Sins of the Flesh (21 page)

Kneeling by his bed, she whispered in his ear, her fingers trailing gently the length of his cheek and down his neck. The coverlet had slipped from his neck. How broad his chest was, how muscular his arms. How very, very young.

“Come,
chéri,
” she whispered.

Reuben woke, instantly aware of her presence. He lay quietly, giving himself up to her touch and her scent. When he shuddered, she smiled, her teeth flashing in the moonlight.

“Come with me now, to my room.”

Reuben swung his legs over the side of the bed, his hands clutching the edge of the plump mattress. Mickey dropped her head into his lap, whispering as her tongue did strange things to him—things he wanted never to end. He drew in his breath, expelling it in a loud hiss. With all the force he could muster, he grasped her shoulders and pushed her backward. He stood in his nakedness, staring down at her. At last he reached for her and drew her up close. With one fluid motion he enfolded her into his arms and in seconds they were both in bed.

Eager to be close to him, Mickey abandoned herself to sensation. Her fingers tore at her gown as she hurried him with hushed whispers and moist kisses, eager to lie with him and teach him her special secrets.

His mouth sought hers, his arms locked her in a hard embrace. Wave after wave of desire coursed through her as she answered his kisses and inspired his caresses. Her tongue darted into the warm recesses of his mouth, her arms wound around him, making him her prisoner. Soft hands caressed and stroked her back, smoothing along the curve of her waist to the fullness of her hips and bottom, pressing her close to her desire. Her breasts were taut and full beneath his hands. Soft moans of ecstasy escaped her parted lips as he aroused her to the heights of passion. He devoured her with his eyes, covered her with his lips, igniting her sensuality with teasing touches of his tongue against her fiery skin. His fingertips grazed the sleekness of her inner thighs, and, helpless, she felt her body arch against his hand with a will of its own, to aid in his explorations.

His mouth became part of her own, and she heard her heart beat in wild and rapid rhythms. They strained toward each other, imprisoned by the designs of yearning, caught in an embrace that ascended the obstacles of the flesh and strove to join breath and blood, body and spirit.

Gently, in the darkened room, he laid her back against the pillows, leaning over her, nuzzling her neck, inhaling the heady fragrance that was hers alone. Blazing a trail from her throat, his lips covered her unguarded breast, and she shivered with exquisite anticipation. She became unaware of her surroundings, oblivious to time and place; she knew only that her body was reacting to this man, pleasure radiating outward from some hidden depth within her. She allowed herself to be transported by it, incapable of stopping the forward thrust of his desires, spinning out of time and space into the soft consuming mists of her sensuality.

Her emotions careened and clashed, grew confused and wild, her perceptions thrumming and beating wherever he touched her. And when he moved away from her she felt alone. When he returned, she was whole again, wanting and needing, wanting to be needed in return. The feverish heat of his skin seemed to singe her fingers as she traced inquisitive patterns over his arms and back and down over his sleek, muscular thighs.

He had never touched a woman this way, but somehow he knew he could touch a thousand women and none would feel the same to him as this one. None could have the unexpectedly smooth skin that tantalized his fingers and tempted him to seek more secret places.

Suddenly the room grew dark, jealously keeping the sight of him from her eyes. She wanted to see him, to know him, behold the places her fingers yearned to find and her lips hungered to kiss. “The lamp,” she whispered, hardly daring to make a sound, afraid to break the spell. She barely recognized her voice; it sounded husky, throaty, sensuous, even to her own ears. “I want to see you. I want to know you, like this…naked. All of you.” It was a plea, a demand, exciting him with its fervor, arousing his desires for her to a fever pitch.

Soft golden light flooded the room, and he stood before her, just out of reach. Her gaze covered him, sizzling and searing, lingering at the swell of his manhood and gazing over his flat, hard stomach. Dark patterns of lustrous and black curling hair molded his form into planes and valleys, covering his chest and narrowing to a thin, elongated arrow that seemed to point below. Thighs thick with muscle supported him, the scars of his wound breaking her heart. His torso tapered and broadened again for the width of his chest. Her arms stretched out for him, beckoning him to her.

He was filled with an exhilarating power that came from the knowledge that she wanted him, unabashed and unashamed…the power that a woman can give a man only when she reveals her desire for him, welcoming him into her embrace, giving as well as taking, trusting him to lead her to the realms of the highest star, where passion is food for the gods and satisfaction its own reward.

In the lamplight he gazed down at her, possessing her, held in the spell of the moment, reveling in watching her eyes travel the length of his body. Her lips parted, full and ripe, revealing the pink tip of her tongue as she moistened them. She was leaning back against the pillows, one knee bent, hiding her most secret place from his sight. Breasts proud, their coral tips erect, she invited his hands and his lips. As he reached out to touch her, an answering voluptuous stretch revealed her womanhood where a fine feathering of downy hair caught the light, gilding her body with a soft, shimmering glow. She was beautiful, this lioness with the hungry eyes, beautiful and desirable, setting his pulses pounding anew, unleashing a driving need in him to satiate himself in her charms, to quell this hunger she created in him and to salve an appetite for her that was ravenous, voracious.

He stepped into her embrace, felt her arms surround his hips, aware that she rested her cheek sweetly against the flat of his stomach, rubbing against his soft, curling hairs. His hands found the pins in her hair, impatiently pulling them, removing them, eager to see its dark wealth tumble to her shoulders and curl around her breasts. Silky chestnut strands, scented and shining, rippled through his fingers, tumbling and cascading from his hands, down the smooth length of her back and onto the pillows. She lifted her head, looking at him with eyes heavy with passion. He had been right in likening her to a lioness, a wild cat of the jungle. Dark lashes created shadows on her high cheekbones; upward-winging brows delineated her features. The full, ripe body, tinged with gilt, tempted his hands, invited his lips.

Her teasing touches fleetingly grazed his buttocks and the backs of his thighs, slipping between them and rising higher and higher. She took in with her eyes all she touched with her fingers, the masculine hardness of him, feeling it pulsate with anticipation of her touch, and when her hand closed over him, a deep rumbling sounded in his chest, escaping his lips in a barely audible moan.

He lay down beside her, reaching for her, covering her breasts with his hands, seeking them with his lips. But her appetite for him had not been satisfied, and she lifted herself onto her elbow, leaning over him, her hair falling, draping over her shoulder, creating a curtain between them.

She touched him again, running the tips of her fingers down his chest, hearing his small gasp of pleasure. The flat of her palm grazed his belly, and her lips blazed a trail following her hand's downward slope.

The swell of her hips and the rounded fullness of her bottom filled him with a throbbing urgency. Nothing short of having her, of losing himself in her, would satisfy. He was afraid the touch of her lips would drive him over the edge, past the point of no return. Impatiently he drew her upward, pushing her back against the pillows, trapping her with his weight. He wanted to plunder her, drive himself into her, slake his thirst, knowing his needs could be met only in her.

Her mouth was swollen, bruised, and tasting of himself. Her arms wound around him, holding him close as she pressed her nakedness against him. His hand made an intimate search over her breast, skimming its tip, and his lips followed hungrily, tasting and teasing until a golden warmth spread through her veins, heating her erratic pulses. Her hair became entangled around his neck, and he brushed it aside before resuming the moist exploration with his lips, lingering now in the place where her arm joined her body before tracing a path again to her full, heaving breasts. She clung to the hard, sinewy muscles of his arms, holding on to him for support, afraid she would fall into a yawning abyss where flames were fed by passion.

His hands spanned her waist, tightening their grip and lifting her above him. His mouth tortured her with teasing flicks of his tongue, making her shudder with unreleased passions. She curled her fingers into his night-dark hair, pushing him backward, away, pleading that he end the torment, only to follow his greedy mouth with her body, pressing her flesh against his.

A throbbing ache spread through her, demanding to be satisfied, settling uncontrollably in her loins, causing her to seek relief by the involuntary roll of her hips against the length of his thigh. He held her there, her bottom forward, driving her pelvis against him.

Suddenly he shifted, throwing her backward and settling on top of her, looming over her. For a thousand times, it seemed, his lips and hands traveled her body, starting at the pulse point near her throat and ending at her toes.

He whispered French words of love, words she'd taught him, praising her beauty, celebrating her sensuality. Her body seemed to have a life of its own, and she succumbed to it, turning, opening, like the petals of a flower. His searching fingers adored her, his hungry mouth worshiped her. Lower and lower his kisses trailed, covering the tautness of her belly and slipping down to the softness between her thighs.

She felt him move upon her, demanding her response, tantalizing her with his mouth, bringing her ever closer to that which had always eluded her and kept itself nameless for her. Her body flamed beneath his kiss, offering itself to him, arching and writhing, reveling in the sensation that was within her grasp, reveling in her own femininity. She felt as though she were separated from herself, that the world was comprised only of her aching need and his lips. Exotically sweet, thunderously compelling, her need urged him on, the same need that lifted her upward, upward, soaring and victorious, defeating her barriers, conquering her reserves, bringing her beyond the threshold of a delicious rapture that she had never dreamed of or suspected, even in her fantasies.

And when his mouth closed over hers once again, he had proved her a woman and had not cursed her for it. He had allowed her to rise victorious in her passions, leaving her breathless and with the knowledge that there was more, much more. She was satisfied yet discontented, fed and yet famished. She wanted to share the ecstasy he had given her, participate in the sharing, and only with him.

Grasping her hips, he lifted her as though she were weightless. He brought her parted thighs around him, and when he drove downward, she felt as if she were being consumed by a totally different fire—a fire that burned cooler, leaving the sensibilities intact. Yet there was that same driving need deep within her, deeper and more elusive than she had experienced the first time. She struggled to bring herself closer, needing to be part of him now, needing him to be part of herself. These fires burned deeper, brighter, fed by the fuel of his need for her, of his hunger to be satisfied.

Tears glistened on her cheeks. She was triumphant, powerful—a woman. In this man's arms she knew she had been born for this moment, that all her life had been leading up to what she was experiencing with this magnificent American. Together they had found the secrets of the universe.

The purple dawn was wrapping its arms around the château when she crept from Reuben's bed and made her way down the hall to her own room.

How cold and forlorn her bed felt. She wanted to be back in Reuben's bed with her head on his shoulder. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She'd known it would be like this. And now there was nothing she could do. She'd tasted her fill of the American, and like an alcoholic she wanted more. Would always want more. Better to say she was “addicted” than in love with a man half her age. More than half. She'd lied when she said she was forty; she was actually forty-three. Old enough to be his mother. Old enough to be a grandmother.
Mon Dieu!

How long would she be able to keep him? Six months, a year? Would he be the one to ask to leave, or would she be the one to send him on his way? Where in the world would she get that kind of strength? She'd known. Why hadn't she listened to herself, to that little voice that warned her?

 

Yvette crept close to Mickey. With a gentle finger she brushed at the tears on her friend's cheek. How much she'd given and how little she'd gotten in return. And now this trek with the children to lead them to safety. Her heart told her it would be Mickey's undoing. Guiltily she made the sign of the cross. “Please,” she whispered, “don't let anything happen to her. Help me to help her.” Was it a foolish prayer? Was it ordained somewhere that this would be a fateful trip?

Yvette swore then that she saw Death enter, grimly stalking the perimeters of the room. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see the dark shadow move forward and then stop.

She slept, her sleep full of demons from the past, the present, and the future.

The sweet smell of orange blossoms and the tang of salt sea air flirted with Nellie's nostrils. She savored it for a moment as she drank in the sight of her father and her uncle Reuben together. Misty eyes, good-ol'-boy slapping, and then the bear hug made her own eyes narrow, but only for a second. Blinking in the bright sun, she looked around, hoping that Philippe had come to welcome her to California. For the whole of the trip she'd kept her fingers crossed, something she'd always done as a child when she wanted something desperately. Over the Grand Canyon she'd made a wish that Philippe would be the first person she saw and that he would sweep her off her feet and plant a warm, welcoming kiss on her mouth. Wishes were for little children, she thought sourly.

“I think my daughter has a burr in her undies,” Daniel murmured into Reuben's ear. “I think she was expecting Philippe to be here.”

Reuben slapped his forehead. “Jesus, I didn't think, or I would have asked him along. To tell you the truth, we don't do a whole lot together these days, and I'm not…I haven't been at the studio for several days now. But we can talk about that later. She's a knockout, Daniel. When did she grow up? It wasn't all that long ago that I saw her in Washington. Jesus, she's a young lady!” Reuben's voice held stunned surprise.

Daniel kept his voice low so it wouldn't carry to the young girl walking ahead of them. “I came home from work one day and there she was, with a new hairstyle, high heels, and this dress that looked as if it were made of gossamer. She had a date with a young man who drooled when he saw her. I don't mind telling you I had a few bad moments, and the lecture I handed that young man is probably still ringing in his ears.”

Reuben grinned. “This is only my inexpert opinion, but I'd say the boy doesn't stand a chance. If there's one thing that can turn a surly, hostile young man into a human being, it's a girl.” He hesitated a moment, then added soberly, “He hates me, Daniel. He went to see Bebe, and she ordered him off her property. Told him Mickey was his mother. He's been like a butterfly in a wasp's nest ever since. Jesus, we have so much to talk about. You are staying with me, aren't you?”

“I'm not paying for a hotel, that's for sure. I have to start saving my pennies because Rajean is going to wipe me out. We're getting a divorce. We'll talk about that later, too.”

Reuben nodded. “Have you given any thought to moving out here? This is where we got our start, you know. Hell, if you're going to make a new life for yourself, this is the place to do it. And if you're interested in some big bucks…well, the studio could use a brain like yours.” His heart thudded as he realized he couldn't offer Daniel a job at the studio; he'd resigned. Bebe, then—Bebe would be more than glad to take Daniel on.

Daniel breathed deeply, and he offered Reuben an appreciative smile. “I swear to God there were times when I could smell these orange blossoms. But to answer your question, yes, I have given it some thought. Nellie said there wasn't enough sunshine in my life. And she's right; the kid is always on the money when it comes to me.”

“Nellie, hold on,” Reuben called. “This is the car. Hop in; our next stop is the studio, where I know a young man is waiting for you with his tongue hanging out.”

Nellie gave her uncle and father what Daniel referred to as her Christmas-tree smile. “I was hoping he'd be here, Uncle Reuben.”

“It's my fault. I didn't think to ask him, and his European manners wouldn't allow him to invite himself. I was so caught up in my own selfish happiness at seeing your father that I—”

“It's okay, Uncle Reuben, don't apologize.” She flashed her smile again, and Reuben's heart melted.
Philippe, if you let this girl get away, you are a fool.

“What about our bags?” Daniel asked.

“All taken care of. They'll be delivered to the house. I hate standing around waiting for something even if it's your luggage, pal. By the time we get to the house later on, they'll be there. Now, hop in and let's get this young lady to Fairmont. Daniel, Jane has been fussing and fretting ever since she found out Nellie is going to be working for her. She's…she's what I call good people, but then, you know that. She asks about you constantly. Wait till you see her, she's turned into a beautiful woman. And what a producer! She has this incredible sixth sense, this finely tuned…thing that enables her to pick a winner out of nowhere. She's never married,” he added, watching Daniel out of the corner of his eye. He bit down on his tongue to stifle a laugh when he saw Daniel straighten his shoulders and finger his tie.

“And now for your tour. The building on your right is…”

 

The studio's commissary was filled to capacity, which puzzled Philippe somehow. As he took his place in line he noticed that all conversation ceased. Even the rattling dishes and clanking silverware seemed muted. Something was in the air. He looked around, trying to lock his gaze with just one person so that he could get a feel for what was wrong. He didn't think it was his imagination when he saw heads and necks lower over plates of food.

Eating alone had never bothered him before, and now, today, he wished he'd made at least one friend so he would have someone to sit with. Then he felt himself grow angry at his insecurity. His father would never tolerate a situation like this. None of these technicians and actors would ever dare cut a conversation short or refuse to look at him if he walked into a room. They simply wouldn't dare. Philippe felt his shoulders square imperceptibly and his jaw tighten as he paid for his meal. His eyes were bold as he stared around the full dining room. Not an empty table anywhere. He was saved from stalking out of the room when he heard a voice call his name.

“Philippe, over here.” It was Jane Perkins. Philippe felt as though he'd been thrown a lifeline as he weaved his way to the producer's table.

Jane moved her tray to accommodate Philippe's. “I'm taking an early lunch hour so I can be on hand to meet with Daniel's daughter when she arrives,” she said cheerily.

Jane Perkins, Fairmont's leading producer, was a pretty woman, a quiet woman with warm soft brown eyes and a gentle smile. She was dressed in a tailored tweed suit with a crisp white blouse that rather enhanced her femininity. In many ways she reminded Philippe of his mother—like now, when she knew he was hurting and was doing her best to make him feel comfortable.

“What
is
that on your tray?” she asked inquisitively, a smile in her voice.

Philippe looked down at his tray, noticing the assortment of food for the first time. He smiled ruefully. “I kept pointing and they kept piling it on. I'm not even hungry. I came in here just to kill some time until Nellie gets here. You're going to like her, Miss Perkins.”

“I know I will. One can't get a higher recommendation than Reuben Tarz. Did anyone ever tell you how we all met, your father and Daniel and myself?” There was no surprise in Philippe's face when she acknowledged Reuben as his father.

“No. My father and myself…we…aren't that comfortable with each other—yet,” he added hastily.

Jane leaned across the table, her eyes sparkling. “It was like this. I was coming out of the studio and I'd landed a part in a crowd scene. I was so delirious, I was doing a jig. These two young men were leaning on a wall, smoking a cigarette, and we had this little conversation. I said something about always leaning on the wall for a cigarette if I got a part, but that day I was flat broke and didn't have a cigarette. I guess that's why I was doing a jig. Anyway, they offered me a cigarette, and then when I left your father gave me the whole pack.” Her eyes grew misty with the memory.

“A while later, out of the blue, I got this message to come to the studio,” she continued, “and lo and behold, there were your father and Daniel. Reuben was Mr. Rosen's assistant, at least I think that's what his title was. He gave me something to eat, a doughnut, I believe, and said I was going to have a screen test. I fainted, can you believe that? From hunger, of course. Lord, I was so stupid in those days. The long and short of it was they liked my test and cast me in the Dolly Darling series. The success of the series was so phenomenal, there are days I still can't believe it all happened. I even did a skit or two in the Red Ruby films. They were good, too. Then, as all good things do, it came to an end with the success of talkies. Your father hired a voice teacher for me, but I couldn't cut it, so he literally dumped me in the production office and said, ‘Get to work.' I loved it from the first moment, and I've been here ever since. It's so wonderful to see a creation on paper come to life under the lights. I owe your father my very livelihood. He's a wonderful man, Philippe. If you give him half a chance, I know you two can meet on some common ground. He's been a wonderful friend to me all these years.”

“I appreciate your sharing that with me,” Philippe said glumly. He poked at his food, moving it from one place to the other on his plate.

“But you aren't going to make the effort to change things, is that it?” Jane asked quietly.

“I didn't say that.”

“You don't have to. I can see it in your face. I'd like to say one more thing on the subject, then we can lay it to rest. I have no intention of being a buffer between you and your father. One of you will have to make an effort to right things. If you don't, it will be
your
loss.”

“Miss Perkins, can you tell me what's going on around here?” Philippe asked, glancing around the commissary. “When I came in everyone stopped talking. No one will look at me. Did I do something I'm not aware of, or has it come out that I'm Mr. Tarz's son?”

Mr. Tarz's son. Oh, Philippe, she wanted to say, bend a little, meet him halfway. “I guess the whole studio is buzzing with your father's resignation. It came as such a shock, out of the blue, really. I don't think any of us were prepared for it. I mean, Reuben
is
Fairmont Studios. With Bebe taking it over, it's anybody's guess what will happen. I don't think she knows that much about making movies. I guess she can learn if she's determined. We all learned…. Philippe, what's the matter?” she asked. The boy was staring at her with a horrified expression on his face. “Don't tell me you didn't know? Oh, Lord, I'm so sorry, I thought, I expected you would have been the first…I never would have blurted it out…. Keep calm, people are staring at us…. Smile, Philippe, or tomorrow you will have a terrific problem. That's it, now let's both get up and go over to my office, where we can talk in peace. Leave the damn tray,” she said tightly.
Reuben, I could strangle you for this. No wonder this kid feels the way he does.

Outside in the flower-scented air, Philippe found himself taking deep breaths to ward off the dizziness that assailed him. Jane watched Reuben's son helplessly, searching for the words that needed to be said at this moment. “All my life, Philippe, I've been careful never to say anything that would hurt another human being, and I've just knocked you off your feet. Reuben's resignation was so…public, in a manner of speaking. Everyone knew, and I don't honestly know how it came about. It was such an important decision, I just assumed you knew. Please, forgive me.”

“It's all right, Miss Perkins,” Philippe said, grinning wanly. “There's nothing to forgive. If my father wanted me to know, he would have told me. There really isn't much else to say, so I think I'll go back to my office…and play with my pencils and papers. I guess I'll see you later. Thanks for sharing lunch with me.”

Jane fought with herself not to run after him. If she gave in to her desire, she would be breaking a cardinal rule she'd set for herself years ago, which was not to get involved in Reuben's private life unless he requested she do so.

Until today she had honored that commitment. “Damn,” she muttered as she made her way back to her suite of offices.

 

Reuben swung the powerful car down the narrow alley behind the production offices. He had no desire to drive past the parking lot that until last week had held his assigned car space with his name on a stark white sign. Things moved fast at Fairmont. By now his name would be gone and the sign would read Bebe Rosen. No, he didn't want to see
that
today.

Intuitive as he was, Reuben knew immediately that something was wrong when Jane greeted them at the door to her office. Oh, she smiled, took Nellie in her arms, and welcomed her like a long-lost daughter. She kissed Daniel and hugged him until he bellowed for mercy. But her eyes, Reuben noticed, were half-angry, half-full of worry.

“Nellie, we have the rest of the week to get you settled in,” she said, smiling. “I had lunch with a young man who is chewing his nails to the nub waiting for you. Why don't you go over to his office while we three old people talk about yesterday. Go outside, make two lefts, one right, and walk straight up the stairs. Philippe's office has his name on the door. We'll stop by and pick you up in, say, two hours.”

Nellie flashed her brilliant smile and was off before anyone could comment. Daniel raised his eyebrows. “Aiding and abetting?” he teased.

“Young love.” Jane smiled tightly. “He's eager to see her, she's eager to see him. Simple.”

“Mind if we sit down?” Reuben asked.

She gestured at the couch and chairs adorning her office. “Please do…. Reuben, I have a bone to pick with you. Do you know what I just did? I blurted out…He was so shocked…he was like a pariah in the commissary. He didn't know you'd resigned! Why in God's name didn't you tell him?” she demanded angrily. “Do you have any idea how I felt?”

“Would somebody mind telling me what's going on?” Daniel asked, looking from one to the other.

“Reuben resigned from the studio,” Jane told him. “Everyone knows about it except Philippe. I blurted it out over lunch. The boy was stunned. I felt as though I'd knocked the world right from under him. Apparently Bebe is taking Reuben's place.”