Once More With Feeling (17 page)

Raven's brows rose. “No, I thought you could book me on the talk-show circuit, dig up some guest shots here and there.”

“Could do that, too,” he said genially. “After you take a few weeks off.”

“I want gigs, not a few weeks off.” Her brows lowered suspiciously. “Have you been talking to Julie?”

He looked surprised. “No, about what?”

“Nothing.” Raven shook her head, then smiled. “Gigs, Henderson.”

“You've lost weight, you know,” he pointed out and shoveled in some more veal. “It shows in your face. Eat.”

Raven gave an exasperated sigh and applied herself to her lunch. “Why does everyone treat me like a dimwitted child?” she mumbled, swallowing shrimp. “I'm going to start being temperamental and hard to get along with until I get some star treatment.” Henderson said something quick and rude between mouthfuls which she ignored. “What about Jerry Michaels? Didn't I hear he was lining up a variety special for the fall? You could get me on that.”

“Simplest thing in the world,” Henderson agreed. “He'd be thrilled to have you.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Henderson.” Resolutely, Raven pushed her plate aside. “Are you going to book me on the Jerry Michaels show?”

“No.” He poured more wine into his glass. The sun shot through it, casting a red shadow on the tablecloth.

“Why?” Annoyance crept into Raven's tone.

“It's not for you.” Henderson lifted a hand, palm up, as she began to argue. “I know who's producing the show, Raven. It's not for you.”

She subsided a bit huffily, but she subsided. His instincts were the best in the field. “All right, forget the Michaels gig. What, then?”

“Want some dessert?”

“No, just coffee.”

He signaled the waiter, then, after ordering blueberry cheesecake for himself and coffee for both of them, he settled back in his chair. “What about
Fantasy?”

Raven twirled her wineglass between her fingers. “It's finished,” she said flatly.

“And?”

“And?” she repeated, looking up. His merry blue eyes were narrowed. “It's finished,” she said again. “Or essentially finished. I can't foresee any problem with the final details. Brandon or his agent will get in touch with you if there are, I'm sure.”

“Jarett will probably need the two of you off and on during the filming,” Henderson said mildly. “I wouldn't consider myself finished with it for a while yet.”

Raven frowned into the pale golden liquid in her glass. “Yes, you're right, of course. I hadn't thought about it. Well . . .” She shook her head and pushed the wine away. “I'll deal with that when the times comes.”

“How'd it go?”

She looked at Henderson levelly, but her thoughts drifted. “We wrote some of the best music either one of us has ever done. That I'm sure of. We work remarkably well together. I was surprised.”

“You didn't think you would?” Henderson eyed the blueberry cheesecake the waiter set in front of him.

“No, I didn't think we would. Thank you,” she said to the waiter before she looked at Henderson again. “But everything else apart, we did work well together.”

“You'd worked well together before,” he pointed out. “‘Clouds and Rain.'” He saw her frown but continued smoothly. “Did you know sales on that have picked up again after your New York concert? You got yourself a lot of free press, too.”

“Yes,” Raven mumbled into her coffee. “I'm sure we did.”

“I've had a lot of questions thrown at me during the last weeks,” he continued blandly, even when her eyes lifted and narrowed. “From the inside,” he said with a smile, “as well as the press. I was at a nice little soiree just last week. You and Brand were the main topic of conversation.”

“As I said, we work well together.” Raven set down her cup. “Brandon was right; we are good for each other artistically.”

“And personally?” Henderson took a generous bite of cheesecake.

“Well.” Raven lifted a brow. “You certainly get to the point.”

“That's all right, you don't have to answer me.” He swallowed the cake, then broke off another piece. “You can tell
him
.”

“Who?”

“Brand,” Henderson answered easily and added cream to his coffee. “He just walked in.”

Raven whirled around in her chair. Instantly her eyes locked on Brand's. With the contact came a wild, swift surge of joy. Her first instinct was to spring from the table and run to him. Indeed, she had pushed the chair back, preparing to do so, when the expression on his face cut through her initial spring of delight. It was ice-cold fury. Raven sat where she was, watching as he weaved his way through the crowded restaurant toward her. There were casual greetings along the way, which he ignored. Raven heard the room fall silent.

He reached her without speaking once or taking his eyes from her. Raven's desire to hold out a hand to him was also overcome. She thought he might strike it away. The look in his eyes had her blood beating uneasily. Henderson might not have been sitting two feet away.

“Let's go.”

“Go?” Raven repeated dumbly.

“Now.” Brand took her hand and yanked her to her feet. She might have winced at the unexpected pressure if she hadn't been so shocked by it.

“Brandon . . .”

“Now,” he repeated. He began to walk away, dragging her behind him. Raven could feel the eyes following them. Shock, delight, anxiety all faded into temper.

“Let go of me!” she demanded in a harsh undertone. “What's the matter with you? You can't drag me around like this.” She bumped into a lunching comedian, then skirted around him with a mumbled apology as Brand continued to stalk away with her hand in his. “Brandon, stop this! I will not be dragged out of a public restaurant.”

He halted then and turned so that their faces were very close. “Would you prefer that I say what I have to say to you here and now?” His voice was clear and cool in the dead silence of the room. It was very easy to see the violence of temper just beneath the surface. Raven could feel it in the grip of his hand on hers. They were spotlighted again, she thought fleetingly, but hardly in the manner in which they had been in New York. She took a deep breath.

“No.” Raven struggled for dignity and kept her voice lowered. “But there isn't any need to make a scene, Brandon.”

“Oh, I'm in the mood for a scene, Raven,” he tossed back in fluid British tones that carried well. “I'm in the mood for a bloody beaut of a scene.”

Before she could comment, Brand turned away again and propelled her out of the restaurant. There was a Mercedes at the curb directly outside. He shoved her inside it, slamming the door behind her.

Raven straightened in the seat, whipping her head around as he opened the other door. “Oh, you're going to get one,” she promised and ripped off her hat to throw it furiously into the back seat. “How
dare
you . . .”

“Shut up. I mean it.” Brand turned to her as she started to speak again. “Just shut up until we get where we're going, otherwise I might be tempted to strangle you here and be done with it.”

He shot away from the curb, and Raven flopped back against her seat. I'll shut up, all right, she thought on wave after wave of anger. I'll shut up. It'll give me time to think through exactly what I have to say.

Chapter 15

B
y the time Brand stopped the car in front of the Bel-Air, Raven felt she had her speech well in order. As he climbed out of his side, she climbed out of hers, then turned to face him on the sidewalk. But before she could speak, he had her arm in a tight grip and was pulling her toward the entrance.

“I told you not to drag me.”

“And I told you to shut up.” He brushed past the doorman and into the lobby. Raven was forced into an undignified half-trot in order to keep up with his long-legged stride.

“I will
not
be spoken to like that,” she fumed and gave her arm an unsuccessful jerk. “I will
not
be carted through a hotel lobby like a piece of baggage.”

“I'm tired of playing it your way.” Brand turned, grabbing both of her shoulders and dragging her against him. His fingers bit into her skin and shocked her into silence. “My game now, my rules.”

His mouth came down hard on hers. It was a kiss of rage. His teeth scraped across her lips, forcing them open so that he could plunder and seek. He held her bruisingly close, as if daring her to struggle.

When Brand pulled away, he stared at her for a long, silent moment, then swore quickly, fiercely. Turning, he pulled her to the elevators.

Though she was no longer certain if it was fear or anger, Raven was trembling with emotion as they took the silent ride up. Brand could feel the throbbing pulse as he held her arm. He swore again, pungently, but she didn't glance at him. As the doors slid open, he pulled her into the hall and toward the penthouse.

There were no words exchanged between them as he slid the key into the lock. He released her arm as he pushed the door open. Without protest, Raven walked inside. She moved to the center of the room.

The suite was elegant, even lush, in a dignified, old-fashioned style with a small bricked fireplace and a good, thick carpet. Behind her the door slammed—a final sound—and she heard Brand toss the key with a faint metallic jingle onto a table. Raven drew a breath and turned around.

“Brandon . . .”

“No, I'll do the talking first.” He crossed to her, his eyes locked on hers. “My rules, remember?”

“Yes.” She lifted her chin. Her arm throbbed faintly where his fingers had dug into it. “I remember.”

“First rule, no more bits and pieces. I won't have you closing parts of yourself off from me anymore.” They were standing close. Now that the first dazed shock and surprise were passing, Raven noticed signs of strain and fatigue on his face. His words were spilling out so quickly, she couldn't interrupt. “You did the same thing to me five years ago, but then we weren't lovers. You were always holding out, never willing to trust.”

“No.” She shook her head, scrambling for some defense. “No, that's not true.”

“Yes, it's true,” he countered and took her by the shoulders again. “Did you tell me about your mother all those years ago? Or how you felt, what you were going through? Did you bring me into your life enough to let me help you, or at least comfort you?”

This was not what she had expected from him. Raven could only press her hand to her temple and shake her head again. “No, it wasn't something . . .”

“Wasn't something you wanted to share with me.” He dropped her arms and stepped away from her. “Yes, I know.” His voice was low and furious again as he pulled out a cigarette. He knew he had to do something with his hands or he'd hurt her again. He watched as she unconsciously nursed her arm where he had gripped her. “And this time, Raven, would you have told me anything about it if it hadn't been for the nightmare? If you hadn't been half-asleep and frightened, would you have told me, trusted me?”

“I don't know.” She made a small sound of confusion. “My mother had nothing to do with you.”

Brand hurled the cigarette away before he lit it. “How can you say that to me? How can you stand there and say that to me?” He took a step toward her, then checked himself and stalked to the bar. “Damn you, Raven,” he said under his breath. He poured bourbon and drank. “Maybe I should have stayed away,” he managed in a calmer tone. “You'd already tossed me out of your life five years ago.”

“
I
tossed you out?” This time her voice rose. “You walked out on me. You left me flat because I wouldn't be your lover.” Raven walked over to the bar and leaned her palms on it. “You walked out of my house and out of my life, and the only word I had from you was what I read in the paper. It didn't take you long to find other women—several other women.”

“I found as many as I could,” Brand agreed and drank again. “As quickly as I could. I used women, booze, gambling—anything—to try to get you out of my system.” He studied the dregs of liquor in his glass and added thoughtfully, “It didn't work.” He set the glass down and looked at her again. “Which is why I knew I had to be patient with you.”

Raven's eyes were still dark with hurt. “Don't talk to me about tossing you out.”

“That's exactly what you did.” Brand grabbed her wrist as she turned to swirl away from him. He held her still, the narrow, mahogany bar between them. “We were alone, remember? Julie was away for a few days.”

Raven kept her eyes level. “I remember perfectly.”

“Do you?” He arched a brow. Both his eyes and voice were cool again. “There might be a few things you don't remember. When I came to the house that night I was going to ask you to marry me.”

Raven could feel every thought, every emotion, pour out of her body. She could only stare at him.

“Surprised?” Brand released her wrist and again reached in his pocket for a cigarette. “Apparently we have two differing perspectives on that night. I
loved
you.” The words were an accusation that kept her speechless. “And God help me, all those weeks we were together I was faithful to you. I never touched another woman.” He lit the cigarette, and as the end flared, Raven heard him say softly, “I nearly went mad.”

“You never told me.” Her voice was weak and shaken. Her eyes were huge gray orbs. “You never once said you loved me.”

“You kept backing off,” he retorted. “And I knew you were innocent and afraid, though I didn't know why.” He gave her a long, steady look. “It would have made quite a lot of difference if I had, but you didn't trust me.”

“Oh, Brandon.”

“That night,” he went on, “you were so warm, and the house was so quiet. I could feel how much you wanted me. It drove me crazy. Good God, I was trying to be gentle, patient, when the need for you was all but destroying me.” He ran a tense hand through his hair. “And you were giving, melting, everywhere I touched you. And then—then you were struggling like some terrified child, pushing at me as if I'd tried to kill you, telling me not to touch you. You said you couldn't bear to have me touch you.”

He looked back at her, but his eyes were no longer cool. “You're the only woman who's ever been able to hurt me like that.”

“Brandon.” Raven shut her eyes. “I was only twenty, and there were so many things . . .”

“Yes, I know now; I didn't know then.” His tone was flat. “Though there really weren't so many changes this time around.” Raven opened her eyes and started to speak, but he shook his head. “No, not yet. I've not finished. I stayed away to give you time, as I told you before. I didn't see any other way. I could hardly stay, kicking my heels in L.A., waiting for you to make up your mind. I didn't know how long I'd stay away, but during those five years I concentrated on my career. So did you.”

Brand paused, spreading his long, elegant hands on the surface of the bar. “Looking back, I suppose that's all for the best. You needed to establish yourself, and I had a surge of productivity. When I started reading about you regularly in the gossip columns I knew it was time to come back.” He watched her mouth fall open at that, and her eyes heat. “Get as mad as you damn well like when I've finished,” he said shortly. “But don't interrupt.”

Raven turned away to search for control. “All right, go on,” she managed and faced him again.

“I came to the States without any real plan, except to see you. The solid idea fell into my lap by way of
Fantasy
when I was in New York. I used the score to get you back,” he said simply and without apology. “When I stood up in that recording booth watching you again, I knew I'd have used anything, but the score did nicely.” He pushed his empty glass aside with his fingertip. “I wasn't lying about wanting to work with you again for professional reasons or about feeling you were particularly right for
Fantasy.
But I would have if it had been necessary. So perhaps you weren't so far wrong about what you said on the cliffs that day.” He moved from the bar to the window. “Of course, there was a bit more to it in my mind than merely getting you to bed.”

Raven felt her throat burn. “Brandon.” She swallowed and shut her eyes. “I've never been more ashamed of anything in my life than what I said to you. Anger is hardly an excuse, but I'd hoped—I'd hoped you'd forgive me.”

Brand turned his head and studied her a moment. “Perhaps if you hadn't left, it would have been easier.”

“I had to. I told you in the note . . .”

“What note?” His voice sharpened as he turned to face her.

“The note.” Raven was uncertain whether to step forward or back. “I left it on the piano with the music.”

“I didn't see any note. I didn't see anything but that you were gone.” He let out a long breath. “I dumped all the music into a briefcase. I didn't notice a note.”

“Julie called only a little while after you'd left to tell me about the accident.”

His eyes shot back to hers again. “What accident?”

Raven stared at him.

“Your mother?” he said, reading it in her eyes.

“Yes. She'd had an accident. I had to get back right away.”

He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Why didn't you wait for me?”

“I wanted to; I couldn't.” Raven laced her fingers together to prevent her hands from fluttering. “Dr. Karter said it would only be a matter of hours. As it was . . .” She paused and turned away. “I was too late, anyway.”

Brand felt the anger drain from him. “I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

Raven didn't know why the simple, quiet statement should bring on the tears she hadn't shed before. They blinded her eyes and clogged her throat so that speech was impossible.

“I went a bit crazy when I got back to the house and found you'd packed and gone.” Brand spoke wearily now. “I don't know exactly what I did at first; afterwards I got roaring drunk. The next morning I dumped all the music together, packed some things and took off for the States.

“I stopped off for a couple of days in New York, trying to sort things out. It seems I spend a great deal of time running after you. It's difficult on the pride. In New York I came up with a dozen very logical, very valid reasons why I should go back to England and forget you. But there was one very small, very basic point I couldn't argue aside.” He looked at her again. Her back was to him, her head bent so that with her hair pulled up he could see the slender length of her neck. “I love you, Raven.”

“Brandon.” Raven turned her tear-drenched face toward him. She blinked at the prisms of light that blinded her, then shook her head quickly when she saw him make a move to come to her. “No, please don't. I won't be able to talk if you touch me.” She drew in a deep breath, brushing the tears away with her fingertips. “I've been very wrong; I have to tell you.”

He stood away from her, though impatience was beginning to simmer through him again. “I had my say,” he agreed. “I suppose you should have yours.”

“All those years ago,” she began. “All those years ago there were things I couldn't say, things I couldn't even understand because I was so—dazzled by everything. My career, the fame, the money, the perpetual spotlight.” The words came quickly, and her voice grew stronger with them. “Everything happened at once; there didn't seem to be any time to get used to it all. Suddenly I was in love with Brandon Carstairs.” She laughed and brushed at fresh tears. “
The
Brandon Carstairs. You have to understand, one minute you were an image, a name on a record, and the next you were a man, and I loved you.”

Raven moistened her lips, moving to stare from the window as Brand had. “And my mother—my mother was my responsibility, Brandon. I've felt that always, and it isn't something that can be changed overnight. You were the genuine knight on a charger. I couldn't—wouldn't talk to you about that part of my life. I was afraid, and I was never sure of you. You never told me you loved me, Brandon.”

“I was terrified of you,” he murmured, “of what I was feeling for you. You were the first.” He shrugged. “But you were always pulling back from me. Always putting up No Trespassing signs whenever I started to get close.”

“You always seemed to want so much.” She hugged her arms. “Even this time, in Cornwall, when we were so close. It didn't seem to be enough. I always felt you were waiting for more.”

“You still put up the signs, Raven.” She turned, and his eyes locked on hers. “Your body isn't enough. That isn't what I waited five years for.”

“Love should be enough,” she tossed back, suddenly angry and confused.

“No.” Brand shook his head, cutting her off. “It isn't enough. I want a great deal more than that.” He waited a moment, watching the range of expressions on her face. “I want your trust, without conditions, without exceptions. I want a commitment, a total one. It's all or nothing this time, Raven.”

She backed away. “You can't own me, Brandon.”