It Stings So Sweet (18 page)

I snort. “Neither of us are the marrying kind, but I’ll get into bed with you whenever
you want me.”

“Now there’s the little vamp I love,” he says, pulling me against his chest.

Then he turns out the light and falls into deep slumber. I watch him. The way his chest rises
and falls, rumbling with contentment. The rhythm of his breath. The way his eyes move beneath his
lids as if he were dreaming of a future with me. It’s a dream I want to share, but I know it’s
only
a dream.

And by morning, I’m gone.

C
HAPTER

Eleven

R
ehearsal goes badly. Dressed in a grass skirt and
Hawaiian lei, I’m supposed to be dancing the hula for the camera and all I can think about is Leo.
Later, sprawling in the grass on set, I’m supposed to entice the hero of the movie to kiss me. Instead,
I turn my head away.

Twice, the director scolds me until it becomes clear that I’m not paying
any attention at all.

“What’s the crisis this time, sweetheart?” the director asks.

I
don’t answer him. I just leave the set.

At home, Charlie says, “Miss Cartwright, there is a
gentleman caller waiting for you. It’s Mr. Vanderberg. Your father said it would be alright if I let
him upstairs.”

I wish he hadn’t. “I don’t think I can face Mr. Vanderberg today . . .”

My father is coming out just as I’m going in, and he overhears. “Throwing him over already, Clara?
He seems like a nice fella.”

From the man who abandoned my mother and me, that may not seem
like much of an endorsement, but there’s something so sweet and hopeful in my father’s eyes that I
don’t want to disappoint him. “Who says I’m throwing him over? I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Pops nods, takes a few steps, then stops. “Clara, I hope you know . . . not every man is like me.”

I just stand there, my hand on the doorknob, pretending I haven’t heard him. But he knows. We
both know. It just seems kinder this way. And after a few moments, I hear his steps fade away. They
echo in my mind with the words he’s said, and I wish I could believe him.

Forcing myself to
hang up my coat and pour myself a drink from the sideboard takes all the strength I’ve got left. Leo
is sitting on the divan, head down, elbows on his knees, holding his hat. When he looks up, everything
inside me comes awake and I have to fight my urge to rush to him and throw my arms around his neck.

“You skipped out before breakfast,” Leo says crossly. “And what are you wearing . . . is that
a grass skirt?”

Glancing down at myself, I see that I was in such a stupor I didn’t remember
to change out of my costume. Trying not to show that I’m flustered, I flash him a leg. “Do you like
it?”

Leo makes a sound of approval in his throat. “You were right, you know. About this morning.
When I woke up, I did feel differently.”

An arrow of agony rips through me but I force a bright
smile. “Wonderful!” It’s an award-winning performance. “Now that we’re done with that silliness,
maybe you can help me out of this outfit and into something a little more comfortable.”

Leo
frowns. “I wasn’t happy to wake up alone, Clara. More specifically, I wasn’t happy to wake up without
you. And I realized how I poured my heart out to you like a sap last night and you didn’t say anything
at all. It occurred to me that you may not share my feelings . . .”

“If that’s what occurred
to you then you’re a fool, Leo Vanderberg.”

“Don’t toy with me Clara. I’ll
make
you love me
if I have to. But I need to know how you feel about me.”

I’ve been pretending all my life that
everything was fine, so why shouldn’t I go on pretending? But the way Leo is looking at me now,
so earnestly . . . I don’t have the heart to pretend for one more moment. “How do I feel about you?
I love you, Leo.”

He starts to smile, but falters when he sees my expression. “Well, you couldn’t
look less thrilled about it.”

I promptly burst into tears.

“Because it’s awful! I can’t
imagine why anyone would ever want to be in love. I look at you and my belly flutters. I haven’t been
able to eat more than a few bites since the day I met you. I can’t sleep because whenever I close
my eyes I remember how it feels to be touched by you. I daydream about you when I should be working.
Sometimes, I even start shivering just at the sound of your name. It’s like I’ve fallen ill with
something that could be fatal!”

The tension goes out of Leo’s shoulders and he laughs. Then
he rises to his feet and enfolds me in an embrace, patting my back. “There, there. It can’t be all
that bad . . .”

“It is,” I sob. “I don’t want to be in love. Don’t you know what I do for a
living? Tomorrow afternoon, I have to pretend to drown in a lily pond so some handsome actor can rescue
me and kiss me passionately. I have to be Clara Cartwright. Fiery, fearless, and independent as
a cat. I’ve never loved any man and never needed one. But I need you so badly that I think it’s going
to kill me.”

He’s grinning now. “You do have a flair for the dramatic, don’t you, darling?”

The tears won’t stop and Leo has to offer me the handkerchief from his pocket. I’m sniffling
and my make-up is smearing. I dab at my eyes, which feel puffy. My nose is probably red. Even my lower
lip is quivering so badly I doubt I could force it into a seductive pout. How hideous I must look.
“You shouldn’t see me like this.”

“Marry me, Clara.”

My heart stops. It stops right in
my chest. “
What
?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s not funny, Leo. It’s not funny at all.”

“It’s not a joke.”

“Then you’ve lost your wits.”

“That’s true,” he says. “I’m crazy about
you.”

My hands go to my cheeks. “What are you thinking? I’m not the marrying kind, Ace. Neither
are you.”

Leo clears his throat. “I know I said that. I believed it, too. But that was before.
Everything is different now. I got to thinking about all these rules for mistresses. Did you read
all that in one of those etiquette books you’ve got no use for, or is it something I did or said?
I don’t know how I made you feel like I don’t want you near me always. Or how I made you feel like I
only want you until I’m done with you. But let me clear it up now. I’m
never
going to be done with
you, Clara. So why don’t you marry me?”

My broken heart cracks into several new pieces. “Because
I’m not the girl men marry, Leo. I’m the girl men share on a billiard table.”

He reacts as
if I’ve flung frigid water in his face; he goes white to the tip of his nose. And he responds with a
cold fury that frightens me a little. “Why, Clara, I do believe we’re about to have our first serious
quarrel . . .”

“It’s only the plain truth.”

Grabbing my arm, he tugs me towards the bedroom.
“Come here, I want to show you something.” For a moment—just for a moment—I think he means to
carry our quarrel onto the bed. Instead, he pulls me to my dressing table, where my matching brushes
and gilded perfume bottles mock me from their tray. Easing me onto the vanity seat, Leo says, “Tilt
your head back.”

“What?”

“Just do as I say, will you? Tilt your head back.”

“No,
Leo. Stop it.”

Giving my hair a good yank, he exposes my throat. I stare up at him, wondering
if he’s going to strike me. Instead, he says, “You’re the only one who can see it, Clara. Do you
know that? In your mind, that scar is so red and vivid that it marks you. You think that part of you
is unlovable. You’re wrong.”

This raises the ire in me. “Let me go, you mad German brute, or
I’ll elbow your bad rib into next week.”

“Look in the mirror, Clara. Look at yourself.”

“I don’t have to look! I’m a vain, shallow, woman, and all I
ever
do is look at myself. I see myself
on every movie poster. In every theatre.”

“That’s a persona, Clara. It’s not you.”

“It
is. At least, it’s a part of me.”

“Yes and so is the scar. But it’s not the whole of you. So
look at it.”

My eyes well hot with tears as I dare to glance in the mirror. To see the scar,
I have to squint. But when I see it, all I can hear is my mother’s voice, and I want to clamp my hands
over my ears to make it stop.

“I know what this scar means to you, Clara. What you think it
says about you. But do you know what it means to me? It means that you’re a fighter. You don’t need
my money. You don’t need my name. You don’t need a damned thing from me except to embrace your dark
secrets and protect them, even from you.”

Tears slide down my cheeks, hot and salty. “But you
don’t have to marry me to give me any of that. I’ll be your mistress for as long as you’ll have me
and a mistress is more fun than a wife.”

His grip loosens, and he strokes me softly. “Oh, Clara.
Are you afraid marriage is going to put an end to our games? I know you’re a scarlet woman and
I plan to be a nefarious husband. Especially once I get you to promise to love, honor, and
obey
.” When I wilt a little, it only encourages him. “See, you like that idea. You’re thinking of all the
wicked ways I could abuse that power, aren’t you? Maybe you’d like a little preview . . . maybe that
will help convince you.”

In spite of everything, my body buzzes with renewed interest. “You’re
the devil himself.”

“And you look surprisingly sexy in a coconut brassiere,” he says, cupping
my breasts. “Still sore?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Do you think it’s going to stop a ‘mad German
brute’ like me?”

“I hope not.”

With that, he grabs me up into his arms and slings me over
his shoulder.

“Leo!”

He drops me onto the bed, then crawls over me. “It’s time for a change
in strategy. I assume you want to be ravished by me over and over again.”

I moan, unable to
deny it. “Yes, oh yes.”

Leo grins. “See how easy it is to say yes to me?”

“Shut up and
make love to me,” I say, clamping my arms around his neck.

He yanks the Polynesian flowers
off me and reaches under my grass skirt. His hands caress me and he starts nibbling his way down my
body, then looks chagrined. “Unfortunately, I really am an
amateur
today. I didn’t think to bring
precautions.”

“I don’t care,” I whisper, lost in the reverie. “I want you inside me, bare.”

Leo’s self-control unravels. “You know exactly what a man likes to hear, don’t you?”

He
fumbles with his belt buckle, kicking his pants off in his haste. But when he enters me, he’s gentle.
He’s gentle in a way I didn’t know he
could
be gentle, kissing my throat over and over again, kissing
my scar until it feeds me with sensation. Until it becomes a new place of pleasure all to itself.
We make love, my legs wrapped around him tight as I stroke his back, his arms, his chest. It feels
different this time. Tender, loving, languorous as we strain together. But every time I near the
summit, Leo shifts subtly or slows down to keep me on the edge.

“Leo, please,” I murmur.

“Do you want to come, Clara?”

“Yes.”

“Say it again.”

“Yes, Leo. Yes.”

“Very
nice. Say it again. I want to get you used to the idea of saying yes . . .”

“Yes, please, please,
yes!”

“Then marry me.”

“No!” I sputter my indignation. “That’s not fair.”

Leo gives
a small push with his pelvis, anchoring me to the bed, destroying my resolve with the promise of
pleasure. “Fair? You know better than to think I’m going to follow the rules, don’t you?” he asks, lifting
up so that I can see where we’re joined together in such beautiful, carnal intimacy. “Say you’ll
marry me and I’ll make you see stars.”

I groan with frustration, squeezing my eyes shut. “No.”

“I can do this to you all day, every day, Clara. If I get tired, I’ll call Robert Aster to help.
Eventually, you’re going to give in, so why not now?”

“Because you’re not the only one who
can do this all day, every day,” I say, sliding my hand between us to touch where I so need to be touched.
My brazen sensuality delights him and he watches the trail of my fingers like a man enchanted.
I stroke myself, using my body and his for satisfaction.

“I knew I should have tied your hands
to the headboard again,” he says, but he doesn’t stop me. I use every trick I know, nipping at his
nipples on the upstroke, caressing the small of his back, which flexes with each thrust. It excites
me to see how his desire for me shatters his resolve. And when I hear him moaning my name, again
and again, we send each other into a spiral of pleasure.

The moment he begins to pulse and
throb, I lock my legs around his waist so he can’t pull free. He struggles against me, but I won’t let
him go. “Come inside me, Leo . . .”

His face contorts with an ecstasy that matches my own,
and we cry out together as he floods me with warmth and my body grasps hold of him, with its own designs.
After, we lay panting together, our sweat-slick limbs wrapped in intimate embrace, and Leo gives
a rueful chuckle. “Well,
that
wasn’t supposed to happen.”

I stretch, content as a cat. “I wanted
it to. I want it to happen again and again.”

“If it does, you’ll get knocked up and
have
to
marry me . . .” He turns to look at me with a gleam in his eye. “Which, on second thought, is a rather
good argument for the idea.”

In spite of my bliss, this talk of marriage has to stop, so I
confess, “I can’t have children, Leo. I’ve been sleeping with men since I was fourteen and I never got
knocked up. Not even once.”

“Which proves exactly, nothing, but it’s neither here nor there.
When did you hear me say that I wanted to raise a bunch of little ankle biters?”

“That’s why
people get married, Leo. To start a family. And I can’t be anyone’s mother. Even if I could, how do
you think kids would fare growing up the children of Clara Cartwright?”

“Like spoiled little
brats, probably. You’re a movie star, Clara. Any kid would be proud. If you want to worry, you should
worry about how they’d fare as the children of a German American.”

“Oh, you and that sauerkraut
on your shoulder . . .”

“I have no interest in children unless you do, Clara, in which case
I’m happy to give them to you.”

I’ve never even thought it a possibility, and the strangeness
of a man offering to give me children, a home, a family, fills me with happiness, even if it’s a
dream that can never be mine. “Why do you want to get married then?”