PHANTOM IN TIME (28 page)

Now,
his presence brought all those erotic memories—his passion, her own mingled
rapture and frustration—rushing back with an intensity that was keenly
physical. Although she felt weak, Bella managed to sit up and pull the covers
to her neck, while regarding Jacques with uncertainty.

Jacques
placed the tray on her lap and leaned over to kiss her. “Oh, how I ache to
devour you again,
ma belle,”
he murmured. “But you must rebuild your
strength first, no?”

Bella
smiled shyly and took a sip of hot, flavorful cafe au lait. “Thank you. It was
kind of you to bring me a tray.”

Jacques
came around the bed and sat down. The scent of him, exciting and well
remembered from last night, further enticed her senses. As she nibbled on a
beignet
,
he lowered the sheet and leaned over to kiss her breast. His
whiskers rubbed her, and his mouth felt hot and wet. Unprepared for his
boldness, she flinched.

“What
is wrong?” he asked, scowling darkly.

“I .
. .” Taken aback by his fierce expression, Bella steadied the tray with one
hand while raising the sheet with the other. “I've never before awakened in a
man's bed.”

“Well,
I should hope not.” Undaunted by her show of modesty, Jacques pulled down the
sheet again and cupped one of Bella's breasts in his hand. Even as she tried to
squirm away, his heated gaze held her captive. “I was your first. Have you any
idea how much that thrills me? This bed is your first ever to share with a man
. . . and it will be your last.”

Bella's
breathing quickened at Jacques's possessive words and tormenting touch. “Don't
you think you're rushing things a bit?”

He
shook his head, leaning over to kiss her aroused nipple. At her gasp, he
slowly, delicately tongued her; she whimpered helplessly and shut her eyes.

“No,
I do not think I am rushing things at all,” he replied. “I do not intend to let
you out of my sight—or my bed.”

Breathlessly,
she asked, “What
do
you intend, Jacques?”

He
straightened, regarding her with utter sincerity. “Why, for us to marry at
once.”

“Marry!
You can't be serious!” she exclaimed.

A
menacing frown furrowed his brow. “But of course I am serious. What did you
think were my feelings when I took your virginity last night, when I buried
myself inside you and kissed away your tears? Did you assume you were merely
some momentary diversion to me?”

For
a moment Bella could not speak, for it was enough of a struggle to calm her
raging senses. “Well, n-no, of c-course not,” she stammered. “I—I'm not trying
to diminish what we shared—”

“Aren't
you?”

She
managed to meet his reproachful gaze. “I just . . .” She released a heavy breath.
“Please, Jacques, speak your mind.”

“Very
well.” Jacques took her hand and raised it to his lips. He spoke with heartfelt
emotion. “You are the one I've been waiting for, Bella. Now that I've found
you, there is no reason to delay our destiny. We'll marry, then we'll travel
the world together, filling it with glorious song.”

Bella's
reply was curtailed as Jacques's lips ardently seized hers. Yet his glorious
kiss could not forestall the painful reality crashing in on her, and
bittersweet emotion tore at her heart. Jacques didn't just want her as a
person, or a lover—he wanted her
voice
, he wanted the diva he was
convinced she could become. He wanted his alter ego, a gifted soprano with whom
he could share the opera. And she could
never
become that woman!

Even
as she struggled with her need to address this daunting truth, he got up and
began to pace the room, his expression absorbed and animated. “We've so much to
do, of course—a wedding to plan. The mass should be held at the cathedral, no?”
He winked at her. “And I must mend my ways and see that our betrothal is
toasted in the most venerated homes in the city. After all, we have our
standing in the community to consider, especially during the off-seasons, when
we'll be in residence, and we'll need to ensure that our future children will
be received in the best circles.”

“Children!”
gasped Bella, wide-eyed.

He
grinned. “They have a way of popping up following certain . . . passionate
dalliances.”

Bella
was speechless.

Stroking
his jaw, he continued. “Surely Maman's old friends, Madame Robillard and Madame
Darcy, will be happy to sponsor us during the required weeks of introductions
and soirees
.
And of course my parents, my sister and her family will
want to travel here for the wedding—”

“Wait
a minute!” cried Bella, holding up a hand.

He
chuckled. “I know it all seems rather daunting at the moment, darling, but
never fear, I'll be here to help you. And so will Maman's friends.”

“It's
not that simple, Jacques.”

A
shadow crossed his eyes. “No?”

Her features
mirroring her torn emotions, Bella carefully replied, “I can't marry you—or
travel the world with you.”

“But
why not?” he cried, crestfallen, approaching the bed. “Have I not admitted you
are the one? Did you not prove this when you sang so gloriously last night—when
you performed for me alone?”

Bella
sighed. “Jacques, that was a very special moment, when I was inspired with a
certain intensity I know I can never sustain.”

“Nonsense.”

“It's
true,” she insisted, clenching a fist in misery. “I have severe stage fright
and it always returns.”

“Not
anymore,” he retorted. “You overcame it last night.”

She
sadly shook her head. “Jacques, I'll never become the world-class diva you're
searching for. I'm not the woman of your destiny.”

“I
do not believe you!” he declared with an impassioned gesture.

“Besides,
I have misgivings over your sudden decision that I'm the one you've been
waiting for,” she continued in trembling tones. “Just look at your conduct
prior to this. You've been a shameless womanizer. Will you truly be content to
abandon 'auditioning' other women for the rest of your life?”

He
pressed a hand to his heart. “But of course. Bella, you
are
my destiny.
You
are
my life. There will be no other women for me again—ever.”

“Jacques,
you can say that now, but—”

“Listen
to me,” he cut in fervently. “Why would I continue searching when I have found
the one I am waiting for? And why do you keep fighting the truth? We will be
just like Maurice and Andrea Bloom, traveling the world and delighting
audiences everywhere with our stirring performances. I feel it in my heart.”

He
sounded so idealistic and confident that Bella hated to dash his hopes. “I'm
sorry, Jacques, but it's not enough. I know you believe what you're saying,
that you think we can realize all your quixotic dreams, but I must be a
realist. I lost my parents to the opera. They started out just like you,
thinking everything would be perfect. Then they became totally obsessed with
the passions and jealousies of theater life. Both of them had love affairs,
either with adoring fans or with other members of the troupe. They even tried
to undermine each other—criticizing the other's singing and making cruel
comparisons to other opera stars. And they died because they were willing to
brave dangerous weather to get to a performance.”

Jacques
grasped her hand and regarded her with keen sympathy. “I'm sorry, Bella. But we
will be different.”

She
shook her head. “No, Jacques, we
won't
be different, because you want me
to embrace the same world that shattered my parents' lives. Can't you
understand that I'll never see opera as anything but a destructive force in my
life? It is the wrong atmosphere for a healthy marriage. And I refuse to
subject my future children to the neglect I suffered—the same neglect poor Toby
Strauss endures—over having parents who are consumed with life in the theater.”

“But,
ma belle,
it
will
be different with us. We shall do everything
right, and find plenty of time for our love, and for our children as well.”

Bella
was fighting tears, hating herself for crushing his hopes. Hoarsely, she said,
“Jacques, I just don't share your passion for singing.”

He
appeared bewildered. “What about when you sang for me last night, Bella? I have
never heard such emotion as was in your voice then.”

With
regret, she replied, “I—I told you that was a unique moment, an anomaly. But I
may never perform on that level again. And I'm afraid you may be more enamored
of my voice than you are with me—”

“That
is not true!”

She
held up a hand. “Hear me out, Jacques. I believe you want what you
think
I represent—the woman who can share your grandiose dreams of singing all over
the world. You don't want the woman I really am. We're totally different—you're
the showman and I'm the wallflower. I cannot afford to give my life, my heart,
to a cause I know is doomed. I cannot sing for you again.”

His
eyes were crazed with disappointment. “Bella, you can't mean that.”

“I
do.” She set her breakfast tray on the night table. “Look, we are getting
nowhere. I must go now. Will you leave the room so I may dress?”

“I
think not,” he replied bitterly.

Frustrated,
Bella flounced out of bed, fighting not to flinch as her movements brought
twinges between her thighs, a potent memory of their lovemaking. Every inch of
her burned as Jacques boldly, angrily watched her dress. Her sense of
humiliation increased as she realized she would have to return home wearing the
blue velvet costume for
“Barcarolle.”
Surely Jacques would allow Luis to
drive her and she would not have to make a spectacle of herself by parading
through the Quarter so garishly attired!

As
Bella dressed, Jacques watched her in murderous silence. She was so beautiful,
the lines of her face proud and exquisite, her shapely breasts the perfect size
to fill his hands, her hips, bottom, and legs perfectly formed. Making love to
her last night had been rapture beyond his wildest dreams. So sweetly had she
given him her virginity, so tenderly had she clung to him. Sheathed inside her
tight, warm depths, he had found his home, his paradise, and the woman of his
dreams.

But
now she had cruelly spurned him and all he offered, and her rejection cut like
a lance through his heart. Why? Why did she insist that the opera he loved
would doom him, doom them both? Why could she not see that she was his destiny?
Why did she fear him and the future the two of them were meant to embrace? Why
did she insist she could never sing for him again, when her voice was clearly
one in a million?

He
felt frustrated enough to shake her, to force her to tell him what was truly in
her heart. Eyeing the high color in her cheeks, he longed to haul her back to
bed and turn her that delicious shade all over, close the distance between them
in the most physical and intimate way.
Then
perhaps she would be honest
with him.

She
had guessed his thoughts, judging from the defiant look she hurled at him. But
he caught the telltale trembling of her lower lip and felt a sense of bitter
triumph.

Tying
the cord at the waist of her velvet gown, she asked, “Will Luis take me home?”

His
gaze burned into her. “I could stop you, Bella. I could take you back to my bed
and dispense with this pride that keeps you from me.”

She
raised her chin a notch, though her voice quivered badly. “But you won't force
me, will you, Jacques?”

He
shook his head and spoke fiercely, past the emotion searing his throat. “No,
but mark my words: you will come to me. You will love me. Just as I said last
night, you cannot fight our destiny.”

He
watched her go pale. “Jacques, I must leave.”

“Then
do so,” he urged harshly. “I'll go rouse Luis.”

Jacques
left the room and slammed the door.

Chapter Twenty-six

Back
to Contents

When
Bella arrived back at the apartment, she found a note from Helene propped on
the telephone stand:

Bella,

If you see this,
come straight to the theater. Etienne called everyone in this morning for a
final, impromptu rehearsal. He was
not
pleased that you and Jacques
disappeared before the finale last night.

Helene

Groaning,
Bella crumpled the note, then rushed to bathe and put on fresh clothing.

As
luck would have it, soon after she stepped inside the theater, she encountered
Jacques in the wings. For a moment both paused in their tracks, regarding each
other warily. The taut, anguished look on Jacques's face battered Bella's
resolve. She muttered, “Excuse me,” and ran on toward her dressing room.

She
was beset by turmoil. She had given herself to Jacques last night, and she very
much feared she was in love with him. Yet she was as convinced as ever that she
was the wrong woman to share life in the theater with him. Only increasing her
misery was the fact that she seemed no closer to saving Jacques, no closer to
returning to Gran, much less singing for her.

Helene's
voice greeted her as she stepped inside the dressing room. “Well, look who the
cat dragged in.”

Bella
glanced at her friend, who sat at the dressing table regarding her in
consternation. “Oh, hi, Helene. I found your note back at the apartment.”

“'Oh,
hi, Helene'?” mimicked the other girl, rolling her eyes. “You might at least
have let me know you weren't coming home last night, Bella. Doesn't Jacques
have a telephone?”

Bella
felt herself blushing. “Gee, a telephone. Well, if he does have one, I haven't
seen it. Since he thinks of automobiles as the 'spawn of the devil,' I rather
doubt it.”