by Jina Bacarr
I wet my lips with my tongue, prepare for battle. This kitten needs rescuing more than I first believed. Wasn’t I that way when Emil found me at sixteen?
I make my approach. If I thought his appeal put my hormones on notice before, they spike the closer I get. After years of exposure to good-looking actors, you’d think I’m immune to such a man. Apparently not.
‘Pardon, mademoiselle,’ I say to the young girl, then continue in English, ‘If I were you, I’d dump this phony Romeo before he steals more than your money.’
The young girl widens her eyes in surprise then stares at me like she wants to say something but doesn’t. She looks me up and down, assessing my gown, my jeweled pin, while the sexy rogue shoots around so quickly, I have to step back. A graceful slide out of the dragon’s lair, monsieur? my eyes ask him. Ah, yes, I see a temper sparking in his eyes, snapping at me with disapproval for exposing his game.
His jaw tightens and I get a better look at that handsome face. Everything around me comes into sharp focus when he moves on me, the distinct musk in the air giving off the scent of a primal male used to getting the female he wants, the golden glow emitting from the dim casino lighting illuminating his tanned face against his white dinner jacket.
He leads me by the elbow away from the young girl looking both miffed and confused. The warmth rushing through me from the human contact with this stranger surprises me.
I don’t pull away.
‘I beg your pardon, mademoiselle? What did you call me?’ He raises both brows. A complete feign of innocence lights up those gorgeous, dark smoldering eyes. He’s got his moves down, I’ll give him that.
‘You heard me, monsieur. Beat it. She’s not your type.’
The thief slides his hand down my arm, his gaze and his words direct.
‘And you are my type?’ His eyes twinkle, amused. I slink away, breaking the heated contact between us, though part of me doesn’t want to. The man with the arrogance of a highwayman is asking me if I’m coquette or lady.
‘That’s for you to find out, monsieur.’ I take a beat, the urge to have him take up the challenge so strong, I lower my eyes and whisper in a low, husky voice, ‘If you dare.’
‘How do you know I won’t steal from you?’ He flicks his finger over the diamond pin on my gown, his eyes so bright and piercing as he peeks at my cleavage they give me a chill.
I don’t back down.
Instead I raise my chest, pushing my breasts out in a deliberate tease. ‘What I’ve got to offer, no man can take.’
‘That’s a gamble I’m willing to pursue.’
‘A lady’s got to look out for her reputation.’
A confident smirk plays upon his lips. ‘I can help you with that.’
‘Can you?’ I ask, moving closer as if any physicality between us is because I call the shots, not him. ‘Are we making a bet?’
‘If I kiss you, you’ll lose.’
He’s backed me into a corner. ‘You don’t give a girl much choice.’
‘Afraid you’ll like it?’
‘I’m afraid of no man, monsieur,’ I shoot back. Except falling in love and having my heart broken. I must have given myself away, the loneliness in my heart seeping into my eyes.
‘I’d never break your heart.’
The look I catch him giving me is mesmerizing. Heated. Hungry. Confident. As if he’s acknowledging a fervent interest in upping the stakes. I exhale a deep sigh. I feel caught up in a game I have no intention of playing. Yet I can’t help myself.
‘I trust no man, monsieur, especially a con artist.’ I roll my shoulder, tilt my head to catch the sparkle from the chandelier in my eyes.
To seduce him farther away from his mark, I saunter over to the table near the entrance of the Salle Schmidt. I look over my shoulder, inviting the gorgeous man to follow me. There’s nothing a devilishly handsome rogue likes better than to enhance his image by seducing a woman who won’t fall for his game. He gives me a stony gaze, his blue eyes deepening in color, alerting me I’ve hit a nerve.
He’s at my side in two long strides. ‘Well played, mademoiselle. Have we met before?’
‘We have now, monsieur.’ Forcing my emotions to remain behind the carefully crafted mask I forged for this evening, I don’t hesitate to say, ‘If you’re looking for someone who can match you in your con game, pick on me, not the innocent girl.’
His square jaw tightens when I don’t back down, don’t crawl at his feet.
Interesting.
He ventures to smile into my eyes, searching for more than a playful answer from me. ‘And what is your game, mademoiselle?’
‘Relieving a gentleman of his winnings. Especially the ill-gotten ones.’ I nudge my hip against his jacket pocket where he stuffed the bills. He stiffens. So he’s not in control of everything. Bon. A point for me. ‘Now if you’ll be so kind as to return the roll of British pounds sterling you lifted from the girl’s purse, I won’t call the snooty inspector and tell him you’re a Big Bad Wolf disguised as a gentleman.’
He lets out a low whistle. ‘And if I don’t?’
‘Then you’ll have to answer to me.’ A direct challenge. A warning that in spite of my interest in him as a man, he’s still a thief.
He refutes my words with a rock-hard resistance that sends a shudder through me. ‘I answer to no one, mademoiselle.’
‘You’re British, n’est-ce pas?’
‘Is it that obvious?’ The rogue’s retort, not to mention the flash of danger in his eyes, invite me to continue the game. Sure of himself, isn’t he?
‘Your arrogance is,’ I snap back, enjoying myself.
‘And you’re so deliciously French.’
I strike a pose. ‘That is obvious.’
‘And you’re also very beautiful. Who are you?’ He slides his arm around my waist, a daring move. In Monte Carlo they say nothing good or honest ever happens here, so I’m not surprised at his arrogance.
‘That’s not important, monsieur.’ I sidestep him with a swish of my long, slinky gown. ‘After you return the money, I suggest we take this conversation elsewhere, like the Hôtel de Paris, where you won’t be tempted to lure any more young girls into your trap.’
‘So you can lure me into yours?’ Again, that low and gravelly voice tempts me to go beyond playing a game with him, a treat for my poor battered heart, but I promised Emil I wouldn’t cause a scandal while I’m here. Having a one-night affair with a rogue gambler, no matter how much he stirs my loins, is off limits. Believe it or not, there are times I agree with him regarding my reputation and the consequences of an impulsive affair.
Yes, I have changed since I got out of the sanitarium.
Yes, I’m wiser now.
Yes, I’m lonelier than ever.
Which is why I don’t run. I’m hungry for a man’s touch so long denied me. I can’t get it through my brain to walk away. There’s something about this man that makes me want to know him – even though I know him to be unscrupulous. Why is he driven to stealing from beautiful women? Has he lost fifty, a hundred, a thousand francs tonight? Why is he gambling so heavily he has to resort to stealing from an innocent girl?
Is it my job as an avenging angel to also save him?
What a deliciously wicked idea.
A rising emotion makes me sigh and want and burn. A feeling I’ve suppressed so long I’m desperate to rediscover it. He’s no rudimentary gentleman shy of fancy talk when conning a feminine bit of fluff – which he knows I’m not – so he’s changing his playbook. I can see it in his eyes, dark with secrets he’s not ready to reveal to me. Not yet.
‘Do you think I’m a spy?’ I ask, hiding the lower half of my face with my gloved hand and peering over my fingers, sending him a piercing look. Would it hurt to play along a little longer?
‘Everyone here has something to hide, mademoiselle. Whether it’s a heart broken by a road not taken, or a passion burning for the unattainable, we’ve all lost something… or someone. So we come to t
he gaming tables at Monte Carlo and watch the little ball make its descent into the pockets on the wheel… red or black… it doesn’t matter… hoping we’ll be lucky this time.’ An arrogant smile, then, ‘Including you.’
I sense a note of curiosity, then hope I’ll take the bait in his deep baritone voice.
‘And why would you say that?’ Deep in the pit of my stomach, my game of subterfuge turns into something more revealing. Never before have I cared about the results of my roleplaying. Whoever this handsome man is, he’s found a way to unsettle me and I don’t like it.
His eyes narrow. ‘I think you know the answer.’
He waits for me to speak, then smirks when I catch him looking at my cleavage as if he’s already tasting the salt on my skin with his warm lips.
Bad enough I’m flirting with him, now he’s challenging me to reveal who I am… or is he bluffing? After all, he’s a player. I can feel the dizzying pounding of my heart when I let myself fall for a man and I am falling for him.
I don’t have a chance to find out. The young girl marches over to us, holding up her empty purse. ‘The lady is right, Jock, you took my spending allowance,’ she says, annoyed. ‘How could you?’
I can’t hide my surprise. ‘You know this thief?’
‘He’s no thief.’ Her gaze wanders past me to the tall gentleman taking out a platinum cigarette case and giving me a victorious, sexy glance. ‘He’s my brother.’
‘You see, mademoiselle, I’m not such a bad sort after all.’ His eyes are full of mirth, enjoying his deception as he lights a cigarette. Again, he can’t take his eyes off me, sweeping his glance up and down my body in approval. ‘You might say I’m a good sport, seeing how you almost got me arrested with your accusations.’
His sister’s eyes widen with shock, then amusement. ‘Jock, she didn’t.’
‘I did, mademoiselle, since I was concerned when I saw your brother remove the money from your purse.’ I don’t know whether or not to be angry or amused at his ruse. What’s more disconcerting is the physical arousal this man evokes in me. ‘I should have him arrested for his duplicitous game.’
‘I like her, Jock.’ Her amusement turns into a huge smile that shows her pretty, white teeth. ‘She’s got more guts than the silly women you usually hang around with.’ She plants her hands on her hips. ‘Now if you’ll return the money Nana gave me for my birthday, I’ll leave you two alone.’ She winks at me. ‘Good luck, mademoiselle, and I don’t mean at the tables.’
Her brother narrows his gaze, focusing on the young woman, then returns the money to her. ‘No gambling, Winnie. Understood?’
‘Promise.’ She crosses her fingers. ‘Keep him occupied, mademoiselle. Please.’ Then she trots off without another word, looking over her shoulder and glancing at us with a big smile.
Jock shakes his head. ‘She lost ten thousand francs yesterday at trente et quarante.’
‘Let her go. She’s having fun.’
‘At my poor grandmother’s expense.’ He narrows his eyes. ‘How do I know you’re not a thief?’
‘You don’t. This could be a trap.’
‘A very beautiful trap, mademoiselle,’ he says, smiling at whatever sensual thought occupies his mind. ‘Can I buy you a drink at the bar?’
‘Spies don’t drink with their target.’ The words come quick. Dangerous territory for me when it comes to the bottle and I don’t want to spoil our interlude. I like the game too much to ruin it.
‘Too bad. I would have enjoyed being seduced by a Mata Hari who happens to be a famous French film star.’ I see merriment in his eyes. He made me and he’s enjoying every minute of it. It doesn’t, however, stop his eyes smoldering with midnight-blue flames.
It’s my turn to tip my hat to him. ‘When did you know who I was?’
‘When you mentioned the Hôtel de Paris, I remembered seeing you in the lobby earlier wearing that same gown and surrounded by press photographers. I overheard the hotel staff talking about the beautiful blonde actress from Paris.’ As he looks at me remembering that moment, his eyes wrap me up in velvet, sending a pleasurable ache slithering through me. ‘I couldn’t take my eyes off you when your diamond pin sparkled as flashbulbs went off and you rubbed the horse’s front leg for good luck on the Louis XIV statue.’
‘It’s already brought me good luck.’ I wink at him, a brazen move. I don’t tell him the diamond pin is a fake from the studio wardrobe department. A prop I coveted from Madame le Noir to go with my gown. ‘I never expected anyone to recognize me in a black wig.’
‘You underestimate your fans.’
‘You’re a fan?’
‘I am now.’
I’m struck by the sincerity in his voice. It warms me in a way I haven’t felt for a long time.
‘I want to thank you for looking out for my sister Winnie.’ His handsome features are etched with brotherly concern. ‘She’s very impetuous. I was impressed by how you protected her from what you perceived as a threat. I’ve never met a gorgeous woman who would do that. You’re nothing like the other actresses I’ve gone out with, most with enormous egos.’
I laugh. ‘Not where I come from.’ I don’t elaborate. ‘I’ll never forget the poor seamstress role that made me a star. I like to think of myself as Ninette, an angel saving the world from bad villains.’
‘Mon bel ange.’ Jock smiles at me and the word angel takes on a whole new meaning for me. A fluttering in my heart I won’t easily forget. ‘Winnie’s lucky to have a famous actress watching out for her.’
‘She’s lucky to have such a handsome brother.’
Gorgeously handsome, but I won’t tell him that.
‘Call me Jock.’
‘Sylvie… but then you already know that.’
Ah, mon Dieu, how I don’t want this conversation to end. It won’t be easy to let him into my heart, if he’s even interested in me beyond flirting. Rather like placing a bet on the roulette wheel with your eyes closed. The hunger to win, the need to connect outweigh the fear of losing it all.
Suddenly I don’t care when I hear him say—
‘There’s a lot more I’d like to know about you, Sylvie.’
15
Sylvie
Who is my Prince Charming really?
Monte Carlo
1938
Does the night ever end in Monte Carlo?
The casino closes at midnight, but the stepping stars of lights from the hotels and the nearby sporting club, the yachts anchored in the harbor… the laughter drifting on the cool evening breeze… all make the evening magic. After our unique introduction, Jock and I hold hands as we wander down the steps to the almost deserted terrace of the casino chairs near the balustrade. As far as our wildly sensual banter goes, we trade it for a more relaxed camaraderie between us that goes deeper than quips and innuendos. The simmering emotions we let go so freely when we didn’t know where the play would lead us find a new course. We’re no longer hiding behind masks of anonymity and I find him a fascinating enigma I can’t wait to unravel.
‘I owe Winnie a debt I can never repay.’ Jock squeezes my hand.
‘You do?’ I say, squeezing his hand back. The scent of roses dances by on a wistful breeze adding to the romantic moment.
‘If she weren’t an adorable little troublemaker, we never would have met.’
‘Oh? I don’t believe you. You had me in your sights at the Hȏtel de Paris.’
‘I did… but I’m a gambling man and I was waiting for the right moment to—’
‘Kidnap me?’ I tease him. ‘I hear there’s a local superstition that it’s lucky to abduct a French actress and hold her close and inhale her perfume when you make your bet.’
‘Like this?’ He picks me up and drapes me over his broad shoulder, paying no mind to my meek protests and carrying me away from the bright lights of the casino. My worst acting job ever. I moan with a deep pleasure, yielding to his will when he puts me down near the sumptuous garden. I imagine the sleeping blossoms openi
ng and peeking at our antics when he holds me close to his chest and slides his hands up and down my body, his gaze locked on me.
‘Yes,’ I whisper, ‘most definitely like this.’
‘Sylvie… you try a man’s soul. I’ve never met a woman like you.’
‘Is that good or bad?’ I ask in an unsteady voice, surprised at my own question.
‘Very good… but you’re a famous film star and I’m—’
‘You’re a man and I’m a woman… that’s all that counts.’
‘If only it were that simple.’
He cups my chin as I look up into his eyes, trusting him, baring my soul to him, a man I hardly know. Every part of me aches to feel him kiss me, explore my hidden places. He smiles at me in a way that tells me he’s finding it painful to tamp down his passion for me. That he’s on edge, holding back. I sense he’s keeping something from me.
A flippant breeze flirts with the lingering night as the minutes tick by. Neither of us moves, the heat of our bodies touching so pleasurable we embrace the sheer joy of it.
‘I want to keep holding you, Sylvie, but I’m only human and I won’t last much longer,’ he whispers, nuzzling my hair with his face. ‘I’ll escort you back to your hotel before I do something we’ll both regret.’
I nod. I can’t speak, my throat tight. I thought he was going to kiss me. He didn’t. Would I have resisted? Or leant into him, matching his hunger with my own?
I’ll never know.
In the days that follow, we keep in contact by telephone, but we don’t speak about what happened that night. As if we’ve called a truce to our physical need for each other. I’m not sure why. Again, I have the feeling Jock is keeping something from me. It can’t be another woman. Winnie would have spilled the beans if there was. I put that thought out of my head and jump up and down like a schoolgirl reading a billet-doux when Jock shows up at my hotel with orchids and chocolate. I can’t get enough of his deliciously warm charm and his vast knowledge. He’s brilliantly educated and filled with utter confidence, a Renaissance man, while I’m a lowly player on this earth on what the Bard called a stage.
