “Hush,” Sacha said impatiently, her gaze traveling swiftly around the tastefully decorated lounge. “I will not be here long.”

  “But this is a—”

  Sacha stopped listening as she caught sight of Brody across the room standing looking out of a large picture window. His back was turned to her but there was no mistaking that lithe muscular grace of his. She started toward him, swiftly covering the distance separating them.

  The receptionist raised her voice. “You have to have special permission. You can’t—”

  “Watch me.” Sacha didn’t spare the woman another glance. “Brody!”

  She saw Brody stiffen as her voice carried to him. He turned slowly to confront her. His face was pale, shuttered, as his brilliant blue gaze flicked over her. “Hello, Sacha. I hoped to avoid this.”

  She stopped before him. “I know you did, but I’m not going to let you do it.” She tilted back her head to look him in the eyes. “I’m angry with you. You hurt me very much.”

  He flinched. “I did more than hurt you. I almost got you killed. I guess I’m better at pretense than real life. I thought you’d want to see the back of me.”

  “Nonsense. You thought no such thing. You were afraid I’d treat you to a tearful scene and embarrass you. You should have known I wouldn’t do that.” Her lips were trembling. “But I had to say good-bye.” She held out her hand. “Thank you for freeing me from Gino and being so patient with my foolishness when I thought you were my—” Her voice was becoming shaky, and she had to stop for a moment before she could go on. “Good-bye, Brody.”

  Brody’s eyes were glittering as he took her hand. “Dear God, how I wish you hadn’t come here.”

  “I will go away soon.”

  His hand tightened on hers. “Sacha …”

  “You’ll be magnificent in the play.”

  “I’m not sure I’m going to do it. I just wanted to—”

  “Get away from me?” Her lips tightened with pain. “You know I wouldn’t bother you.”

  “Bother me?” He laughed huskily. “When have you ever done anything else? You’ve turned my life upside down. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

  “You are a fine man and a great actor.” She pulled her hand away. She had to get away from here before she exploded with pain. “Have a good life, Brody.” She turned and started to walk away from him.

  “Take care of yourself, Sacha,” Brody called softly after her. Then, in a tone scarcely above a whisper. “I love you.”

  She stopped, frozen in place. “What did you say?”

  Brody didn’t answer.

  She whirled to face him. No words were necessary; it was there in his face. “You love me,” she said clearly. “And you’re doing something as stupid as leaving me?” She strode back toward him. “I cannot believe you’d be so idiotic. Perhaps I don’t understand you. Perhaps you love me as a friend. Like I love Louis.”

  “Yes, I love you as a friend.”

  Her gaze searched his face. “Bah, you lie, Brody. You love me as I love you.” Her face was suddenly illuminated with joy as she swept into his arms and hugged him with all her strength. “You love my body and my soul and what we are together and apart. You love me.”

  Brody’s arms closed around her, and he buried his face in her hair. “Sacha, don’t do this to me. I’m trying to do the right thing. Do you know how hard it was to leave you? You know how selfish I am. I wanted to reach out and hold on forever. But you don’t need me. You’re young and bright, and every day is the start of a new adventure for you. You can find someone else who can share those adventures.”

  She stepped back. “But I want to share those adventures with you.”

  “I’m selfish and self-centered and insecure. I’m probably even a little neurotic; most actors are. You don’t want to spend your life with someone like me.”

  “Yes, I do. Even neurotic actors need love.” She laughed. “And I need you, Brody.”

  He frowned. “I’ve made sure you’re secure. You don’t need anyone.”

  “Then why did I feel as if you’d stabbed me to the heart when Cass told me you had gone? Why am I so happy now I want to dance on tables and hug that silly girl at the reception desk? I love you and you love me, and we’re going to have a wonderful life together. Trust me.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not right for you.” His expression turned somber. “And someday you’ll find that out and leave me. I don’t think that I could take that, Sacha.”

  She gazed at him, an expression of loving exasperation on her face. Why couldn’t he believe in himself as much as she did in him? “Brody Devlin, you—” She framed his face in her two hands. “Listen to me. I’m not ever going to leave you. Why should I? You’re loving, gentle, sexy. You’re my brother and friend, King Arthur and Lancelot. I know all your faults and I accept them, just as you must accept mine. We’ll try to correct our faults, but even if we don’t, the love will still be there.”

  He bent his head to kiss her lingeringly. “I do love you, Sacha,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t let you do this, but I don’t think I can ever let you go. I’d die if you left me now. You’ve made me come alive. You called me a spellbinder, but you’re the one who has the magic.”

  “Then why do you doubt that I can perform this paltry little trick?” Her eyes twinkled up at him. “It should be very simple. Poof. Abracadabra. Henceforth Brody and Sacha will be joined together for the rest of their lives. There. It is done.”

  Brody chuckled, his face alight with joy and tenderness as he looked down into her eyes. “And they lived happily ever after.”

  THE EDITOR’S CORNER

  Happy New Year!

  Another year may have slipped on by, but don’t let these romances slip by you! Ring in the New Year with romance starting with an electrifying journey of emotional and sexual discovery that pushes two
damaged souls to their breaking point—and beyond in, RUINED, by Tracy Wolff, the first installment of The Ethan Frost Novels. Award winning author, Bronwen Evans, debuts The Disgraced Lords Series with Loveswept, book one, A KISS OF LIES – tortured and abandoned, can two people recover and ignite each other’s deepest passions? Romantic Suspense fans will enjoy, IN THE DARK, where passion raises the stakes in Sally Eggert’s electrifying novel of deception and desire. Mary Ann Rivers launches her contemporary series with LIVE, riveting romance sure to please readers of Ruthie Knox, Kristan Higgins, and Jill Shalvis.

  Fans of Stacey Kennedy’s Club Sin Series will be thrilled to know another wicked and wild tale of submission, seduction, and love, will be available later in the month — BARED, Cora and Aidan’s story.

  A little something for everyone – usher in your New Year with Loveswept.

  And, you don’t want to miss these classics:

  OMG is all I can say about Connie Brockway’s, McClairen Isle trilogy – enjoy these men in kilts, beginning with: THE PASSIONATE ONE, THE RECKLESS ONE and THE RAVISHING ONE. Then, Ruth Owen programs a code for seduction in, MELTDOWN, plus, New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen weaves the unforgettable story of a man and a woman who come together under the spell of danger—and explosive desire in, THE SPELLBINDER. Sandra Chastain’s, Civil War romance, SCANDAL IN SILVER, will touch your heart, along with, Linda Cajio’s, IRRESISTIBLE STRANGER and AT FIRST SIGHT. Meet single mom Kitty Reardon in Fran Baker’s heartwarming story, KING OF THE MOUNTAIN. And for those of you that missed the Grayson boys in Elisabeth Barrett’s, Star Harbor series, don’t fret, the series is being rereleased this month in an eBundle – DEEP AUTUMN HEAT; BLAZE OF WINTER; SLOW SUMMER BURN; LONG SIMMERING SPRING.

  Gina Wachtel

  Associate Publisher

  Read on for excerpts from more Loveswept titles …

  Read on for an excerpt from Ruthie Knox’s

  Roman Holiday 1: Chained

  CHAPTER ONE

  The arrival of the shiny black SUV in the parking lot startled the fawn into flight.

  Ashley watched it bound out of the empty swimming pool, between the two-story rental units, and onto the beach. She tried not to hate the man who had driven it away.

  Her chafed wrists were not his fault. He hadn’t pushed her down onto this pile of mulch, nor had he chained her to the palm tree. He hadn’t insisted she launch her protest clad only in a damp bikini and a T-shirt.

  No, all of that was Ashley’s doing. She had to place the blame for this harebrained caper squarely on her own aching shoulders.

  Even though Roman Díaz was about to destroy the only place in the world that mattered to her, she wouldn’t hate him. Hate was poisonous.

  But man, she’d really been enjoying the little Key deer. It had been such an excellent distraction from all the depressing thoughts about her grandmother.

  Past the spot where it had disappeared, a slice of sunrise washed the sky in orange, and the dark silhouette of an angular palm tree framed a view straight off a Florida landscape postcard.

  Whereas the SUV was like the other kind of postcard—the tacky kind that had a smiling woman shoving her enormous, barely clad hooters toward the viewer over a neon-script tagline like “A Big Hello from Florida.”

  It didn’t bode well.

  The soft glow of early morning did little to conceal the fact that the eight-unit rental complex spread out around the pool had seen better days. Peachy Keen and Salmon Sunset had faded to a pinkish beige and beigeish pink, respectively, while Turquoise Treasure was a sort of anemic white-blue. The interiors were worse, the carpet grotty and the blond-wood-and-seashell theme of the decor begging for an update.

  But for Ashley, Sunnyvale Vacation Rentals retained a timeless beauty—the white railings on the upper and lower porches matching the trim around the windows and along the rooflines; the broad, fringed leaves of the sheltering palms; the ocean beyond, just a short walk to the dock.

  The sky, the sun, the light, the breeze off the water. All of it bound up together, indivisibly part of this place she loved more than any other.

  The driver’s door opened, and black dress shoes appeared beneath gray slacks. The black top of his head crested the door, then disappeared as he ducked down to reach into the car—probably retrieving his hooded cape and sickle, just to complete the look.

  But no. When he emerged from behind the door, his evil was far more subtle than she’d expected. The closer he walked, the more this rich Miami land developer looked like television’s version of a bad guy: tall, dark, expensive, beautifully proportioned, and—she had to admit—way more handsome than people were supposed to be in real life.

  Ashley liked a handsome man as much as the next girl, but the ones who really got her going always had endearingly imperfect teeth, bad haircuts, unfortunate facial hair—some flaw that made them approachable. She picked the sort of guys who were game to go surfing on a whim or try out sex in a hammock even if they risked ending up in the dirt, slightly bruised and laughing.

  Whereas this man—no way did he own a hammock. He was too perfect, his handsomeness nothing less than a loaded weapon aimed at the world. She imagined him bleaching his teeth so white that he purposefully blinded people when he smiled. You’d be gazing at his face, mesmerized by those teeth—which she couldn’t even see right now, but she knew just how they’d look, their contrast to the deep brown of his skin both surprising and delicious—and then you’d blink and he’d be gone, and so would your wallet and your house.

  Possibly he’d leave you the hammock.

  Of course, it was also possible she was projecting. She’d only been watching him for about four seconds, and she had, admittedly, a fairly strong bias against the guy.

  His slick soles crunched over the crushed-shell surface of the lot. He didn’t walk so much as he loped, taking the circular pavers two at a time. His suit was so well behaved that it loped right along with him, too expensively tailored to look awkward for even a heartbeat.

  When he’d passed the office, he veered off the path to make a slow circuit around the palm. His expression betrayed nothing as he took in the mound of mulch where Ashley sat. Her bound wrists, tucked tight against her lower back. Her bare arms and barer legs and barest-of-all feet.

  He stopped directly in front of her.

  “Ashley Bowman, I presume.”

  A joke? He delivered the line with such dignity, she couldn’t tell if he meant to be funny.

  “That’s me.”

  He placed his briefcase on the ground and hunkered down, resting his elbows on his spread knees and clasping his hands lightly between them. Normal people would look awkward doing that, but he made it seem like he’d been born to hunker.

  His shirt was black, open at the collar, his sunglasses mirrored. He took them off, and his dark eyes were mirrored, too. Impenetrable.

  Good-looking, yes. But good?

  She wouldn’t bet a nickel on it.

  Not for the first time, it occurred to Ashley that chaining herself to the palm tree had not been her best decision ever. The idea had been to take a stand. Instead, she felt like a virgin staked below a volcano.

  A nostalgic sort of feeling, since it had been so very long since she was a virgin. But this guy definitely had some magmalike qualities. Slow-moving. Molten. Dangerous.

  The danger explained why all her frayed nerve endings were sizzling.

  It had to be the danger. Because attraction under these circumstances would be insane.

  Which was why she hadn’t glanced at his package, so conveniently on display in front of her.

  No. She had not.

  “I’m Roman Díaz. I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but …” He spread his hands, encompassing the scene before him. “You’re protesting, I take it?”

  “I can’t let you knock it down.”

  “Yes. You mentioned that in your voicemail.”

  So he’d listened to her messages. She hadn’t been s
ure, since he had never bothered to call her back. Or answer the letter she’d sent by registered mail. Or admit her to the inner sanctum of his office.

  Ashley had done everything she could think of to get his attention, just as soon as her grief had abated enough to let her begin to process a freshly discovered set of horrible truths: That she didn’t own Sunnyvale. Grandma had sold it two years ago without telling her or, as far as she knew, anyone. She’d secretly and sneakily transferred title on the property to Roman Díaz’s development group, Ojito Enterprises, for a generous sum of money that had vanished—though she’d definitely spent some of it leasing the property back from Díaz.

  “I’ll buy it from you,” Ashley offered. “Whatever you paid for it, I’ll double.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  She had to admire his economy. The mere flick of an eyebrow said it all. He knew she had no savings to speak of, no property of value—nothing to her name but an inherited Airstream trailer full of her grandmother’s junk.

  She didn’t have Sunnyvale because he’d taken it from her before she even had a chance to claim it.

  He glanced at her bound hands. She’d looped the chain around the tree, then around her wrists, which rested against her back, knuckles brushing the ground. “Is that a padlock?”

  “Yes. And I can cover the keyhole with my fingers, so you won’t be able to drill it open unless you cut them off.”

  “I could cut the chain behind the tree, where you can’t reach.”

  “I’ll rattle it. And probably if you do that, I’ll manage to get hurt, and the media headlines will be all, like, ‘Protester Mangled by Heartless Developer.’ ”

  “What did you do with the key, swallow it?”

  She’d shoved it down her bikini bottoms, where it had spent the evening tattooing itself onto her tailbone. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  He made a tiny gesture with his shoulders. A non-shrug, as though he couldn’t even be bothered to put his beautiful physique to the trouble of actually shrugging on her account. “You’ve been out here all night?”