The Spellbinder (4 page)

“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 but 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 true, 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.”

“I found Benoit a little grim.”

Cass looked surprised. “Did you? I thought he
seemed like a great guy. He’s fantastic-looking too.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “How do you think he’d photograph?”

“Looking for another client, Cass?” Brody asked dryly.

“A manager never has too many clients.”

Brody began to take off his makeup. “I thought he was a little too pretty.”

“Evidently his roommate doesn’t agree with you.”

Brody’s hand hesitated for a tenth of a second and then continued to apply cold cream to his face. “Roommate?”

Cass gestured to the paper in his hand. “Sacha Lorion and Benoit share a room at the Majestic.”

Brody found his hand clenching on a tissue and forced himself to release it. “That’s the report?”

Cass nodded. “It was delivered by special messenger during the second act. It’s fairly conclusive regarding activities since she arrived in the U.S., but we’re having trouble finding out anything about her life in France.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what the holdup is, but Randal says they’ll keep working on it. He was surprised that it was easier to find out about her life before she came to Paris.” He paused. “She’s not your sister, Brody.”

Brody felt a rush of relief that was surely out of all proportion to the statement. “You’re sure?”

“Your father was in Hungary at that time, but he was living with a ballerina by the name of Elena Woezak.” He glanced down at the report. “He was at a small hunting lodge outside the city
during the entire period the girl had to have been conceived.”

“Then she’s no relation at all?”