PHANTOM IN TIME (16 page)

She
watched him stride over to a handsome gramophone, crank it up, and put on a
shellac record. She heard some scratching sounds, and then the tinny though
plaintive refrain of “Love's Old Sweet Song” spilled out. Again shivers racked
Bella!

Jacques
approached her. “Dance with me, Bella?”

She
was reeling. It was all too much! Here she was alone with Jacques, drowning in
his beautiful eyes, his tender, inviting smile—and hearing the very same sweet
song he'd used to woo her across time. Knowing
his
time might run out
far too soon.

Helplessly,
she turned away, clenching her fists. “Oh, God. I can't dance with you—not to
that song.”

“You
do not like the song?”

“That's
. . . not what I meant.”

She
sensed him moving up close to her, felt him taking her hand, raising and
kissing the coiled fist. She winced with yearning.

“Why
won't you dance with me,
chérie?
Why not to 'Love's Old Sweet Song'?”

“I—I
can't explain it. It's too . . .”

“Too
tender, too moving?” Pulling her around to face him, he drew her into his arms,
his expression fervent, intense. “But I want to move you, Bella. To
tenderness—and to passion.”

He
already had! Bella was melting at his husky words, his exciting scent, his
vibrant nearness. “Oh, Jacques . . .”

He
hugged her close and she gloried in the welcome haven of his embrace. “Don't
think,
ma belle,”
he murmured against her hair. “Just
feel
the
music with me. Let it carry you away.”

And
he swept her around the room to the poignant, lilting song. Bella was in
heaven. Dancing with Jacques was like waltzing on a cloud, so skillfully did he
lead her, so perfect was his timing. As when he sang or played, he became the
music, the rhythms of his body an expression of the song itself.

Such
powerful emotions welled in Bella that she was surprised her legs supported
her. Jacques was so near, so alive, yet soon he would become a ghost. He was so
sexy, handsome, and carefree, yet soon he would lie dead with a knife in his
back. What if she could not save him? How would she bear it? The beautiful song
of his existence would be silenced forever. And it seemed so much more a
sacrilege because he
could
sing, sing so gloriously; because his soul
was so alive, while hers lay smothered by fear . . .

The
music stopped. He stared into her eyes and whispered, “Now you must give me
that kiss.”

Bella's
heart roared in her ears. She wondered how she'd managed to resist him until
now. She'd clearly underestimated how sexy he was, how masterful a lover.
Earlier he had said he would not stop. How would she?

“Please—I
can't,” she pleaded.

Gently,
he began backing her toward the wall, his deep voice hypnotizing her. “But you
are so lovely,
ma belle,
and I must have you. You know I will not force
you, Bella. Sooner or later, you will be compelled to come to me. Then I will
make your soul sing.”

Even
as aroused as she was, Bella managed a small, shaky laugh. “Oh, please,” she
murmured, “not that tired old 'we'll make beautiful music together' line.”

Utterly
serious, Jacques gripped her face in his hands. “But we shall, Bella. We
shall.”

Speechless,
Bella found herself drowning in his smoldering gaze. Jacques leaned over and
tenderly claimed her lips. Heat and desire swamped Bella, for Jacques's mouth
on hers felt wondrous, so right, like the burning crescendo of the sweetest
song she'd ever heard. Moaning softly, she reached upward to curl her arms
around his neck, ran her fingers through the thick, soft curls at his nape, and
felt his arms tightening, molding her against his muscled chest. His tongue
coaxed her lips apart and slid inside her mouth in a hot, wanton caress.
Passion jolted her with such intensity that she had to wrench her lips from his
in order to breathe.

“Non,
non,”
he said roughly, kissing her more insistently, possessing her mouth
with his lips and tongue.

Bella
felt as if she'd been lost and found again all in the same impassioned moment.
Never had she known an intimacy quite like this—so stirring, devastating,
stripping away her defenses and leaving her vulnerable. She wanted more—much
more. She yearned for Jacques's scorching caress deep inside herself, where she
ached for him.

His
lips moved to kiss her flushed cheek, to nibble at her sensitive earlobe.
“Bella, sweet Bella.”

Bella
raggedly caught her breath. When his fingers curled around her breast, searing
her so pleasurably, she felt her nipple tingle with erotic awareness. Though
she could not summon the will to fight him, she managed to whisper weakly,
“Please, don't.”

“Don't?”
he repeated, his chuckle a low, sensual sound. “But I'm barely touching you,
darling. Just push my hand away and you'll be safe.”

Bella
suspected she would never be safe again. Never. Instead of resisting, she
illogically stretched on tiptoe and kissed him, boldly pushing her tongue
inside his warm mouth.

Jacques
groaned his pleasure and mated his mouth with hers in an moment of ecstasy that
left her weak. Bella clung to him, fearing she might collapse otherwise. At
last he pulled back, sighed, and tucked her head beneath his chin.

With
his fingertips caressing her spine, boldly exploring the curve of her hip, he
murmured, “Do you know what else I'd like to show you, love?”

“What?”
she asked breathlessly.

“My
mother's bed.”

Bella
stiffened. At last reality intruded on her and she moved out of Jacques's
embrace. He stood, eyes blazing with desire for her, hand extended in
invitation. She shuddered at his uncanny resemblance to the phantom who had
wooed her. But her ghost had become real, so real, and he was ready to possess
her with a very human passion!

Bella's
heart beat frantically. This was going way too fast! She could not think—could
barely breathe.

Appearing
anything but daunted by her retreat, Jacques cajoled, “Don't you want to see my
mother's bed,
ma
chère?”

Bella
managed to speak. “I don't think your mother would approve of what you want us
to do there.”

“And
why not?” he teased. “That's how she got her two beloved children.”

That
possibility brought Bella fully to her senses. “Forgive me if I do not jump at
the chance to have your child out of wedlock.”

Jacques
only shrugged. “There are remedies to that if it worries you.” He stepped
closer to her. “Come with me
, ma belle.
I promise I will make you so
happy.”

No
doubt he would, she thought, sinking rapidly. Still, she managed to face him
down, though she spoke in trembling tones.  “I'm afraid I must forgo fleeting
pleasure for more permanent sanity.”

He
scowled. “Why would you say that?”

“Why?”
A tremulous laugh escaped her. “Because I am not interested in becoming a minor
encore in your vast and varied repertoire, Mr. LeFevre.”

He chuckled.
“Such spirit, Bella. It's something I admire in you. But why do you assume I
won't make you a full program?”

Marshaling
her defenses against his deadly charm, she replied, “Save your flattery for
some creature more likely to be moved by it. I think you'd better take me
home.”

He
stepped even closer and touched her cheek with his hand. “Very well, Bella. Run
if you must. But you can't fool me. You'll sing for me. And you'll share my
bed.”

***

Moments
later, sitting across from Jacques in his carriage, Bella found his words still
haunted her. As they rattled back through the Quarter, his dark gaze bored into
her, so unsettling her that she twisted Helene's fine embroidered handkerchief
into knots. When at last the conveyance halted on Jackson Square, the tension
inside the cab was palpable.

“Come
over here and kiss me good night,” he urged huskily.

“You
are shameless!”

“Stop
arguing and come over here,” he said, his voice commanding.

Something
in his tone compelled Bella to lean slightly forward. In the next instant she
was pulled across the carriage onto his lap, and his mouth closed passionately
over hers.

“Come
home with me, Bella,” he urged huskily. “It's still not too late.”

Bella
shivered as his words brought a rush of poignant desire mingled with stark,
painful reality. Was it too late for Jacques? Could she do anything to save him
from his own self-destructive tendencies? And what if she gave in to him?
Wouldn't she risk emotional devastation as well? Like no man she'd ever met
before, Jacques had the ability to expose her fears and penetrate her defenses.
But he was clearly the wrong man to trust with her heart, a man who might never
give his fidelity to one woman, a man who might well be doomed no matter what
she did.

She
wiggled out of his lap. “I-I must go,” she stammered breathlessly. “Thanks for
a lovely evening.”

Grateful
when Luis opened the door, Bella clambered out of the carriage.

***

Heading
home, Jacques LeFevre felt bemused. He had made significant strides with Bella
tonight. Ah, how sweetly she had trembled in his arms, and her kisses had been
sheer paradise, leaving him hungry for more. But why was she afraid? Afraid of
him, of singing, even of living life to its fullest?

Whatever
the reason for her qualms, her fear intrigued and excited him. He burned to woo
and seduce her, to soothe her trepidations and bring her out of her shell, to
show her every joy and pleasure life had to offer.

He
ached to unravel the mystery of her. For who was this enchanting creature who
had suddenly appeared in the middle of his performance last night? Her
background seemed sketchy, perhaps even contrived. Although this evening she
had offered some insight regarding her parents, her stage fright, he sensed
there was much she wasn't telling him. Had she run from scandal, family
problems, or an ill-fated love affair? Was she hiding some dark secret that
better explained her fear? Whatever motivated her, already Jacques found Bella
complex and fascinating, so different from the easy women who had thrown themselves
at him previously.

Whoever
she was, he sensed that buried beneath her cool veneer was the soul of an opera
singer, and a woman of great passion. Jacques was determined to bring his shy
wallflower out into the light of her true destiny and into the heat of his
desire. Could she be the woman he had waited for, the one to share the opera
with him? She seemed to possess both the background and the temperament.

But
first he must discover more, know her inside and out. Jacques was determined to
hear Bella sing—and to serenade her with rapture in his bed. Only then would he
know for certain if she was the one.

Which
meant he must decimate her resistance. He must make her starved for his
attentions. He must make her ache to claim
him.
He chuckled. For a resourceful
fellow such as himself, driving a woman mad with passion or jealousy never
proved to be difficult.

Chapter Fifteen

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When
Bella and Helene walked into the wings of the St. Charles Opera House the following
morning, Bella was at once arrested by the sounds of feminine laughter. She
seethed as she spotted Jacques near the stage entrance. Wearing a flowing white
shirt and black pants, the scamp was doling out bonbons to a line of enthralled
chorus girls.

As
Tess stepped forward, Jacques pulled a candy from his tin and held it over her
head, his face a picture of roguish mischief. Only after she kissed him did he
plop it in her mouth, while the rest of the women tittered and cheered. Jacques
then performed the same scandalous feat with Crystal and Cosette, while the
women simpered, chortled, and batted their eyelashes at him.

Then
he spotted Bella. Eyeing her with devilish delight, he bowed. “Bella, dear,” he
called out, grinning unabashedly. “Come have a candy.”

“Thank
you, but I do not care to stand in line to secure your treats, sir,” Bella
retorted.

At
her skilled riposte, the chorus girls fell into gales of laughter, and even
Jacques chuckled.

“But,
Bella,” called out Cosette, “you really should queue up with the rest of us.”
Winking at Jacques, she purred wickedly, “Jacques has the best bonbons in
town.”

By
now the chorus girls were all but holding their sides, and Jacques was grinning
idiotically.

Bella's
blood was boiling. “The rest of you can devour him, for all I care,” she
rejoined, walking off with Helene.

Judging
from the feeding frenzy of giggles behind them, that was exactly what the other
women were doing.

“Oh,
Bella, bless your heart,” Helene sympathized as the two headed for the dressing
room they shared.

“No
wonder everyone wants to murder him,” Bella muttered.

Helene
touched her arm. “Murder Jacques? I suppose he does inspire a lot of
jealousies.”

“Including
mine,” admitted Bella ruefully. “Did I just make a complete fool of myself?”

Helene
patted her hand in reassurance. “No, not at all. Indeed, Jacques will likely
never recover from getting such a well-deserved dressing down.”

“Don't
hold your breath.”

Helene
shook her head.

The
two entered the dressing room, a cluttered cubicle containing a small love
seat, a narrow clothing rack crammed with costumes, and two chairs placed
before a dressing table heaped with brushes, combs, hairpins, and jars of
makeup.

Bella
tossed down her knitted reticule on the dressing table. “He just makes me so
mad. He wined me and dined me last night, insisting I might be the woman of his
destiny. Now this.”