The Spellbinder by Iris Johansen Read Free Book Online Page B

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 blindingSacha, 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