The Spellbinder (6 page)

She had said that before, but there appeared to be nothing tough about either her or the hand he was holding. Both were slender and seemed infinitely fragile. “We’d better get you to the emergency room at the hospital and have them X-ray it.”

“No!” She jerked her hand away. “No hospitals.”

“Sacha, it would be better—”

“No! I don’t like hospitals.” She shook her head emphatically. “I won’t go.”

“But that’s stupid. It will only take fifteen minutes or so, and then we’ll be sure you’re okay.”

“I’m not going,” Sacha said flatly. She turned away. “I’ll go back to the hotel and bathe it. It will be fine.”

“Hold it,” he ordered curtly. “Very well, we’ll let the X ray go for now. But if the swelling doesn’t go down a hell of a lot by tomorrow, I’ll drag you there by your hair. Now, sit down and let me see
what I can manage in the way of first aid. I’ll get a basin of water and a washcloth.” He turned away. “I think I saw a kit in the medicine chest in the bathroom.”

Ten minutes later Brody was still kneeling by the easy chair, bathing her wrist in cold water. He scowled intently as he transferred the cold cloth from the basin to her wrist for the umpteenth time. “I think it’s going down a little.”

Sacha nodded, her gaze fixed bemusedly on his face. “Oh, yes, it feels much better.”

His gaze lifted from her wrist to her face. “Much? I thought you never lied.”

“Well, I
do
exaggerate,” she admitted with a grin. “But it’s truly a good deal better, Brody.”

“The hospital—”

“No hospital.” Her smile faded. “I told you I don’t like them.”

“So you did.” His frown deepened. “Idiotic. The entire episode is idiotic. You’re idiotic. Why didn’t you tell me right away you were hurt?”

“I thought the pain would disappear.”

“And when you found it wouldn’t?”

“I thought I could stand it.”

“Why?” he asked explosively. “Why would you pretend not to be in pain?”

“I was afraid you’d send me away,” she said simply. “I wanted to be with you, Brody.”

He felt as if she’d hit him with a sledgehammer. Her expression was completely free of lies or armor, and he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away. “My God,” he whispered.

“I love you,” Sacha said softly. “I belong to you. I didn’t want to let this silly injury interfere with your getting to know me.”

He finally managed to look away from her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do. I know
you
, Brody. It’s you who doesn’t realize what’s happening. We’ve found each other. Can’t you feel how important it is to both of us?”

“Sacha, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“What?”

“Cass received a …” His words trailed off as his glance returned to her face. Eagerness, radiance, happiness. How the hell could he destroy all that when she was also in physical pain? “Cass likes Chinese food, but I prefer Italian. How about you?”

“Anything.” The radiance deepened. “You’re not sending me back to the hotel?”

“We’ll see.” He opened the first-aid kit, took out an elastic bandage, and began winding it around her swollen wrist. “I’ll take you out to a formal dinner tomorrow evening but perhaps we can go for a quick bite tonight before I take you back to your hotel. But you’ve got to promise to tell me if the pain gets worse.”

She nodded. “I promise.”

He pinned the bandage. “And let me comb your hair and wash your face. I refuse to be seen with a ragtag urchin like you.” He took the damp washcloth and gently smoothed it over her flushed cheeks and forehead. “It’s very bad for my image. Okay?”

“Okay.” Her gaze was full of wonder. “I like this. I find it very … sweet.”

He flinched. “That word again. Much more talk like that will really ruin my image.” He took a small comb from his back pocket and began tidying her hair, which was as sleek and silky as it looked. The tresses flowed between his fingers, igniting a familiar tingling sensation. He hurriedly jerked the comb away and thrust it back into his pocket. He pulled her blue-jean jacket closed, covering her torn blouse. “That should do it. If the lights are dim, you might even pass for respectable.” He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. Harris should be out in the alley with the car by now.”

“I liked Harris,” Sacha said. “I found him very—”

“Sweet?”

She thought about it as she preceded him from the room and down the hall. “No, that’s not the word. No one who weighs nearly three hundred pounds and scowls a great deal could be called sweet. Interesting, I think.”

“He smiles more in New York. In fact, that’s the only place he does smile.” Brody opened the heavy stage door leading to the alley. “I don’t know why he insists on coming on these tours with me.”

“Don’t you?” Sacha smiled as she stepped out into the alley. “I think he cares very much for you. He would probably miss you if you left him behind in—”

“Hold it!”

A flashbulb went off, the brilliant light blinding
Sacha, making it impossible to see the man behind the camera. “Thanks, Mr. Devlin.” Then the shadowy figure was gone, running down the alley toward the street.

Brody muttered a low imprecation.

“Who was it?” Sacha’s voice was tense.

“I couldn’t see. I’ve still got spots in front of my eyes.”

“Do you think it was a newspaper reporter?”

“Maybe. Or it could have been just a fan. Everyone is a photographer these days.” He took her arm and found she was trembling. “You’re shaking. Are you cold?”

“No,” she whispered. “You’re right. It didn’t have to have been a newspaper man. It could have been anyone.”

He frowned, puzzled. “Sure. Is there anything wrong?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No, nothing’s wrong. I guess I’m hungry, that’s all.”

Brody chuckled. “Brawling obviously whets your appetite.” He urged her toward the beige Lincoln Continental parked a few yards away. “But please refrain from any further fisticuffs with Naomi. Like Cass, I believe I’m getting too old for this kind of thing.”

“I promise there won’t be any more brawls.” Sacha’s mind was obviously on something else. “But it’s not finished.”

“Sacha …”

She looked at him, her eyes grave. “She struck that boy. I have to make sure she never hurts a
child again. Children are too easy for adults to victimize.”

“Jimmy has an agent, a manager, and a very pushy stage mother to protect him. He doesn’t need you.”

“None of whom were there tonight.”

“And he has me, Sacha,” Brody said quietly. “Do you think I’d let that bitch hit Jimmy again?”

“No.” She hesitated. “But it’s still my responsibility. I promised him.”

“Sacha, you can’t—”

“Don’t worry.” She smiled. “I won’t do anything violent. I promised you, remember? I’ll have to think of something else.” Her smile faded and her eyes narrowed pensively. “Yes, I’ll have to think about it.”

Naomi was gazing straight ahead, her demeanor suitably tragic as her hands were tied behind her at the stake by the soldiers of Camelot. The words of “Guenevere” resounded rhythmically from the chorus, and Brody Devlin was center stage in the throes of agonizing over the decision to burn his beloved.

Now was the time, Sacha thought. The stage was milling with soldiers and knights, and Brody, as usual, was holding the audience enthralled. No one would notice anyone but him while he was speaking. She slipped on stage, dressed in the steel armor and helmet of a medieval soldier, her hand holding the flaming torch steady as she drifted toward the stake from the rear.

Naomi caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye, then felt the loose ropes looped and then tightened about her wrists. “What …”

“It’s only me.” Sacha moved to stand beside the stake, looking straight ahead and at attention. “I told you it wasn’t finished.”

The soprano stared in disbelief at Sacha. “What is this, some kind of masquerade?” she hissed furiously. “Loosen these ropes. Lancelot will be here any moment to rescue me.”

“Then he may have a difficult time of it. I knotted the ropes, and none of those play swords are sharp enough to cut butter. In fact, you may even appear ridiculous.” Sacha paused. “I’ve been wondering whether I should save you from that fate. Surely it would be better for an actress to be tragic than foolish.” She lowered the torch toward the wood piled high around the stake. “It’s very tempting.”

“Are you crazy?” Naomi’s eyes widened with fear. “I’ll
scream.
”

“They’d only think you were overacting, trying to steal the scene. I’ve noticed you do that quite frequently.” Sacha lowered the torch another few inches. “Just one spark and—poof.”

Naomi moistened her lips nervously. “For heaven’s sake, it was only a little slap, and the brat deserved it.”

“Are you feeling helpless?” Sacha asked mockingly. “It’s not very nice, is it? Children are helpless too. They can be manipulated and victimized just like you at this moment.”

“You’re not going to do it. It would be insane.”

“Are you frightened?”

“Yes!”

“Good, then maybe you’ll remember how it feels. Because if I ever hear of you striking a child again, I’ll be back. I’ll find a way of getting to you just like I did tonight. There are worse things than a frog in your cold cream jar. How would you like a rattlesnake in your shower stall?”

“You wouldn’t do that!”

“You’ll never be sure, will you? The only thing you can count on is that I’ll find a way of punishing you.” Sacha stepped behind the stake and cut the ropes. “Yes, you can definitely count on that.”

The music was rising, and Lancelot was fighting his way toward the stake. Sacha faded quickly off the stage and into the wings. She didn’t have much time to get back to the wardrobe room and change out of her costume before she met Brody in his dressing room. She took off the helmet, shook out her hair, and turned to take one last look at Naomi. The actress was gazing at her with anger, outrage, and fear, but it was fear that was paramount. It was the response Sacha had striven to attain. Fear would keep Naomi firmly under control and Jimmy safe from abuse.

Sacha lifted her hand in a mocking salute.
Now
it was finished.

When Brody walked into his dressing room fifteen minutes later, Sacha was sitting in the easy
chair reading a copy of
Variety
she had found on the coffee table.

“You know, I thought I understood English very well, but this paper is practically unintelligible to me. I suppose it’s because it’s some kind of trade jargon.” She looked up with an innocent smile. “You’re late. You must have had more curtain calls than usual. I’m not surprised. From the glimpse I caught from the wings, you outdid yourself.”

“Well, someone outdid themselves,” Brody said dryly. “I’ve just spent ten minutes trying to calm down a near-hysterical Guenevere. She barely made it through the last scene.”

“Really?” Sacha looked down at the paper again. “Well, it was probably no loss. That was your scene anyway.”

“She kept muttering something about human bonfires and rattlesnakes in shower stalls.” Brody sat down at the dressing table and gazed at her suspiciously. “I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?”

“Should I?”

“Sacha, I want the truth.”

She looked up with a glowing smile. “The truth is that Jimmy won’t have any more problems with a very unpleasant lady.” She held up her bandaged arm. “And that my wrist is very much better. It bothered me only a little at work today.”

“You went to work today?” Brody asked with a frown. “Why the devil did you do a crazy thing like that?”

“Having my wrist in dishwater all day was therapeutic,” Sacha said soothingly. “If I’d gone to that hospital you were trying to force on me, they’d probably have told me it was just the right medicine.”

“I’d doubt if they’d—” He broke off and shook his head ruefully. “You lay a very tempting red herring. I take it you’re not going to talk about Naomi’s hysterical state?”

“It’s over.” Sacha threw the copy of
Variety
on the table. “Why talk about unpleasant things?” She stood up and turned in a circle. “Look at me.”

She was dressed very much the same as she had been the other times he’d seen her, in blue jeans, a white T-shirt and a blue-jean jacket. “What am I looking at?”

“I washed my own face and combed my hair.”

“Amazing. Another red herring?”

She laughed. “Just a little one.” Her smile faded. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything pretty to wear to dinner. Usually I don’t care, but I would have liked to look nice tonight.”

He frowned. “You look fine. I was joking when I gave you all that crap about my image last night. I thought you knew that.”

“I did.” Her eyes were suddenly twinkling. “You don’t think I was apologizing to you? I’m sorry for me. I’m very vain and I like to look pretty.”

He chuckled. “You do look pretty.” She looked more than pretty, he thought. She was sparkling, shimmering, glittering with vitality. The impulse to reach out and touch her was a raw hunger
within him. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep his hands off her. He would have to tell her tonight. He looked away. “Where’s Benoit?”

“He’ll be here soon. He wanted to watch the performance. I told you he loved your work.”

“And you wanted him out of the line of fire,” Brody guessed shrewdly. “It seems that Jimmy isn’t the only one who arouses your protective impulses.”

“It’s natural to protect the ones you care about.”

“Is it? I’m afraid I’ve never been subject to that particular emotion.”

“No?” She smiled gently. “And yet you’ve been protective of me, Brody.”

“I haven’t—” He stopped. “That’s because you’re so blasted stupid about taking care of yourself. You don’t think, dammit.”

“I always think … sooner or later. I just don’t let it get in the way of my instincts.”

“That’s a very dangerous philosophy.”

“But it works,” Sacha said softly. “It brought me to you.”

“Which should be a warning in itself. Sacha, I want—”

There was an urgent knock on the door before it opened and Louis Benoit walked in. He completely ignored Brody as he turned to Sacha. “I think you should see this.” He tossed her the folded newspaper in his hand. “It’s the evening paper. I got it in the machine outside the theater.” He shut the door behind him, watching Sacha’s face as she glanced at the captioned picture.