The Spellbinder: A Loveswept Classic Romance Read online

  Her eyes were direct and without guile as they held his own. Brody studied her thoughtfully. My Lord, she actually believed what she was saying. The realization brought a shock as profound as the initial announcement she had made. “And how do you know I have trouble trusting anyone?”

  “Oh, I know all about you.” Her expression was grave. “I’ve been studying you very carefully for the past two months. I suppose it’s natural that you have to surround yourself with guards and walls, but it’s sad too. Take Disney World, for example. You would have enjoyed that so—”

  “Two months?”

  She nodded. “That’s when Louis and I came here from Paris. When I realized I wouldn’t be able to see you by the usual means, I decided I’d have to find another way to do it. So I’ve been following you from city to city and getting to know all about you.”

  He leaned back in his chair, his face unreadable. “How interesting. You must be a determined young lady.”

  She nodded. “Very determined.”

  “And just what do you think you know about me?”

  “Do you mean the surface things?” A tiny frown wrinkled her brow. “Well, of course, everyone knows you’re a great actor. Your mother was Elise Merton, a bit actress who died when you were eleven. Your father and mine, Raymond Devlin, was also an actor. You spent most of your childhood in private boarding schools in London and Switzerland. You’re not married, but have had many affairs.” She paused. “But most of those happened when you were in your twenties. Lately you prefer to patronize very expensive call-girl services like Marceline’s when you want a woman.”

  “I may think twice about that from now on,” he murmured. “It seems to involve unexpected hazards.”

  She grinned. “Me? I’m no hazard. You’ll see, I’ll be very good for you.”

  A faint smile hovered on his lips. “Oh, you will, will you?”

  “Yes, that was another reason I studied you so carefully. I want to be able to help you.” She moved nearer, her face flushed with eagerness. “I’ve never had anyone of my own before, but I’ve always been very good with people. I’m sure I can be a wonderful sister to you.”

  Lord, the intensity she was generating was both mesmerizing and poignant. “You’re planning on making that your full-time occupation?”

  “No, that won’t be possible. I have no money, and I have to—” She broke off as she caught the slight stiffening in Brody’s demeanor and then shook her head sadly. “Don’t pull away from me. I’m not going to ask you for money. I would never take anything from you. I just want to know what it’s like to belong to someone, to belong to you. Family. I’ve wanted that since I was a little girl.”

  “Look, I’m not your brother,” Brody said gently. “My father may have been a womanizer, but he wasn’t a bastard who would have ignored the existence of his child.”

  “But he didn’t know,” Sacha said. Her fingers rose to rub absently at a spot behind her left ear. “My mother was a gypsy singer in a cafe in Budapest. Raymond Devlin was there with a touring company for only a month and then returned to America. When she found she was pregnant, she was afraid to tell her father she was to have a gajo’s child. She would have been in disgrace with her tribe, and my grandfather hated gajos. She refused to tell anyone who my father was.” She moistened her lips. “But she died when I was seven and left a letter telling me the truth.”

  “She named my father?”

  Sacha shook her head. “She was still afraid my grandfather would hurt him. She only said he was a wonderful American actor.”

  “That covers a hell of a lot of territory.”

  “Not so much. There were only a handful of American actors in Budapest during that month.”

  His gaze narrowed on her face. “How do you know?”

  “I had a friend check the immigration records.”

  “Evidently a very influential friend,” he said softly. “I imagine it would be quite difficult to obtain that information after all these years.”

  Her gaze slid away from him. “He had certain … contacts.” She made an impatient gesture with her hand. “But that’s not important. Raymond Devlin was in Budapest during that month.”

  “And why did you single him out?”

  “I saw a picture of the two of you together in a newspaper.”

  “And?”

  “I have his eyes,” she said simply. “Your eyes, Brody.”

  All trace of amusement vanished from Brody’s face. He felt as if he’d been slammed in the stomach. The eyes looking into his own were undeniably similar to the ones he saw in the mirror every day, the same shade of blue, the same upward tilt at the corners. He had a fleeting memory of the impression when he had first seen her of something familiar about those eyes. Lord, could it be true?

  His rejection came immediately and with violence. No, she couldn’t be any relation; he wouldn’t have it. His response to her had been too erotic, too powerful. Hell, his body was still aroused. Surely there was some instinct that would signal forbidden territory. “It could be coincidence.”

  “You don’t really think that, do you?” Her face fell with disappointment. “No, it’s the only answer. You must get used to the idea. I know it will be an adjustment, but I’ll try to help. You’ll soon forget that there was ever a time you didn’t have a sister.”

  “And what if I don’t choose to acknowledge the need for a sister?”

  Pain flickered for a moment in her face, and then her lips firmed determinedly. “Then I’ll just have to show you that you do need me. I’ve waited too long to find my family to give up easily. You needn’t worry. I am not going to ask anything, but to let me give to you.” She smiled tremulously. “I’m very good at giving.”

  He felt a tightness in his throat. If this was a con game, she must be the best in the business. “And in some circles I’m known as a world-class expert at taking. You’d better remember that.”

  Her face was suddenly illuminated by eagerness. “You believe me, don’t you? It’s going to be all right. You’re going to let me—”

  Two fingers were suddenly on her lips, silencing her. “Easy. I believe you think you’re my sister, but that doesn’t mean I necessarily do.” Her lips felt warm and soft beneath the pads of his fingers, and he began to experience a tingling sensation spreading to his wrist and then up his arm. He hurriedly jerked his hand away from her mouth. “In fact, I doubt it seriously. We’ll have to see.”

  She nodded quickly. “I won’t rush you.” Her eyes were shining. “I’ll be very patient with you.”

  He chuckled. “You make me sound like a reluctant virgin.”

  “Bah, I would never make that mistake. I know too much about you.” She stood up. “Now, I must go. I’ve given you enough to think about. Would you like me to call Marceline’s before I leave?”

  He thought about it. There was no question that he needed a woman but he suddenly found the thought of one of Marceline’s girls unappetizing. “Maybe I’ll do it later. Just how did you find out I used Marceline’s service?”

  “We asked questions. Louis was able to get a job as an usher in your theater in Dallas. You’d be surprised about the private details the stage crews know about you.”

  His lips thinned. “You’re mistaken. It doesn’t surprise me at all. My personal life has been fair game since I was a boy.”

  She nodded sympathetically. “I know that bothers you but—”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” he said with sudden violence. “I wish you’d stop saying you do, dammit. You can’t learn about a man by watching him act in a damn play.”

  “No?” She smiled. “If you say so, Brody. Then I’ll be able to look forward to getting to know you now, won’t I?”

  He gazed at her helplessly. Why did he feel as if he were talking to the wind? “Where are you staying?”

  She made a face. “The Majestic Hotel. Believe me, there’s nothing majestic about it, but it’s very cheap. Louis says it’s a fleatrap bu
t we needed to save every penny.”

  “Ah, yes, Louis.” He stood up. “I’m anxious to meet your friend. Why don’t you bring him around tomorrow afternoon?”

  “We can’t,” she said over her shoulder as she moved toward the door leading to the sitting room. “We both have to work during the day. We’ll see you tomorrow night after the performance if you’ll leave word at the stage door to let us in.”

  He found himself trailing her into the sitting room. She was shrugging into her blue-jean jacket, and he suddenly became aware of how worn and faded the garment appeared. “How are you getting to the hotel?”

  “Walking. It’s only seven blocks.”

  “It’s after midnight. Take a cab.”

  A glowing smile curved her lips. “You’re worrying about me? That’s a good sign.”

  “I’d worry about any woman on the streets at this hour.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him cheerfully. “I can take care of myself. I’m very tough.”

  “You’re not going to take a cab?”

  She only smiled and turned toward the door.

  “Wait.” He strode to the telephone across the room. “I’ll call for my car.”

  She smiled delightedly. “That will be nice. I’ve never ridden in a limousine. It will certainly up my stock at the Majestic. They may even try to raise my rent.”

  He found himself smiling indulgently as he spoke into the receiver. The girl was completely without affectation. He hung up the receiver. “Harris will be down in front of the hotel in five minutes.”

  “Harris?” Sacha repeated, rolling the texture of the name on her tongue. “He sounds wonderfully English and P. G. Wodehouse.”

  “He’s from Brooklyn,” Brody said dryly. “And he hates being away from New York with a very verbose passion. There’s nothing stiff upper lip about him.”

  Her laughter pealed out, and he found himself tilting his head to listen. Husky and musical and full of earthy enjoyment. Lord, what a beautiful sound, Brody thought.

  “That’s even better,” she said as she crossed to the door. “Good night, Brody.”

  “Wait,” he said once more. He was experiencing a strange reluctance to let her leave him that had nothing to do with sexual desire. “You haven’t told me anything about yourself. Don’t you think that’s a little unfair, considering you claim to know practically everything about me?”

  She paused, her hand on the knob of the door. “There’s not much to know. I told you my mother died when I was seven.”

  “And you grew up in Paris. With your grandfather?”

  “No.” She didn’t turn around. “My grandfather never left Hungary.”

  “Then who did …?”

  She opened the door hurriedly. “It’s not important. What does it matter? I’m here now.” She shot him a brilliant smile over her shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Brody.”

  “Sacha, why …?” He trailed off. The door had shut behind her. He gazed at the carved panels thoughtfully for a few minutes before he picked up the receiver again and punched in Cass’s room number.

  The phone was picked up at once, as he knew it would be. Cass was an insomniac and seldom managed to get more than a few hours sleep a night. “Hello.”

  “Brody. Look, Cass, I want you to find out everything you can about a Sacha Lorion, age twenty-one, born in Budapest.”

  Cass’s voice was instantly alert. “How do you spell her last name?”

  “I’m not sure, but she’s staying at the Majestic Hotel here in town. Probably with a man called Louis Benoit. They arrived from Paris two months ago. She’s supposedly Hungarian and American. I don’t know about Benoit.”

  “That’s not much to go on.” Cass paused. “Just how in-depth do you want this report?”

  “To the bottom of the well,” Brody said. “Everything.”

  “The best man to contact will probably be Randal, who handles your security. I’ll call him right now, but this may take time.”

  “Grease the wheels. I want to know right away.”

  There was a short silence on the other end of the line. “May I ask what the hurry is?”

  Brody’s lips curved in a wry smile. He wondered what Cass would say if he told him he admitted to being a libertine but wanted the assurance that he wasn’t an incestuous one. “The woman says she’s my sister.”

  Cass gave a long low whistle. “A con game.”

  Brody scowled. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You think there might be something to it?” Cass asked. “Raymond—”

  “No, I don’t think there’s anything to it,” Brody interrupted harshly. “Just check it out, okay?”

  Cass hesitated. “Sure. Okay. I just thought—”

  “Good night, Cass.” Brody put down the receiver and turned toward the bedroom.

  He doubted he would sleep. His body was still as aroused as the moment when he had held Sacha between his legs in the kitchen, and his mind was filled with guilt, bafflement, and the memory of Sacha Lorion’s glowing face as she had looked up at him and said she wanted to belong to him.

  “It went well?” Louis raised himself on one elbow and gazed at her sleepily. “He believed you?”

  “Well, he didn’t disbelieve me.” Sacha grinned as she pulled her T-shirt over her head, then started for the bathroom. “I guess I couldn’t expect anything more. It’s going to be all right, you just wait and see.”

  Louis shook his head ruefully as she vanished into the bathroom. Sacha always thought everything was going to turn out fine, and most of the time it miraculously did. No, miracles had nothing to do with it. Sacha was the catalyst, the one who snatched success from the fires of failure.

  Sacha came out of the bathroom in the orange oversize rugby jersey shirt in which she usually slept. She turned out the light and padded across the faded flowered carpet to the bed. The springs sagged as she slipped into her side of the double bed, plumped up the thin pillow, and drew the sheet about her shoulders.

  She gazed into the darkness. She should try to get some sleep. Tomorrow would be as strenuous as any other workday. She squirmed restlessly on the lumpy mattress. But how could she sleep when everything had changed? She had met him. They had talked and even laughed together.

  He had liked her. Her hands clenched on the sheet, excitement rising within her. She knew he liked her even if he didn’t yet realize it himself. Before that idiotic misunderstanding there had been moments when she had sensed a—a togetherness, a wonderful bonding of spirit like nothing she had ever known before. She had never realized that a blood tie could be this dynamic. After all these years she had someone of her own.

  Louis’s hesitant voice came out of the darkness. “Sacha, don’t care so much. It may not work out.”

  “It will,” Sacha whispered. “It’s got to work.”

  “He’s a hard man.”

  “Yes.”

  “You said yourself he didn’t care about anything but his work.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you tell him about yourself? He might not understand.”

  “I’m not ashamed of my past, Louis.”

  “I know that, but—”

  “I’ll tell him. I just didn’t want to throw too many things at him at once.”

  “Sacha, maybe you should—”

  “Oh, Louis, please be still. I’m so happy. Don’t spoil it.”

  Louis was silent a moment. “All right, I won’t say anything more.” There was another silence before he said fiercely, “But don’t get too attached to this fine brother of yours. If he hurts you, I’ll cut the bastard’s heart out.”

  “It’s going to be fine. You’ll like him, Louis.”

  “Maybe. But I’ll still cut his heart out.”

  Sacha laughed softly. “Good night, Louis.”

  “Bonne nuit.”

  He was asleep a few minutes later, but Sacha was still wide-awake, excitement bubbling within her. Everything Louis had said about Brody was tr
ue, but none of it mattered. He belonged to her. She could work out anything as long as that truth remained.

  “This is my friend Louis Benoit,” Sacha said. “My brother, Brody, Louis.”

  Louis Benoit was the most beautiful human being Brody had ever seen. He judged the man to be in his early twenties, with classic features, crystal-gray eyes, and a shock of dark hair that curled around that Greek-god face with stylishly careless abandon. Tall and slim, dressed in jeans and a black jacket, he possessed the easy grace of a top male model.

  Brody nodded. “Benoit.” The Frenchman was gazing at him with antipathy, and Brody found himself bristling with answering antagonism. His hand closed on the knob of his dressing room door. “I have to change. If you’ll wait for me, I’d like both of you to be my guests at dinner.”

  “We’ll wait,” Sacha said happily. “Do you mind if we look around? I’ve never been backstage before.”

  “Go ahead.” Brody found his gaze clinging to her eager face and forced himself to look away. “Be back in fifteen minutes.”

  Benoit started to turn away and then stopped. “You were very good tonight. You always are.”

  Brody experienced a flicker of surprise. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. I merely tell the truth.” Benoit turned and walked away.

  Sacha made a comical face and whispered, “Sometimes Louis can be difficult too.”

  His lips twisted. “But worthwhile?”

  She nodded. “Very worthwhile. Give him a chance.” She hurried down the hall after Benoit.

  Well, Brody didn’t like him at the moment. He found the Frenchman surly, rude, and entirely too good-looking. He opened the door to find Cass sitting in the easy chair with his feet propped up on the coffee table.

  His manager looked up from the papers he was scanning with an inquiring gaze. “How did it go?”

  “Fine.” Brody closed the door behind him and strode over to the dressing table. “Sacha Lorion and Louis Benoit are here.”

  “I know, the stage manager brought them to me and asked me to keep them out of everyone’s way when they showed up backstage. Nice kids.”