It Stings So Sweet (9 page)

CHAPTER

Three

I don’t like it when a man thinks he’s got something
over me. I seduce men; I don’t get seduced. So I decide upon the siren red dress just short of my
knees. Then I wear a matching feathered headband and paint my lips a poisonous shade of scarlet.

It’s armor, t
he only defens
e I’ve ever had. And I
need
a defense against Leo Vanderberg. He’s
dark and dangerous—perhaps he’s even a predator. It was ungentlemanly to let me know that he had the
stag film; to insist that I watch it with him bespeaks a certain depravity that I ought to find quite
off-putting. So why don’t I?

My mother always said I’d run headlong into the devil’s arms if
he opened them to me.

I fear I’m about to prove it.

Promptly at eight, Leo Vanderberg
shows up at the darkened studio with the reel. When he sees me in my skimpy red dress, he stares at
me so hard I think I can see the veins in his forehead pulsing. “You look like a goddamned movie star
 . . .”

I merely curl my lips around the end of my cigarette holder in the way I know drives
men wild. It’s a battle of nerves, I think. If I make his mouth run dry with desire for me, maybe he
won’t realize that I’m trembling. “I don’t mind the looks of you, either.”

He clears his throat.
“Nice little studio. Is it yours?”

“Not yet. I just rent the space when I’m working on a project.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “What kind of project?”

I want to tell him about my own films. I want
to let him know I’m not just the little chippy he thinks I am, but something stops me. I’m vulnerable
enough. No need to give him anything more than he’s already got. “Are we here for small talk,
Ace?”

He shows me a glint of teeth, undressing me with his eyes. “No, I don’t suppose we are.”

Then, mercifully, he glances away and I turn to see my rival for his attention—one made of lights
and lenses. He whistles in appreciation of the machinery. “A motorized projector . . .” He caresses
it with one hand, as if he wants to take it all apart and put it back together again. “That had
to set you back a few clams.”

“You didn’t think I was going to hire a projectionist tonight,
did you?”

“Why not? Would it embarrass you to watch this film with two men?” He circles closer
as if scenting blood. “Do you think it’s going to embarrass you to watch it with me?”

I don’t
answer, fighting off a blush.

My bashfulness makes him laugh. “I thought you said you didn’t
embarrass easy. You’ve appeared half-naked on a big screen for audiences for years now. You know men
fantasize about you and I think you like it. But this is going to be different, isn’t it?”

I tilt my head so that I can look him in the eye. “I’ve learned that in the end, all movies—and all
men—are just the same.”

It’s a bald lie. If he were to press me, I’d crack. My stomach knots
at the thought of seeing myself naked on screen, having sex with a man whose name I can’t even remember.
In other movies I’m a star, but in this one . . . the only thing worse than watching myself will
be letting this man take pleasure from my shame. So why do I suddenly want it? Why do I crave it?
Maybe I’m mesmerized, like one of those little mice at the circus who stare too long into the eyes
of a snake they’re being fed to. All Leo has to do is kiss me and I won’t be able to keep up the pretense
of bravado for even one more moment.

Instead, he gives my hand a squeeze. “You can have the
film, Clara. You don’t have to watch it with me. You can have it.”

Hiding my relief, I ask,
“Are you going soft on me, Ace?”

“I can be a hard man when I have to be,” he says, gripping
my fingers tighter, just short of the point of pain. “But I lured you here for pleasure tonight. Now
here we are, so you can set the film on fire if you want.”

“Why would I?”

“Because I’m
starting to think that maybe you didn’t star in this film voluntarily. Maybe someone made you do it.”

What a laugh. “Nobody makes me do anything.”

“I made you come here tonight, didn’t I? It
simply never occurred to me that coercing you into watching this movie might actually upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” I protest, because whatever is happening in me goes much deeper than upset.
“But I’d like to know how this film came to be in your possession.”

“You’re not going to like
the answer.”

I lift my chin. “Try me.”

“Teddy Morgan asked me to track it down for him.”

“Why would he do that? Are you moonlighting as a detective now?”

“It’s the kind of film
that is bound to show up on an Air Force base in a private showing at the officer’s club,” Leo says.
“Besides, I’m a man of various talents.”

“What did Teddy Morgan want with a stag film?” I ask,
my nerves on edge.

“He didn’t say. I suspect he wants an insurance policy to keep anyone from
taking you away from him.”

At this, I shake my head. “You’re wrong. If he asked you to find
this film it’s because he . . . collects interesting things. He might have even wanted to get his hands
on it so he could protect me.”

“If that’s true, then he won’t mind that I gave it to you.”

I can’t argue with his logic. “Maybe not, but he won’t like it when I tell him that we watched
it together.”

He lifts a brow and the knot in my belly starts to melt away into something hot
and molten. I want this strange, mysterious man with a fierce lust I haven’t felt in years. Maybe
not ever. A lust that defies all good common sense. I peek at him from beneath long lazy lashes. “I’ve
never seen it before . . .”

He’s all in shadow, but I hear him breathe deeper. “Would you like
to?”

My whole body screams its eagerness, from the tingling tips of my fingers to the upturned
curve of my hips. “Why not? Unless you’re bluffing and there’s nothing on this reel at all . . .”

“I never bluff.”

He’s got me now, with or without the film. I’m going to let him have his
way with me and he knows it.

“Turn it on,” he says.

My fingers tremble as I adjust the
machine. Then, when the film flickers over the title to a grainy black-and-white scene of a bartender
in a white jacket, Leo Vanderberg settles into a seat and pats the one next to him.

The bemused
set of his sensual lips draws me in. He straightens the crease of his pants, then pulls a silver
flask from his jacket, uncaps it, and holds it out to me. “Here. You look like you need a little Dutch
courage.”

I take the flask and drink in deep, wondering if it’s his mouth I taste on the rim.
My cheeks burn as I watch myself on-screen flirting with another flapper who orders two cocktails,
then presses her pretty lips on mine.

I’d almost forgotten the girl.

I watch, fascinated,
as the actress’s hand drops between my legs. Then I’m too embarrassed.

“Don’t turn away,” Leo
says. “It’s just getting started. Besides, this is one of the best parts.”

“I did it on a lark
you know,” I say, wondering how many times he’s seen the film and if it excited him. I want to know
if it excites him now. “I was only eighteen. I was sleeping with the actor playing the bartender.
When he suggested we make a movie of it, it sounded exciting.”

“Whose idea was it to involve
the other girl?”

“His,” I reply, deciding I need to be drunk. I gulp down the rest of the contents
of the flask, then hand it back to him, waiting for my head to swim.

When he takes it, our
fingers touch and another arc of electricity passes between us. “I like how you writhe against her hand
as she strips you. It looks as though you’re moaning at her touch.”

“I’m an actress.”

This makes him laugh. “So you’re saying you didn’t like it; you were just putting on a show.”

“I didn’t say that. Girls are soft and pretty but don’t thrill me like men do. If I was excited kissing
her, it’s only because it was so forbidden.”

“So you have a taste for the taboo. I just wonder
if there’s more to it than that.”

“Maybe,” I admit, finding myself more and more aroused by
his interest, by his casual acceptance of the lurid sex act depicted on-screen—one that would earn
me the scorn of the society I’m accustomed to keeping, if not get me arrested in some places. He gives
off the air of a man who can’t be shocked by anything, and that makes me feel safe enough to tell
him the truth. “I liked being naked for the camera. Being naked when everyone else was still dressed.
She wanted me; he wanted me. I like to be wanted, so I let them have me. It made me feel like a glorious
object of pleasure . . .”

“That makes sense. You’re a performer. You like to make people laugh
and cry . . . why wouldn’t you want to excite them?”

He puts into words what I’ve never been
able to and now I
do
feel drunk. “I think I was born to do it . . .”

Leo nods. “But I’ve seen
you seduce a hundred men on camera, you’re all vamp, taking charge. Not here. Look at the way your
eyes drop so shyly when the bartender comes around the bar to pick you up. You wilt like a virgin
in his arms.”

I laugh. “I assure you, I wasn’t one.”

“I think you want to be. You want
to feel shivery and nervous like you did making this film, doing something you’ve never done before.
You want to feel like your innocence is being taken from you all over again.”

My mouth runs
dry and I squirm in my seat, not sure what’s exciting me more: the things he’s saying, or watching
myself be seduced on the screen. “And you think you can make me feel that way?”

Leo dips closer,
his voice low by my ear. “I think I’m making you feel that way right now.”

My breath catches.
“I think you are.”

Leo makes his move, tracing the tip of his finger down my bare arm. “I’d
like you to undress for me.”

This unapologetic statement of his desire quells any resistance.
I turn away from him, looking back over my shoulder to ask, “Will you help me with the hooks in the
back?”

The corner of his mouth curls with approval. He runs a palm between my shoulder blades
before setting to work on the clasps. He doesn’t fumble; he isn’t at all clumsy. His warm breath
sweeps down my spine as he opens the hooks one by one. When he’s finished, he slides my gown down over
my arms until it reveals the silk of my skintight chemise and bloomers. I stand, letting the gown
fall to my feet.

Leo’s hot gaze sweeps over my body. The high rounded breasts. The long, lanky,
stocking-clad legs. He takes his time, drinking me in from head to toe.

“Aren’t you going to
take anything off?” I ask, low and sultry in the dim light.

“No. You just told me you liked
being naked while everybody else is dressed.”

“That was when I was eighteen,” I protest, giving
him my trademark pout. “I’m not a girl anymore.”

“But you
are
an actress,” he says, snagging
my wrist. “So let’s pretend you’re just a girl again.” He draws me into his lap and I let him do it,
settling with satisfaction against the hard ridge of his erection.

It’s easier for us to watch
the film this way and on the screen, the bartender lays me naked on the floor behind the bar. Watching
my younger self shiver with anticipation creates an echo of that emotion in me now, and I lean
back against Leo and sigh. He cups my breasts, weighing them in his hands, squeezing them with satisfaction.
On the screen the bartender strokes his hands down my naked sides, trying to coax me to relax.
In the here and now, in Leo’s arms, I don’t need any coaxing. Whatever this is between us is something
dark and dirty and desperate. He runs his hands down my body as bold as you please. And when
he uses his fingers to tug at my garters, I spread my knees for him.

“Tell me what you want,
Clara,” he says, the deep resonance of his voice making me quiver.

“I want you to touch me,”
I breathe.

The warmth of his palm travels higher to the heated valley between my legs. When
the evidence of my arousal kisses his fingertips, he growls like a hungry animal. “You’re so wet, Clara.
I hoped you would be.”

In the movie, rendered in grainy black and white, I see the pale expanse
of my hips undulating as the other woman strokes the bartender’s cock, then guides it into me.
It’s close-up and I can see everything vividly. If I was mesmerized before, now I’m paralyzed with the
pleasure of watching myself getting fucked by a man who hasn’t even taken off his underwear. The
woman keeps hers on, too, even as she playfully licks at my young breasts, drawing my nipples up tight
and hard.

“You like watching this movie,” Leo murmurs, his mouth behind my ear, his other hand
up under my chemise, rubbing my nipples until I’m caught in some world between reality and film.
On the screen, my mouth falls open in silent pleasure at her touch. In Leo’s lap, my mouth falls open
with gasps of pleasure that supply the missing sound.

“Tell me you like it, Clara.”

I
do. I can’t help but think that I would have filmed it differently, but I’m caught up in the magic of
the movie. I had no idea it would be so raw. But I don’t want to admit it to Leo. Not even when he
draws my own hand down, using my fingers to rub the damp curls between my legs. I’m eager to touch
the place that throbs with need. I want to touch it while he pushes his fingers inside me, but he doesn’t
allow me to disentangle my fingers from his. He sets the rhythm. He strokes me over and over,
until I’m squirming in his lap, the friction of his tweed slacks warming my bottom.

“Keep your
eyes on the screen,” Leo says. “This is my favorite part.”

I look up to see the lean bartender
roll onto his side, pulling me with him so that one leg is up over his thigh, and the camera has
a better view of his swollen member disappearing into me. With one hand on my ass for leverage, the
bartender strokes in and out and in and out. I love watching the tension in his muscles, the tightening
as he gets closer to orgasm. I loved it then, and I love watching it now.