PHANTOM IN TIME (30 page)

Etienne's
gaze beseeched the heavens. “Very well! I'll give the rascal another reprieve!
Just get him out of my sight.”

The
group dispersed. After giving Toby a reassuring hug, Bella went back to
Jacques; she touched his arm and regarded him with keen compassion. “Jacques,
is there anything else I can do? Perhaps take you to a doctor?”

Jacques
blinked back emotion and spoke harshly. “You know what will help me, Bella, and
it's not a damned doctor.”

She
clenched her fists. “Jacques, I'm sorry.”

“I
know,” he muttered.

Her
distraught expression implored him to take heed. “I warned you something like
this would happen.”

“Yes,
you did, didn't you?” he rejoined cynically.

“But
you wouldn't listen to my advice. Whoever did this to you may try again. Won't
you please consider not performing tonight?”

“And
miss the premiere?” he scoffed. “That is out of the question. Besides, this could
have been an accident—”

“Jacques,
it was no accident!” she cut in heatedly.

“I
must perform regardless.”

Confronted
by his determined, impassioned visage, Bella controlled her anger and
frustration with an effort. “If you insist on this madness, then at least take
care. Your life is in danger, Jacques—and I'm
not
kidding.”

Parting
company with him, Bella felt sick with worry. Someone in the troupe wanted
Jacques dead, and she was certain it wasn't Toby Strauss. The fact that the
threat to Jacques had increased now that most of the company knew they were
lovers only heightened her terrible fear and confusion . . .

Heading
into the wings, Jacques grimaced and rubbed his throbbing head. Thank God Bella
had screamed a warning earlier, or right now he might not have a head left to
rub!

Had
the incident with the runaway block been an accident? He shook his head grimly.
If so, this particular mishap had been performed with impeccable timing,
flawlessly staged to ensure his injury or even death—

Which
meant that Bella was likely right that someone in the theater sought to harm
him. He wondered who had pulled this latest stunt. Perhaps a jealous chorus
girl? Or maybe Andre Delgado, who obviously lusted after Bella and might be
jealous over her leaving the theater with another man last night?

He
sighed. No matter who had engineered this mischief, he would practice caution,
but he couldn't afford to let the threat consume or paralyze him. Possibly, as
in the case of La Roux's boyfriend, the perpetrator had vented his spleen and
would not risk possible capture by staging another reckless act.

For
now, what mattered the most to Jacques was winning Bella back. He smiled
faintly. She'd been badly shaken by the incident. She cared for him a lot more
than she was willing to admit. Perhaps things were not so hopeless, after all.
Indeed, the very thought made his head feel much better . . .

Chapter Twenty-seven

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By
evening, Bella was all but distraught, filled with guilt and confusion over
Jacques, worried about his injury, tormented over the distance between them.
Finally, she convinced herself that she should at least check on him and wish
him luck at the premiere.

A
few minutes before the curtain was due to go up, she went to his dressing room,
pacing the corridor outside. At last she got up the courage to rap on his door.

Seconds
later, it was flung open, and Jacques stood there before her in an elegant
suit, all set for his opening number.

He
eyed her intently, flicking his gaze over her Victorian costume. “Bella, this
is a surprise.”

“I .
. .” She twisted her fingers together. “How is your head?”

He
regarded her speculatively and did not reply.

She
stepped forward and touched the crown of his head. He grimaced, and she whistled.
“You have a goose egg. Does it hurt?”

His
beautiful dark eyes reproved her. “You hurt me more.”

Restraining
a wince of misery, she glanced away. “I—I didn't mean to.”

His
fingers closed over her wrist. “Why are you here, Bella?” he rasped.

She regarded
him in uncertainty. “To wish you well tonight.”

Smiling
at her knowingly, Jacques pulled Bella inside the room, shut the door, and
threw the bolt. His hard body pinned hers against the door and she gasped.

He
cupped her face with his large hands. His gaze smoldered into hers, and,
realizing his intent, she caught her breath convulsively.

“Wish
me well with a kiss,
ma
chère.”

Bella
was rapidly losing control, the male scent of him exciting her senses, the
hardness of his arousal kindling exquisite pangs of desire within her.
Breathlessly she pleaded, “Jacques, please, let's not start again . . .”

“We've
never stopped, Bella,” he whispered, lowering his face toward hers. “We
will
never stop.”

Frantic,
she pushed her palms against his shoulders. “But this won't change anything!
Why can't you see that?”

“What
is between us cannot be changed, Bella. When will you see
that?”

Bella
regarded him in misery, until a cry of mingled desire and helplessness escaped
her. Jacques's lips seized hers, desperate and demanding. Shivers of longing
racked Bella, and she kissed him back with equal ardor, her arms clutching him
close.

Seconds
later, she did not resist when he swept her up into his arms and carried her to
the settee. He laid her down, tore off his jacket, and lowered himself on top
of her. The crushing pressure of his hard body felt heavenly.

Working
feverishly, Jacques unbuttoned Bella's bodice and untied her chemise. She cried
out as he caught her taut nipple between his teeth. The sensation was
electrifying, but she realized this was neither the time nor the place for them
to succumb to passion.

“Jacques,”
she implored, “we cannot . . . The curtain will go up in minutes—”

“And
so will your skirts,
ma chérie,”
Jacques replied wickedly, sliding an
assured hand up her leg. “You should not have come here and placed yourself in
my power, Bella, not after what happened between us last night. You should have
known this was inevitable.”

Inevitable
. . .
As he passionately kissed her and began tugging her skirts up, Bella
had to agree. She had indeed reached her limit, no longer able to abide the
feelings of alienation between them. Suddenly she didn't care about fate or
time or what was best for either of them. She just wanted to feel right with
Jacques again, just wanted to be close to him, if only for now. She kissed him
back with fiery abandon, unbuttoning his vest and shirt, running her fingertips
over the warm, hard muscles of his chest.

“Ah, yes,
ma belle, bien.”

In
short order, he hiked her skirts up to her waist and pulled down her bloomers.
She felt the hard heat of him probing her wetness. Wide-eyed, she stared up
into his eyes, black with desire and determination.

It
was then that the knock came at the door. Panicking, she squirmed. “Jacques, we
can't—”

But
even as she attempted to wiggle away, Jacques penetrated her half an inch. She
whimpered, and he smothered the sound with his lips. His hard, hot invasion
smarted . . . but, oh, so sweetly!

The
rapping continued, louder now. Bella reeled in Jacques's arms, moaning deep in
her throat, unable to speak with his tongue deliciously buried in her mouth.
The utter illicitness of the situation—him thrusting into her while another
person stood within earshot—was intensely provocative.

The
knocking persisted, but Jacques only pressed deeper. At last Bella pushed his
face away from hers. “Jacques—”

He
made a soothing sound. “You must relax,
chérie,
and don't fight me.
You're still a little sore from last night, no? Do not make it worse.”

How
could he speak of such things at a time like this? she wondered wildly.
“Jacques, the door—”

At
last he seemed to take note. Halfway inside her, he yanked his head around and
yelled, “Who is it?”

“It's
George!” called a high, nervous voice. “Three minutes to curtain, Mr. LeFevre.”

“Very
well! Now leave me the hell alone!”

“Yes,
sir.”

They
heard George's footsteps fading away, then Jacques smiled down at Bella,
stroking her flushed cheek. “Now, where were we,
petite?
You must calm
yourself and let me inside, no?”

Bella
was all but frantic, struggling between shattering pleasure and intense
anxiety. “Jacques—the curtain—we can't—”

“Non,
chérie.”
Jacques eased deeper, until she groaned. “I simply can't resist
you. I must have you.”

“Jacques
. . . oh, God!” Bella could feel her womanhood pulsating around his hardness,
and the urge to move against him, to heighten those exquisite pressures inside
her, grew unbearable.

“Does
it hurt?” he asked tenderly.

“Yes,”
she panted. “A little.”

He
nibbled at the corner of her mouth. “Do you want me to stop, Bella?”

“No!”
she cried, clinging to him. “Heaven help me, no.”

Bella
almost regretted her words as Jacques fiercely captured her lips while plunging
fully, filling her to an unbearable tautness. An exquisite shudder racked her
entire being. Then her residual soreness faded in an incredible burst of
throbbing pleasure. She clung to him, kissing him hungrily, even arching her
hips, melting into his possession.

Jacques
gloried at her surrender, covering her face with kisses. “Bella, sweetheart . .
. yes, yes! Give me all of yourself, just like that. Oh, yes,
chérie,
that feels so good.”

His
words drove her crazy, and his confident strokes fired her body with a building
tension that demanded release. She began to whimper and toss her head. He
responded with quick, fierce thrusts that left her gasping. She felt his hands
sliding beneath her, tilting her into his deep, unrestrained plunder—

Bella
cried out, losing her mind with rapture. Then, at that very, pounding pinnacle,
the banging at the door came again, only adding to their riotous climax as
Jacques seized her lips and pressed home, sending them both plummeting over the
explosive summit. They clung together, breathing convulsively.

“Are
you mine now, Bella?” Jacques asked.

She
stared at him through tears. “I—I don't think anything has really changed.”

At
her words, she saw the storm clouds in his eyes and felt him swelling to life
inside her again. His bold thrust tore a moan from her. “No, Bella?” he asked.

Breathlessly
they regarded at each other as George hammered at the door.

“Jacques—everyone
is waiting for you!” she pleaded.

“Let
them wait!”

“You
must let me go!”

“Never,
Bella . . . never,” he whispered fiercely. Then, to George, he yelled, “Damn
it, I'll be there in a minute.”

“Yes,
sir!”

His
mouth on hers, Jacques eased back, then plunged deeply, slowly rolling his hips
against hers to let her feel his power, to intensify and peak every shattering
sensation within her. Bella bit his lip in sheer frustration. Then at last he
withdrew, leaving her bereft and uncertain. Seconds later, he loomed above her,
staring down at her aroused breasts, her parted thighs wet from their
lovemaking.

He
leaned over and kissed her still-aching breast. “Remember this when you say we
are not meant to be,” he whispered.

Taking
his dressing gown from a chair and draping it over her, he left. Bella curled
up into a ball and sobbed.

***

Bella
knew she would not be missed during the opening number of the premiere. After righting
her clothing, she lingered in Jacques's dressing room, stunned and confused,
listening to the loud applause out in the auditorium. Oh, what was she to do?
The show had begun its run, August would soon be here, and in less than a week
Jacques might be killed. She knew she should not be emotionally, much less
intimately, involved with him, yet she couldn't seem to stop herself . . . nor
really help him.

At
some point later, Bella started as the door all but flew open and Helene swept
in, wearing a white robe and horned headdress. “Bella! What are you doing here?
'Ride of the Valkyries' is next!”

“Oh,
Lord,” Bella groaned. “I didn't realize so much time had passed.”

Helene's
mouth fell open and she gestured frantically. “Come on, girl! We haven't a second
to waste.”

The
two women raced off to their dressing room. With Helene's help, Bella donned
her Valkyrie costume, which was quite similar to the one she'd worn in the
present, and the two women hurried toward the stage entrance. Jacques strode
past them, and he and Bella shared a stark look.

“Good
luck,
chérie,”
he said, kissing her cheek.

“Thanks.”

Bella
offered Jacques a tremulous smile, then she and Helene dashed onstage to pose
in their tableaux vivant
with Tess and Cosette as the dark, thundering Wagnerian
theme filled the auditorium.

Bella
marked time throughout the performance. She was so preoccupied about Jacques
that for once her stage fright didn't plague her as much, although the
kaleidoscope brought the usual moments of confusion.

During
her “Three Little Maids” trio with Tess and Helene, Bella performed much like a
mechanical doll with pigtails and a pinafore, yet the audience's enthusiastic
response to the exaggerated vignette did lift her spirits. At the conclusion of
the song, the three women took their bows to cheers and zealous applause.

Then
the lights went down, the eerie refrain of “Love's Old Sweet Song” played
softly, and the kaleidoscope began to whirl again. Bella watched Helene and
Tess dash offstage. She started to follow, then groaned as a powerful wave of
dizziness staggered her, a vertigo worse than she'd felt in some time.