Free The Spellbinder by Iris Johansen Page A

pleasure, enjoying the textures of him.
    “Stop!” Brody’s voice was suddenly charged with tension, the muscle beneath her cheek clenched and rigid.
    She chuckled. “Am I tickling you?”
    “You could say that.” His voice was guttural. He turned off the dryer and put it on the bedside table. “I think that’s enough.” His legs were gone from around her as he pulled them back, scooted up, and slid under the sheet. “Hell, I know it’s enough. Turn out that light and come to bed.”
    Doubtfully she touched her hair. It still felt a little damp to her, but Brody was obviously impatient. She scrambled to her knees and reached over to turn out the lamp. In the darkness she padded around the bed and slipped beneath the satin coverlet. The springs were firm, the mattress comfortable, and the satin sheets cool and slick. Magic. Positively magic.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing. Why?”
    “That sigh almost shook the bed.”
    “Contentment. No lumps. Do you know what a luxury a mattress with no lumps can be?”
    There was a pause before Brody said slowly, “I guess I’d forgotten. The last time I even thought about comfort was in Vietnam. I was nineteen and I remember how cold and hard the ground was. And the rain.…” There was a silence then. “I thought I’d never forget that hell. I guess I didn’t really forget. I just blocked it out.”
    “We all block things out. It helps us to survive and go on. But you’re so lucky, Brody. You haveeverything you need to make a wonderful life.” She hesitated. “You could be happy if you let yourself.”
    “I’m perfectly content. Why shouldn’t I be?”
    “Bah, content is for beds that aren’t lumpy. Happy is different. Happy is …” She searched wildly for words. “Oh, I don’t know. Rockets going off and flags waving and a shining inside. You don’t have that, Brody, and I want it for you.”
    “Do you?” His voice was husky. “Thank you, Sacha, but you’ll find my ‘shining’ is a little tarnished with wear, and I launched most of my rockets a long time ago.”
    “You sound like an old man. It’s a good thing I got to you when I did.” Sacha chuckled. “Stick with me, and we’ll find you brand-new rockets to send soaring.”
    Lord, he felt jaded. There was nothing tarnished about the shining within Sacha. She glowed with a clear inner beauty that moved him profoundly. “I believe I may do that.”
    There was a long silence before Sacha spoke again. “Being in bed with you is different from being in bed with Louis. He’s more … comfortable.”
    “And I’m not?”
    “No.” She sounded puzzled. “You’re so tense that I think you’re making me a little tense too. I feel … odd.”
    “I suppose I’m not accustomed to sleeping with anyone.” He added silkily, “Of course, you don’t have that excuse.”
    “I guess that must be it.” She paused. “But you’re always tense, aren’t you? I used to watch you on stage, and I could almost feel it. There were times when it was worse than others, but it was always there. Why?”
    “Go to sleep.” His tone was suddenly abrupt. “I’m not in the mood to bare my soul tonight. Why should I confide in you, when you won’t tell me a damn thing about yourself?”
    “No reason,” she said. “I guess I just want to know everything about you.”
    “Well, you’ve found out enough for one night. Go to sleep.”
    “I know I’m a chatterbox. Does it bother you?”
    The flow of words didn’t bother him so much as her voice—soft, husky, stroking him in the darkness. He had thought once the light was out and he couldn’t see her, it would be easier. He had been wrong. The darkness enhanced the sensuality of the sensations he was experiencing. With every breath he took in the warm, floral scent clinging to her skin and hair. And that voice …
    Would he ever be able to sleep? He was aching, throbbing, the blood tingling through his veins, surging into his groin. What an idiot