Before the Dawn

by Candace Camp

  He leaned his cheek against her hair, drinking in the subtle, enticing scent of her perfume and luxuriating in the silken feel of her hair. Her breasts were soft against his chest. He knew she must feel his desire. He was fast running out of sophistication, it was the teenager bursting up from the streets who was running in his blood now.

  Alyssa pushed lightly against his shoulder. “Monsieur Michaude,” she protested. “I can hardly breathe.”

  He nuzzled her ear. “Then we have the same problem. You take my breath away as well.” Reluctantly Philippe relaxed his hold, but he murmured, “Let me take you home.”

  “But—” She glanced around. “What about the others?”

  “They’ve gone. Jean-Louis and Monsieur Freret left after the floor show. And Gerard and his wife just walked out.”

  “I should have left with them.”

  He grinned suggestively. “From the way they looked, I don’t think they would have welcomed a third party. Gerard looked over here; he knows I will take you home.”

  “I don’t need to be handed off to you to be taken care of.” Alyssa stiffened. “I’m perfectly capable of getting home by myself.”

  “I’m sure you are. But I want to take care of you.” He pulled her closer and dropped his head to hers, rubbing his cheek against her hair. It enticed him, luxuriant and sweet smelling.

  Alyssa could feel his breath on her ear and it sent a shiver through her. “I think you’d better take me home.”

  It was only after she said the words that she realized she’d just agreed to exactly what he wanted. She was losing control of the situation. Alyssa wasn’t prepared for the helpless yearning he aroused in her, this weakness that made her want to yield to his expert caresses. Her own body had never before betrayed her this way.

  The taxi let them out in front of the flat gray canopy of the George V, and Philippe thrust several bills at the driver, hardly noticing the overlarge tip he paid him. They crossed the lobby and waited in front of the ornate elevators. This late at night only one was running. The elevator doors opened, and the operator pulled aside the folding metal gate. Alyssa gave him the floor number, and the young man rotated the handle, taking them up to the third floor.

  At her door, Philippe smoothly took the key from her hand and opened the door, flipping on her light as he held the door open for her to enter. He started to follow, but Alyssa turned, putting her hands against his chest to stop him. “Hold it right there, buster.”

  “Buster?” He raised his eyebrow expressively.

  She couldn’t help but laugh, which didn’t help her efforts to keep him at arm’s length, but she said, “I don’t recall inviting you in.”

  “You didn’t. I am presuming on your hospitality.” Philippe reached out to untie her cloak and eased it off her shoulders. Stepping closer, he put his hands on his shoulders, sliding them down her bare arms. Bending, he kissed the soft skin of her shoulders. His lips were soft and velvety; the kiss shot through Alyssa like electricity.

  “I have been thinking about this all night.” Philippe nuzzled her neck, his hands sliding up and down her arms.

  “Philippe, we’re standing in the doorway.” She ought to push him back, but she did not. “Anyone can see us.”

  “I know.” She could feel his smile against her skin. “That’s why you should invite me in.”

  He nibbled at the hard cord of her neck. His hands left her arms to steal around her waist, pulling her into him. His body was so hot it seared her through their clothes. Alyssa wanted suddenly, intensely, to feel his hands upon her bare skin. The sheer force of her desire frightened her. “Philippe…”

  “Alyssa.” His voice was thick, and he returned unthinkingly, instinctively, to French. “How beautiful you are. Your skin, your eyes, your hair. Let’s not play the game. Not tonight.” His lips trailed up the side of her neck, moving under the veil of her hair. “Just let me love you.”

  “The game?” Alyssa pushed back against his encircling arms, and, surprised, he released her. She crossed her arms defensively over her chest. “I understand that seducing women is a game to you. But I have no desire to play.”

  “I don’t understand.” Philippe frowned. “I want you. You want me. Your body tells me that.”

  “Maybe I do. But that doesn’t mean I’ll hop into bed with you.”

  “My God, Alyssa, you’re an actress.” His voice rasped with irritation. “You can’t expect me to believe—“

  “An actress!” Alyssa’s temper flamed, wiping out her treacherous desire to continue kissing him. “Of course. You’re one of those archaic men who thinks the word actress is synonymous with whore. Well, I’m sorry you wasted your evening. But look on the bright side—at least you won’t be out any money.” She whirled away.

  “Don’t be a fool.” Philippe followed her. “I never thought you were a whore, despite your peculiar desire to play one onstage. But the world of the theater is not known for its rigid moral code. It’s not as if you were raised in a convent. You must know about men. You must have had lovers.”

  “And what if I have? That doesn’t mean I sleep with any man who asks me.”

  His face hardened. “And that is what I am? Just any man?”

  “I just met you!”

  “And clearly you felt none of what I felt when we met,” he said tightly. “I’m sorry. My mistake.”

  Alyssa flushed. She wasn’t about to admit how very much she had felt. “You’re twisting my words. I may be an actress, but I’m not easy. I’m not the prize in a game. And I have no interest in being another notch on your bedpost.”

  “That’s what you think I’ve been doing? Chasing a trophy?”

  “What else?”

  “I wanted you. That’s all. When you walked into Maxim’s, I couldn’t think of anything except how lovely you were and how much I desired you. I wasn’t looking for another conquest. Mon dieu, I couldn’t even think straight. Yes, I pursued you. Yes, I tried to entice you into feeling the same desire I did. But I wasn’t playing any game, and the only prize I was after was having you in my arms.” He started away, then swung back. “You might want to consider, mademoiselle, exactly who it was that was playing games tonight.”

  With that, he was gone, leaving Alyssa staring after him speechlessly.

  Chapter 5

  Alyssa awoke the next morning with a pounding headache. She opened the curtains, revealing a perfect example of a lovely Parisian spring day, but the view didn’t lift her spirits. Her father wasn’t here and might not be for days. She had agreed to go shopping with Lora, but she didn’t feel in the mood. No doubt Lora’s bubbling spirits would irritate her and all the dresses would look terrible.

  She wished the night before hadn’t ended on such a sour note. Philippe had been witty and charming and very attractive—if only he hadn’t been so arrogantly sure she would wind up in his bed. And then there was his parting shot that she had been playing games…when he was the one who had pushed his way into their party and spent the whole evening calculatedly seducing her.

  Alyssa scowled, irritated all over again. Well, it hadn’t been her fault the evening had turned out so badly, and she was not going to not let it bother her anymore. Pushing aside all thoughts of Philippe Michaude, she ordered room service. A breakfast as only the French could make it—thick black coffee and a roll hard as a brick on the outside and soft and utterly delicious on the inside—and a long, soaking bath lightened her mood.

  There was a knock on the door as she dressed, and she answered it to find a bellboy, holding a long narrow box tied with a ribbon. Inside were nestled a dozen long-stemmed yellow roses, dewy with moisture and as vibrant as a burst of sunshine in the dark green wax paper.

  Alyssa let out a breathy sigh at their beauty and lifted them from the box to sniff their aroma. A small white card tumbled to the floor. It read, “My deepest apologies” in a bold, black scribble, and it was unsigned. Even Philippe’s apology smacke
d of arrogance. She ought to send them back. Instead, she picked up a vase to put them in and set it on the desk. The flowers seemed to fill the room and give it life.

  There was another knock on the door, and Alyssa answered it. This time it was Lora. “You ready?” She stepped inside as Alyssa got her purse and jacket. “Oh, what gorgeous flowers!” She went to them and bent to smell them. “Mmm. Heavenly. I love roses.”

  “So I’ve heard.” It was common knowledge that King sent a single red rose to Lora on the set every day.

  Lora smiled, her eyes glowing. “Yeah. King’s sweet that way. Who are these from? Mr. Michaude?”

  “Yes.”

  “He seemed very smitten by you.”

  “He was very smitten by his glands.”

  Lora chuckled and sat down on the bed, tossing her purse down beside her. “You ought to be used to that by now.”

  “I am. It was just he was so—so damned expert at it. As if he’d done it a million times, and it was a game. You know: ‘she will make this move, and then I will do this.’”

  “He didn’t look to me like he was playing. He looked real serious. Even King mentioned it.”

  Alyssa shrugged. “Well, it didn’t come to anything.”

  “These flowers look like something.”

  “No. We had an argument when he brought me home, and he was—offensive. Anyway, he left in a huff. These are just an apology.”

  “Offensive, huh?” Lora’s soft brown eyes gleamed with interest. “Exactly how offensive was he?”

  “He expected me to go to bed with him, of course. And when I said no—“

  “Your first mistake.”

  “Oh, come on. You aren’t as tough as you like to pretend. I know it’s ninety percent your image.”

  “You’re probably right—but I am a terrible romantic.” Lora smiled. “And I thought Philippe Michaude was very romantic.”

  “He was very pushy,” Alyssa corrected. “The man clearly isn’t used to being told ‘no.’”

  Lora’s eyes widened. “Did he get rough with you?”

  “No. Nothing like that. He acted as if it was a given I’d sleep with him. And when I wouldn’t, he accused me of playing games. As if I was just making him chase me.”

  “Which isn’t a bad idea. He’ll appreciate you more.”

  “Well, I’m not interested in that.”

  “Why not? What do you have against him?”

  “Lora! I don’t sleep with men I hardly know.”

  “So get to know him. You don’t have to go to bed with the guy. He’s obviously willing to be strung along or he wouldn’t have sent the flowers this morning.”

  “If we hadn’t argued, perhaps I would have gone out with him again. But when I told him that I wasn’t interested in being his latest conquest, he pointed out that I was an actress.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “Yeah. That. I hate that men assume we’re easy game just because we act.”

  Lora grinned. “Well, you have to admit that people in the acting profession are a lot less straitlaced than the general public.”

  “I know. And my way of life is probably freer than it would have been if I’d remained a Boston debutante. But it doesn’t make me a casual pickup. It doesn’t mean I have to be a man’s entertainment for the night.”

  “That’s all he wanted?”

  “What else?”

  “I don’t know.” Lora shrugged. “But he looked to me like he was interested in a lot more than one night. Are you maybe…” She squinted, choosing her words carefully, “…letting some bad experiences in the past color your judgement?”

  “Well, it was something of a shock, going from being a ‘nice’ girl with a father no one wanted to cross to being considered easy prey,” Alyssa admitted. “I’ve learned to handle them. Philippe’s like all the others.”

  “How can you be sure?” Lora asked. “It’s not like you really know him.”

  “Why are you on his side?” Alyssa asked.

  “Oh, hon, I’m not. You know I’m your friend. It was just…I don’t know, he reminded me a little of King.”

  “King?” Alyssa stared at her, thunderstruck.

  Lora laughed. “Yeah, I know, Michaude’s a Mr. Suave French Accent, let-me-kiss your-hand kind of guy, and King’s, well, King. But I’m talking about the inside. I got the feeling he’s pretty single-minded about what he wants; he doesn’t fool around or try to impress people—he locks in on something and goes after it. Kinda like a torpedo.”

  “You might be right about that. I suspect he won’t give up. He wants to win. But it’s still just a game to him, and this is his next move.” Alyssa gestured toward the array of flowers.

  “A man’s always going to try. You know that.” Lora gave her the impish grin that won over movie-goers all over the country. “And sometimes games are fun.”

  Alyssa sighed. “Yeah, but this is a game I’m afraid I might lose.”

  *****

  Alyssa and Lora toured the designer houses of the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, indulging not only in dresses, but in hats, luxurious scarves, shoes, handbags, and lingerie. They stopped late in the afternoon for a reviving cup of coffee beneath one of the brightly striped umbrellas along the Champs-Élysées and watched the people go by as they discussed their day’s purchases.

  “You know what the problem is, don’t you?” Alyssa asked gravely.

  “Yeah. King’s going to lock me in my room when he hears how much I’ve spent.”

  “No. The problem is, how are we going to take all this stuff back on the airplane?”

  “Oh, my God! You’re right.” Lora grinned. “The only solution is to stick to the lighter stuff. Tomorrow we’ll go to the jewelry stores in the Place Vendôme.”

  They laughed and talked and finally turned wearily back to the hotel. Alyssa went to the front desk for her key and messages, and the clerk handed her a slip of paper and informed her that someone had called for her several times but had not left a message. Alyssa opened the slip of paper. Grant Lambert had left her a telephone number to call.

  A grin spread across her face, and Alyssa took the stairs to her room instead of waiting for the elevator, eager to phone her father. She placed the call, and a few minutes later her father’s modulated voice came across the wire. “Grant Lambert.”

  “Dad! It’s me.”

  “Alyssa? I can hardly hear you. Bad connection. I’m back in Paris for a bit. I’m afraid I have a party tonight that I simply must attend. Could you come along? Not much fun for you, I’m sure, but I’d love to see you.”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll be happy to go.” She bit back her disappointment. She had to take the squeezed-in bits of time with her father whenever she could get them. At least she’d be with him, even if there would be other people around. Besides, she had promised Ian Hedley that she would listen to what people were saying, and what better opportunity could there be for that than a diplomatic party?

  They said their good-byes, and Alyssa hurried to bathe and dress. She was ready and waiting in the lobby when Grant Lambert arrived. She wore the same Molyneaux gown that she had worn to Jessica’s party and a discreet circle of pearls that Grant had given her on her sixteenth birthday. When her father saw her, he broke into a broad grin and strode across the lobby to hug her.

  “Ah, Lissy,” he said, reverting to her childhood nickname. “You’re more beautiful than ever.” He stepped back. “You’ve surpassed even your mother in looks. How do you do it?”

  She shrugged, dismissing the subject, and slid her arm through his. “It’s wonderful to see you. It’s been ages. Where are we going tonight?”

  “Just a party given by a government official. But there’s supposed to be another official there that I’ve tried to get hold of for days. His secretary’s been putting me off, but tonight he won’t be able to hide behind that officious young man.”

  They settled themselves in her father’s
waiting limousine and chatted all the way to the party. Alyssa made the most of her time alone with her father. She had learned to long ago.

  The party itself was as dull as her father had predicted, but Alyssa listened to every conversation she could and tried to remember what was said. Fortunately, she had an excellent memory, the result of years of memorizing lines for plays, and she stored it all away, planning to jot everything down for Ian as soon as she returned to the hotel room—though she didn’t hear anything that she thought Ian could find even remotely interesting.

  She watched her father as he made his way through the crush of people, greeting everyone, smiling, expertly slipping away from those he didn’t wish to talk to and just as expertly buttonholing those he wanted to see. He was a handsome middle-aged man: full white hair, bright blue eyes, un-aging strength in the bones of his face. Imposing. And yet a loving father, nonetheless. Though he had not spent as much time with Alyssa as other fathers did, she knew that he had given her many gifts—strength and independence, confidence in dealing with people and life, a sure sense of right and wrong, and the courage to act on her beliefs. He had done his best to instill his own virtues in her, yet he had managed not to criticize her mother’s weakness to her. Alyssa loved him dearly, and she had come to respect him more and more every year. She had often thought that she could never marry a man who had Grant Lambert’s devotion to his work, yet there were times when she wondered how she could love a man who was any less dedicated or any less principled. Perhaps that was the very reason she had never fallen deeply in love.