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Someone behind Sunny whispered, “Oh, Lordy, he’s looking at me. I’m going to faint right here in front of God and everybody.”
The woman was wrong. Lord Sin was looking at Sunny Clary and he was talking to her. She felt every word reach inside her and snatch her breath away. There was no air. The crowd all seemed to inhale at the same time. She stared up at him, trembling, shaking with a need that came out of nowhere. The fantasy setting. The hypnotic effect of the music. Lord Sin was a David Copperfield illusion, a dream lover. The voice, a melodic whisper, indistinguishable, yet compelling, saying the kinds of things women secretly wanted to hear. All combined to weave his magic and create desire.
Sunny Clary was caught up in the spell of a master craftsman, the mysterious, passionate Lord Sin. At that moment, her rational mind knew that the story, whatever it turned out to be, was more than she’d bargained for. The sensual woman within her knew she’d never give up until she’d experienced the truth—whatever it was.
2
SUNNY GAVE HIM CREDIT, Lord Sin knew how to set a scene. There was a subtle scent of jasmine in the air, and the heated kind of stillness that would drive a passionate woman from her bed to walk on the balcony in the moonlight. The music softened to the lonely wail of a single flute. In the distance a drumbeat echoed across the night.
The low whisper of his voice began once more. “Just use your imagination, darling. Close out everything. We’re alone together. Feel how I touch you.” She could have sworn she felt a faint feathery sensation skitter across her breasts, as though she’d been caressed.
She gasped. How in the world could the man’s voice create such feelings? It had to be some kind of hypnotism. But how could that be? Though Lord Sin’s face was turned toward her, she could see neither his eyes nor his mouth. The deep fire of his voice was an illusion. Still, its very timbre fed the unmistakable arc between them. In spite of her best efforts, her breath quickened and she felt an answering throb inside her. “No,” she said. “You’re not getting to me.”
“I want you,” he whispered, as if he’d heard the words she hadn’t known she’d spoken aloud. “You don’t have to speak. I see the blaze in your eyes. Let yourself go. Think of how we would be—our bodies joined, our lips together.”
Sin waited for a moment. Then his expression registered surprise, as if some unseen spirit had touched him. He caught his robe, ruffled it and pulled it over his face so that he disappeared into the darkness. A collective moan rose from the audience. But not one woman moved. Other than the plaintive cry of the music, there was not a breath of sound in the theater.
As mysteriously as he’d vanished, Lord Sin reappeared in midair, atop an onion dome at the corner of the balcony. A violin joined the flute and drum and Sin rippled his robe once more, giving the audience a tantalizing glimpse of his body beneath as he leaped to the floor. Then the robe was gone and the man stood, silhouetted by the illusion of moonlight, his body nude, yet not, shimmering in the light. She could see the muscles in his thighs and chest quiver as he breathed. Like some jungle creature poised to ravage its prey, he was truly magnificent.
Sensually, slowly, his fingers began to move. He reached out, his palm touching the face of an unseen lover, lingering there, then moving down the column of a neck and lower, cupping the breasts of a woman who existed only in the mind of the watcher. He bent his head and there was no doubt that he was kissing her. With his other hand he reached down and seemed to pull her lower body to his. You could almost see her clasp his neck and arch her body upward. Like graceful, ghostly figures dancing through the silver smoke and golden clouds, he moved across the balcony with this imaginary woman. Like a man enchanted, he pulled her against him so that his lips could touch what no one but he could see.
Sunny didn’t have to be told that every woman watching could feel his mouth on her own. His breathing, fast and shallow, grew louder. Then, just when he seemed to have reached the point of an explosion, Sin flung out one hand, sprinkling the audience with particles of fiery embers that flared, burned out, leaving only the shadow of their path in the darkness. The stage went black.
Sin’s disembodied voice remained. “Oh, yes, my lady of fire. You want me, too. You feel my lips touching yours. Tonight, you’ll have erotic dreams of me and maybe I’ll come to you in secret. Not on a stage in a fantasy but to your bed, at the darkest hour of the night.”
A moment later he was back at center stage, on one knee, his arms extended. Imploring. His imaginary lover was gone, leaving him bereft in the artificial moonlight. He lowered his head and, almost in anguish, flung one arm across his chest. He looked as if he was nude but he was not. Instead, he wore a flesh-toned fabric that fit him like a second skin, revealing every ripple of movement.
The drumbeat grew louder. The man was on fire and so was his audience.
Sunny shifted her weight, trying to erase the responding quiver of heat building inside of her. Lord Sin stood and reached out for her. A moan and a leap took him to the top of the wall and back to a spot directly in front of Sunny. The skintight costume was so transparent that she could see the hair on his chest, the clenching of muscles in his thighs, the fullness that hinted of arousal. He was caught up in desire. If he was faking, Lord Sin was a master at his craft. He moaned, his breath turning into a gasping pant in the sudden dead silence. In search of his imaginary lover, the dancer swept about the stage, each move more desperate. The tempo of the music began to build once more. A woman across the room let out a husky gasp. Sunny shook her head in a useless attempt to regain control of her own mind and body.
Sin was moving toward her. Reaching the spot where she sat, the dancer stopped. “Don’t lie to yourself, darling. Your body is reaching out to mine even if your mind denies it. You and I were meant to be one. Together we’ll make a fire like you’ve never known. And when we love, the world will burn.”
The music rose to a crescendo and the stage went dark for the final time.
For a long minute, not one person in the audience moved. Sunny sat transformed, stunned. What had happened here? How had the man taken such overwhelming control of his audience? She felt her unused notepad slide from her lap but she hadn’t the strength to retrieve it. Her nerve endings were still tingling, protesting the abatement of the fire that had flamed them.
“What? How?” she finally whispered. “How did he do that?”
“I don’t know,” Walt’s booming voice said as he crouched in the darkness beside her table. “But I wish he’d bottle the stuff. I’d take it home and spoon some into my wife’s cereal.”
Sunny looked at Walt. She shook her head, trying desperately to gather her senses. “Did we get him on tape?”
“No, I didn’t videotape anything.”
“Did they stop you?” Sunny’s voice might be in outer space, but the rest of her was still in a fiery pit. The theater lights came on, softly, maintaining the mood.
“You bet. The minute I hoisted my camera onto my shoulder there was a man beside me, shaking his head. He didn’t say anything but I got the message. From then on, I was just a member of the audience. Never saw anything like it. I feel like I’ve been barbecued. From the inside out. Me—a guy. Don’t you ever tell my wife.”
“He’s using some kind of mass hypnosis,” she said, her voice tight and low. She leaned over to retrieve her pad.
Then she heard him. “Did you like my dancing, darling?”
“What the hell?” she swore.
“Not hell, darling, heaven,” Lord Sin whispered.
“A microphone,” Sunny said. “You put a microphone in the candle holder.” She stared at the device on the table. “When my boss, Ted Fields, sent me over here, he said you spoke directly to the women in your audience. I didn’t believe him.”
“Not to all of them. Tonight, I spoke only to you.”
Walt groaned. “The boss was right. The man’s a hypnotist. He’s got you talking to a candle. And heaven help us all, the candle’s talking back.”
“Shush!” Sunny said, her finger against her lips.
“Not women,” Sin corrected. “Couldn’t you tell? Tonight my performance was just for you.”
Sunny shook her head vigorously. Maybe she was kidding herself but she had the intoxicating impression that he was still as aroused as she. Was that the secret of his success, making every woman feel as if she were totally desirable? Pulling on every ounce of her professional control, she marshaled her thoughts and switched into reporter mode. “Thank you for the special attention, Lord Sin. But if you believe you were arousing me,” she added more bravely than she felt, “you’re out of your mind.”
“Oh?” He didn’t try to conceal the amusement in his raw-silk voice. “I don’t think so. I watched you. I know what I feel. Don’t pretend I didn’t get to you.”
Sunny swallowed hard. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not easily—seduced—by a voice. You’ll have to do better than that.”
“Sorry, my love, that’s impossible. Didn’t you hear? This is Lord Sin’s last performance.”
“But I have it straight from your own lips.” She was thinking desperately. “Lord Sin promised me that he’d make love to me soon. What’s the matter? Aren’t you up to seducing a real woman? Or do you just talk out of your candle?”
He laughed, his deep voice soft and hoarse. “Oh, I’m up to it, all right. I’ll even admit it, you aroused me, too. It’s been years since a woman has had that effect on me on stage. Why do you think I didn’t strip to my G-string like I usually do?”
That thought almost did her in. “Considering the fact that whatever it was you were wearing was like wearing nothing at all, I hadn’t thought about your G-string one way or the other.”
“But you will, my beauty. You will. And if you really want me…I suppose we might meet again before I disappear forever. I’ve never indulged myself. For once, I just might.”
“When?”
But the voice was gone. And she hadn’t pinned him down for an interview. Her big chance and she’d failed and it was her own fault. Where had her mind been? Drowning in the physical sensation he’d created, that’s where. The scoundrel was everything they’d said he was. But who was he?
Sunny came to her feet. “Get to the front door, Walt. If Lord Sin comes that way, video him, his car—whatever.”
“Where are you going?”
“To his dressing room. Please, we have to hurry!”
“You got it,” Walt said, muttering as he left. “Wish I’d brought my wife. She’ll never believe what I saw.”
But a quick trip to his dressing room confirmed to Sunny that it was empty. Not even his costume remained. Sunny was beginning to wonder if Lord Sin was real.
“MAY I HELP YOU?”
Sunny turned to face the same woman who’d delivered her seat of honor ticket. “I was looking for Lord Sin.”
“I’m sorry, Miss…”
“Clary,” Sunny said. “Sara Frances Clary. But everyone calls me Sunny.”
“…Clary, but he’s already left the building.”
“I don’t understand how I missed him, Miss…?”
“Lamour. Lottie Lamour,” the gray-haired woman answered pleasantly.
“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to—to make an appointment for tomorrow,” Sunny said dejectedly.
“I’m very sorry but that won’t be possible,” Lottie said and turned to walk away.
“Just a minute,” Sunny said, “you don’t understand. This is my first assignment. Lord Sin donated this building to the Arts Council and I’m covering the fund-raiser for WTRU.”
Lottie kept walking, drawing Sunny away from the dressing rooms. “And I’m certain you’ll cover it very well.”
“But surely Lord Sin would want to be given credit for this wonderful evening.”
Lottie stopped and turned back to face her. “Of course, my dear. And you’ll do that, won’t you?”
“I need to talk with him,” Sunny insisted. “Every reporter gives his subject a chance to respond.”
“But Lord Sin isn’t your subject,” the older woman said patiently. “Your story is the theater.”
“No, the theater is only window-dressing,” Sunny said. “My story is the man.”
Lottie’s lips curved into a smile but her eyes were cold. “Good night, Miss Clary.”
Sunny watched her walk away. There was no possibility she was going to reach Sin through Miss Lottie. She’d have to find another way to get to him. Sunny called after her, “Please thank Lord Sin for the seat of honor. Tell him I look forward to meeting him again.”
She’d check with Walt but she already knew that he wouldn’t have seen the mystery man leave the theater. There were probably secret entrances and exits that nobody but the dancer knew about. She swore again under her breath. Then, confirming the presence of her tape recorder in her purse, Sunny hurried across the stage and down the steps. With the recorder directly beside the candle she had to have captured the dancer’s voice.
Dancer. She’d called him a stripper before but he was truly more than that. Showman, entertainer, magician, hypnotist. She’d totally underestimated the extent of his sorcery and the difficulty she’d faced. Even knowing what was said about the man, she’d admit it, she’d let him get to her. Well, she wasn’t giving up her search, but tonight she resigned herself to going after her second choice for an interview, the bad-boy real estate tycoon, Ryan Malone.
RYAN MALONE HAD perfected the quick change from Sin’s bodysuit nudity to tycoon tux. He’d broken every rule he’d ever made by continuing the conversation with the redhead after the curtain fell. But tonight seemed to be a night for change. Instead of leaving the theater as he’d always done, he was standing in the wings watching the reporter thread her way through the tables toward the reception area. Still more unsettled than he’d admit, he decided that Lottie was right. He’d be better off delaying his meeting with the woman he’d imagined he was making love to during his act. He’d told himself that his performance was merely a flirtation meant to show her she wasn’t immune to Lord Sin’s talents. Instead, without even trying, she’d turned the tables on him. That had never happened before.
Even Ryan knew that Lord Sin’s last performance had been his best, for it had become a two-way seduction. That hadn’t been an act. It had turned into a sexual tease that had left him totally shaken. What in hell had happened? And what was he going to do about it? What he wanted to do was find her, take her to his bed and make love to her in ways he’d only suggested. That couldn’t happen. Lord Sin had closed up shop.
But—
Ryan Malone could.
Reeling from the aftermath of that thought, he moved quickly past the guests, toward the front entrance. He didn’t know how he’d manage it, but tonight he was Ryan Malone the official representative of the Arts Council; he could do whatever he wanted later. He thought he’d avoided her when he felt someone touch his shoulder.
“Mr. Malone? I’m Sunny Clary, WTRU News. Will you give me a moment, please?”
Ryan turned. She was even more beautiful up close. Ripe, tangerine lips parted as she drew in a quick breath of air. She held out the mike with one hand and used the other to shove a tendril of red hair behind her ear. For a moment he allowed himself simply to look at her. Knowing that the camera was running, Ryan forced himself to focus on the future of the theater. Any seduction of Sunny Clary would have to wait until he was in better control. He smiled and said, “Of course. What may I tell you?”
Tell me? Tell me to remember this is business. To forget I’ve just been practically seduced by Lord Sin and that Ryan Malone is practically undressing me with his eyes. “Mr. Malone,” Sunny began, trying to control the jitter in her voice, “you are not only a member of the Arts Council but you’re also responsible for the events of the evening, the fund-raiser here tonight. Can you tell us how successful you were?”
“I understand that we did very well, but I only put the program together, Miss Clary. You’ll have to give the credit for the idea to the man who donated the building for a Community Theater.”
Stage fright was new to Sunny. She’d done plenty of interviews, but she’d usually been wearing slacks and she hadn’t been twelve inches away from the ultimate Valentine heartthrob. “Of course.” She smiled. “You’re referring to the entertainer known as Lord Sin. A friend of yours, I believe?”
“We worked together on the program, yes,” Ryan admitted, neatly turning her question into a benign statement.
“Like many of the women tonight, I have a rose that…someone gave me. Perhaps you’d like to explain its significance.”
“Certainly. On Valentine’s Day every lover gives his sweetheart a rose. In this case, the roses started at one hundred dollars. Most of our guests paid with a cheque, a very large check. I hope your gentleman was generous.”
She turned over the check wrapped around the rose and gasped. Ten thousand dollars. “Oh, my goodness. Yes, the gentleman was more than generous. Will you tell our viewers what the money will be used for?”
“Renovating the building. But the work will take more than the money raised tonight. The entire community has to become involved. We hope members of your viewing audience will call the Arts Council and volunteer. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Ryan turned and started to walk away when he heard the reporter call out.
“Mr. Malone? Mr. Malone!” She hurried. “Will you please see that this check gets to the right person?”
He stopped and turned back, his mouth tight with the strain of walking away when what he wanted to do was throw the redhead over his shoulder and carry her out to his car and—Damn! He was losing it. Making Sunny Clary the recipient of his last performance had fired his hormones to killer proportions. He’d better get away before he revealed the state of his arousal. At that moment, his tormentor stumbled on a worn place in the carpet and reached out to steady herself. He had no choice but to catch her. Big mistake. He felt a jolt from his fingertips to the spot on his chest where her shoulder touched and straight down to his knees. He couldn’t tell whether the gasp he heard came from him or her. “You seem a bit rocky,” he finally said. “Did Lord Sin get to you, too?”
“Of course not,” she protested a little too quickly as she stepped away. “It’s the shoes and dress. I’m not used to wearing them.”
His gaze flicked from her face to her feet and back. “Oh? Is nudity the dress code for WTRU?”
She shook him off. “I meant that I’m not used to three-inch heels and long dresses. I’m more the blue jeans type.”
“Too bad. And I was thinking that WTRU had given new meaning to exposing the truth.” His control was coming back. “Are you happy working there?”
“I’m happy. Or I will be if you’ll let me interview you.”
“Me? Why would you want to interview me, Miss Clary?”
She could have lied, made up some story about his being one of Atlanta’s most eligible bachelors or she could have told him the real truth, that what she wanted was to fly off to some South Seas beach and spend hours making love in the moonlight. But, she remembered why she was here and went after a truth she could tell. “Actually you weren’t my first choice. I wanted Lord Sin.”
Ryan laughed. “I imagine most of the women here want Sin.”
“Not wanted him. I wanted to interview him,” Sunny insisted. “But he disappeared before I could get to him.”
“Why would you be so intent on finding the man?” Ryan asked. “You really don’t look like a woman who is attracted to male…dancers.”
“I’m not. I’m a country girl. This is my first assignment for WTRU. Frankly, I consider this a fluff piece. I want to do more. But I have to prove myself. Revealing Lord Sin’s true identity is my ticket out. If I find out who he is, I get transferred to investigative reporting.”
Her eyes were green, not the emerald color of her dress but something softer. Now they sparkled with the challenge. Lottie was right. His attraction to this woman could be trouble. WTRU had a reputation for hiring people who went for the jugular. As innocent as she appeared to be, Sunny Clary would be a serious threat. If there was any way to tie Ryan Malone to Lord Sin, this woman might be the one to pull it off.
“And you want to report all the tough stuff?”
“Yes,” she answered seriously. “I need an interview with Lord Sin. I’d really appreciate your assistance. Will you help me expose the man’s identity?”
