It Stings So Sweet (14 page)

My instinct is to lash out. To set
him straight that nobody has ever owned me and nobody ever will. But his certainty quiets me inside.
“What if you die first?”

Given his profession, it seems only fair to ask.

He hesitates
only a moment. “I’ll make a provision for it in my last will. I’ll leave your stag film to someone
who will make sure you never get your hands on it. You’ll always know it’s out there. My guess is that
it’ll be worth a lot of money, so if I were you, I’d say a few prayers that I live to a ripe old
age.”

I hear myself swallow.

Then he moves in for the kill. “That scares you, doesn’t
it?”

“Yes,” I say, unable to catch my breath.

“But it excites you, too,” he says, moving
his hand down my belly. “What is it? The uncertainty? The idea that another stranger might see you
naked? Is it the mystery that gets you running hot or the fact that it’s out of your hands? That I’m
going to make all the choices. Just like I made a choice for you tonight . . . I decided to let someone
else know your secret . . .”

“All of it,” I whisper, writhing in helpless desire. He said that
one day I’d be next to him in bed, squirming with shame for all the filthy things I’d let him do
to me. Today’s the day. “I’ve never wanted anyone to choose anything for me. I’ve always done just
what I wanted and resented anybody who got in my way. So I can’t figure out why I like it so much when
you decide things for me.”

“Maybe because you’ve never had anybody who took the time to figure
out how you work. Nobody else has ever known what to do with you, Clara. I do. And I’ll prove it
to you.”

“How?”

“I’m going to choose your next lover.”

CHAPTER

Seven

It’s like he’s dropped me into a bath of ic
e. I
go from h
ot to cold to chills. And as my wits slowly come back to me, I must be the picture of outrage,
because as I start to scramble up, Leo catches me by the arm. “Let me finish speaking before
you slug me.”

My heartbeat gallops in my ears like a stampede of furious horses. “I don’t need
you to find me another lover. I
had
another lover and I gave him the high-hat for your sake. I’m
not looking for anybody new.”

Leo’s strong hands hold me still. “First of all, you ended things
with Teddy Morgan for his sake, not mine. And maybe you shouldn’t have, because I suspect the old
bastard would have enjoyed sharing you with me.”

I’m not sure if I’m going to swoon or run
away before I can even consider being
shared
. But the thought is already there, burning like a coal
through my paper-thin defenses. And now I can’t think of anything else. Remembering the way my fantasies
ran wild at the thought of being trapped between Teddy Morgan and Leo Vanderberg, I try to
wrench myself out of Leo’s grip before I make a complete fool of myself.

“Don’t be a hypocrite,
Clara. I know you like the idea.”

Oh, how I hate to be called that. “Well, it’s not possible
now, is it?”

“Sure it is. Just not with Teddy Morgan. I know you’ve never been with two men
before.”

“Who says I haven’t?”

He gives me a little shake. “
You
did. I asked you how many
stag films you’d been in. How many threesomes. You told me it was just the one. Did you leave one
out? Forget an orgy or two along the way?”

“Maybe I did.”

“If you did, you wouldn’t be
crimson from your ears to the tips of your toes. Half of you wants to haul off and punch me right in
the kisser, and the other half can’t sit still just thinking about the idea of being the star attraction
in another threesome. I want to be the one who does it to you.”

The strength of him, the scent
and power of him—it overwhelms me. I’ve already surrendered so much this night that it’s become
a habit. And I find that I don’t want to fight him. He is every temptation I’ve ever had rolled into
one. I want to fold into him and let him do anything he pleases. I can’t help myself. I just can’t.

“You’re the devil, Leo Vanderberg. The
devil
!”

“And you’re the sexiest woman alive,” he
says, trailing his mouth down my jaw. “That’s what happens next, Clara, and you want it so bad you
can’t even admit it to yourself.”

He’s wrong. I can admit it to myself.

I just can’t admit
it to him.

“I’m not going to do it, Leo. I may not be very selective in the men I take to bed,
but at least
I
select them.”

“Not anymore you don’t,” he says with conviction. “But I’ll give
you a day or two to adjust to the idea. Tomorrow, I’ll take you on a picnic. We’ll play a little
backseat bingo but I’ll have you back home at a respectable hour and kiss your hand at the end of the
night as if you were a well-bred lady.”

At this, my nostrils flare. “And that’s all?”

“So suspicious . . .” he says, as if taking umbrage. “I like spending time with you.”

“That’s
what men say when they want to convince a girl to let them ruin her.”

“True. I definitely want
to ruin you.”

I cross my arms over myself. “Then do it. Right now.”

“Not until you agree
to all my terms.” When I don’t say anything, he laughs. “You’re actually sore at me.”

“Maybe
I am. And I haven’t agreed to anything. In fact, I’m starting to wonder if you’re worth the wait.”

He taps my nose like I’m a naughty child. “Don’t give me that adorable pout, Clara. I promise
you, I’m worth the wait.”

Leo drives my car with perfect
confidence, and watching him work the steering wheel puts me under some kind of spell. He won’t
put the top up, even though the wind has my hair dancing
like a dervish under the blue sky. Leo
puts one arm around my shoulders when we hit the open road, and gives me a sidelong glance. “They say
a picnic is a splendid tonic for frayed nerves.”

My nerves aren’t just frayed. They’re snipped
in a thousand places and my temper is foul. “Says who?”

“Those etiquette books. You know the
ones. They spell out correct behavior for every situation.”

I scowl. “I’ve never had any use
for those books, and you don’t follow any rules but your own.”

He glances over at me, reading
my irritation. “Clara, can we call a truce? It’s a beautiful day and I’m with a beautiful girl. I’d
like to enjoy them both.”

“I don’t believe in truces,” I sniff.

“Even the Germans believe
in truces. Be reasonable. I’m waving the white flag here.”

Somehow I doubt he’s ever surrendered
in his whole life, but I can’t resist his charm. Thermos bottles and lunch baskets in the backseat
rattle louder the faster that he drives. And he drives like a demon, leaving a cloud of dust in
our wake. I wait until he looks over at me to see if I’m scared, and give him a sly smirk. “Can’t you
go any faster than that, Ace?”

He grins, putting both hands on the wheel. “You’d better hold
on for the ride.”

We speed up the country roads, racing any car we pass by. I hold on to his
waist, squeezing close at every tight turn. My kerchief goes flying and I’m too giddy to care. He
makes the tires squeal and I tingle with the thrill of it. We’re daredevils, him and me, and I’m suddenly
glad to remember it. I think I never want him to stop driving, that I could spend forever right
here next to him, shrieking with laughter until my sides hurt.

When he finds the ocean overlook,
he slams the brakes, sending a spray of gravel into the air. We clamor out of the car and race
up the hill. I’m faster than he is. “What’s the matter, Leo? Not so easy when you don’t have a motor
to do the work for you?”

Hampered by the baskets, blankets, and Thermos, he shouts, “You left
me holding the bag!”

With those long legs of his, he’s on my heels, but I’m fleet-footed and
sure. I’m going to beat him to the summit and he knows it. I look back just in time to see him drop
everything and lunge for me. He catches my ankle and we both go tumbling down into the grass.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, laughing. “Aren’t we going to eat lunch, Leo?”

“Just
a little bite first,” he says, nuzzling under my chin and opening the ties of my sundress. My pale
breasts come spilling out, nipples glowing pink in the sun, and he nips at them until they’re taut
and rigid, stopping only to admire his handiwork. “Your breasts are a work of art, Clara. They could
make a grown man cry.”

“That’s not anywhere near the top of my list of things I like to make
grown men do . . .”

He drags his head up from my bosom. “I’d like to know what
is
at the top
of that list.”

“I’m not inclined to tell you. I’ve already revealed too much and I haven’t
even seen you with your shirt off. It isn’t fair.”

“Well, let it not be said that I tolerate
injustice.” He reaches to unfasten his shirt at the starched collar. Just watching him undo the buttons
mesmerizes me. Then he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing a lean, muscular torso and I’m
devastated.

My hands go to my mouth. “Oh, no . . .”

Leo squints. “That wasn’t the reaction
I was hoping for.”

I cover my eyes. But then I can’t resist peeking between my fingers at the
lines of his strong shoulders gleaming in the sun. “Oh, noooooo.”

Looking down at himself,
Leo rubs the dusting of dark hair on his well-hewn chest. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It’s horrible,”
I say, reaching out to thrust his shirt at him. “Put this back on!”

Leo practically stammers.
“Uh . . . well . . . you really want me to put my shirt back on?”

“I’ve never been more certain
of anything in my life.”

It’s gratifying to see him off balance for a change, but I’m not cruel
enough to keep up the ruse. “I need you to put your shirt back on because if you don’t, I’m going
to throw you down, claw the rest of the clothes off your body, and eat you alive!”

He barks
with sudden laughter. “I can handle you, Clara . . .”

“Don’t be too sure of yourself, Ace.”

Grinning, he pulls his shirt back on. “You had me worried that you preferred chubby, balding
tycoons.”

“You leave Teddy Morgan alone.”

“You know, Clara, I can’t decide if I’m charmed
or offended by your loyalty to him.”

“You’re charmed. Anything else wouldn’t be worthy of you.”

“Well, I’m glad to see that your opinion of me is starting to improve. Unfortunately, I’m about
to irritate you by insisting that you fasten your dress so that we can eat lunch like civilized
picnickers.”

The only thing that gratifies me is how much he seems to regret the sight of my
breasts disappearing back into my dress. “You just want to drive me into a fever of frustration, don’t
you?”

“That’s not anywhere near the top of
my
list of things I want to do to
you
. Believe me,
Clara, the self-denial is wearing thin on me, too. But tomorrow I’m going to give you everything
you want and more.”

To acknowledge it would be to consent to all his terms. So I don’t reply
until he hands me a cream cheese and olive sandwich. I survey the hillside and say, “This would be
the perfect location to shoot a film.”

He leers. “What kind of film did you have in mind?”

“Not that kind.”

I tell him about my projects—the ones I’ve been producing myself with
younger actresses and actors who are looking for a break. He rolls onto his side, eating while he listens,
stopping to ask a question now and again. “And these will all be talkies?”

I hug my knees against
my chest, wiggling my bare toes in the grass. “I hate talkies. They’re so stiff and limiting.
But you can’t buck progress. You saw
The
Jazz Singer
, didn’t you? It’s going to be the standard.
My big eyes and exaggerated peek-a-boo gestures . . . they’ll look silly.”

“You’ll always have
that trademark pout.”

I give him one of my best.

“Very nice . . . I think that’ll translate
just fine.”

“I dunno, Leo. In talking pictures an actress has to rely on her voice to do the
job her whole body used to. I’m not sure my voice is up to the task.”

He sits up. “I like your
voice. In particular, I like the sounds you make when—”

“Don’t start,” I warn him.

“I’m
teasing, Clara. Truthfully, I’m awfully impressed at the way you’re thinking ahead.”

“Nobody
else is gonna do it for me,” I say, though this treads too close to matters that fall under our truce.
“It isn’t just planning, though. I’ve always wanted to make movies. You saw the photos in my room.
I’ve got a good eye. I think I could be brilliant if someone gave me the chance.”

He crumples
the paper wrapper of his sandwich, then reaches for another one. “What kind of film would you make?”

“Something no one would ever expect from me. Something serious and innovative and a little bit
dangerous. Something that has meaning to somebody beyond the day they bought the ticket.”

He stares at me for a long time. “You’re quite a package, Clara Cartwright.”

“That’s just a
stage name, you know.” I’m not sure why I tell him, but once I do, it seems easier to tell him the rest.
“It’s Clara Flannagan, actually. My people are from Brooklyn.”

“Never been there,” he says,
chewing. “What’s it like?”

“Noisy. Crowded. Cold in the winter . . .” I don’t want to tell
him about the nights I spent huddled under a wool blanket with my mother, shivering so hard that I couldn’t
sleep. “Hotter than hell in the summertime.”

“What did you do for fun?” he wonders.

“What’s
with all the questions, Ace? Is this an interview and nobody told me?”

He gives me a long and
lazy smile. “I like to inspect my equipment thoroughly . . .”

“The way you compare me to machines
is starting to rub me the wrong way.”

“Don’t worry. I plan to rub you the right way.” He props
himself up on one elbow to stare at me. At the sight of his easy masculinity, hair tousled by the
wind, something inside my chest squeezes. He’s a beautiful man and I mean to have him, but I know
I can’t keep him. And I can’t seem to shut him up, either. “Come on, Clara. Tell me what you did for
fun in Brooklyn.”

“I sucked off men under the boardwalk for a nickel apiece.”

He snorts.
“Did you?”

Hugging my knees tighter, I look straight at him. “What if I did? What would you
say?”

He doesn’t look away. “I’d say you didn’t charge enough.”

“Be serious.”

“I
am. Having sampled your talents, I know that no man could ever pay you what you’re worth.”

Turning from him, I glare into the bright sun. “So, you’re saying you wouldn’t care.”

He sobers,
then sits up so that our knees are touching. “What do you want me to say, Clara? Do you want me
to be angry or aroused? Because the former would damn me in my own eyes and I worry that the latter
would damn me in yours.”