Once More With Feeling (15 page)

Raven didn't, but she murmured something and continued to sip at her tea. Brands family was beginning to fascinate her. Somehow, she had thought that people raised in the same house under the same circumstances would be more the same. These people seemed remarkably diverse. “And your other sister?”

“Moray.” He grinned. “She's in school yet, claims she's going into finance or drama. Or perhaps,” he added, “anthropology. She's undecided.”

“How old is she?”

“Eighteen. She thinks your records are smashing, by the way, and had them all the last time I was home.”

“I believe I'll like her,” Raven decided. She let her gaze sweep the mantel again. “Your parents must be very proud of all of you. What does your father do?”

“He's a carpenter.” Brand wondered if she was aware of the wistful look in her eyes. “He still works six days a week, even though he knows money isn't a problem anymore. He has a great deal of pride.” He paused a moment, stirring his tea, his eyes on Raven. “Mum still hangs sheets out on a line, even though I bought her a perfectly good dryer ten years ago. That's the sort of people they are.”

“You're very lucky,” Raven told him and rose to wander about the room.

“Yes, I know that.” Brand watched her move around the room with her quick, nervous stride. “Though I doubt I thought a great deal about it while I was growing up. It's very easy to take it all for granted. It must have been very difficult for you.”

Raven lifted her shoulders, then let them fall. “I survived.” Walking to the window, she looked out on the cliffs and the sea. “Let's go for a walk, Brandon. It's so lovely out.”

He rose and walked to her. Taking her by the shoulders, Brand turned her around to face him. “There's more to life than surviving, Raven.”

“I survived intact,” she told him. “Not everyone does.”

“Raven, I know you call home twice a week, but you never tell me anything about it.” He gave her a quick, caring shake. “Talk to me.”

“Not about that, not now, not here.” She slipped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his chest. “I don't want anything to touch us here—nothing from the past, nothing from tomorrow. Oh, there's so much ugliness, Brandon, so many responsibilities. I want time. Is that so wrong?” She held him tighter, suddenly possessive. “Can't this be our fantasy, Brandon? That there isn't anybody but us? Just for a little while.”

She heard him sigh as his lips brushed the crown of her head. “For a little while, Raven. But fantasies have to end, and I want the reality, too.”

Raven lifted her face, then framed his with her hands. “Like Joe in the script,” she reflected and smiled. “He finds his reality in the end, doesn't he?”

“Yes.” Brand bent to kiss her and found himself lingering over it longer than he had intended. “Proving dreams come true,” he murmured.

“But I'm not a dream, Brandon.” She took both of his hands in hers while her eyes smiled at him. “And you've already brought me to life.”

“And without magic.”

Raven lifted a brow. “That depends on your point of view,” she countered. “I still feel the magic.” Slowly she lifted his hand to the neckline of her blouse. “I think you were here when we left off.”

“So I was.” He loosened the next button, watching her face. “What about that walk?”

“Walk? In all that rain?” Raven glanced over to the sun-filled window. “No.” Shaking her head, she looked back at Brand. “I think we'd better stay inside until it blows over.”

He ran his finger down to the next button, smiling at her while he toyed with it. “You're probably right.”

Chapter 13

M
rs. Pengalley made it a point to clean the music room first whenever Raven and Brand left her alone in the house. It was here they spent all their time working—if what show people did could be considered work. She had her own opinion on that. She gathered up the cups, as she always did, and sniffed them. Tea. Now and again she had sniffed wine and occasionally some bourbon, but she was forced to admit that Mr. Carstairs didn't seem to live up to the reputation of heavy drinking that show people had. Mrs. Pengalley was the smallest bit disappointed.

They lived quietly, too. She had been sure when Brand had notified her to expect him to be in residence for three months that he would have plans to entertain. Mrs. Pengalley knew what sort of entertainment show business people went in for. She had waited for the fancy cars to start arriving, the fancy people in their outrageous clothes. She had told Mr. Pengalley it was just a matter of time.

But no one had come, no one at all. There had been no disgraceful parties to clean up after. There had only been Mr. Carstairs and the young girl with the big gray eyes who sang as pretty as you please. But of course, Mrs. Pengalley reminded herself, she was in
that
business, too.

Mrs. Pengalley walked over to shake the wrinkles from the drapes at the side window. From there she could see Raven and Brand walking along the cliffs. Always in each other's pockets, she mused and sniffed to prevent herself from smiling at them. She snapped the drape back into place and began dusting off the furniture.

And how was a body supposed to give anything a proper dusting, she wanted to know, when they were always leaving their papers with the chicken scratchings on them all over everywhere? Picking up a piece of staff paper, Mrs. Pengalley scowled down at the lines and notes. She couldn't make head nor tail out of the notations; she scanned the words instead.

Loving you is no dream/I need you here to hold on to/Wanting you is everything/Come back to me.

She clucked her tongue and set the paper back down. Fine song, that one, she thought, resuming her dusting. Doesn't even rhyme.

Outside, the wind from the sea was strong, and Brand slipped his arm around Raven's shoulders. Turning her swiftly to face him, he bent her backward and gave her a long, lingering kiss. She gripped his shoulders for balance, then stared at him when his mouth lifted.

“What,” she began and let out a shaky breath, “was that for?”

“For Mrs. Pengalley,” he answered easily. “She's peeking out the music room window.”

“Brandon, you're terrible.” His mouth came down to hers again. Her halfhearted protest turned into total response. With a quiet sound of pleasure, Brand deepened the kiss and dragged her closer to him. Raven could feel the heat of the sun on her skin even as the sea breeze cooled it. The wind brought them the scent of honeysuckle and roses.

“That,” he murmured as his mouth brushed over her cheeks, “was for me.”

“Have any other friends?” Raven asked.

Laughing, Brand gave her a quick hug and released her. “I suppose we've given her enough to cluck her tongue over today.”

“So that's what you want me for.” Raven tossed her head. “Shock value.”

“Among other things.”

They wandered to the sea wall, for some moments looking out in comfortable silence. Raven liked the cliffs with their harsh faces and sheer, dizzying drop. She liked the constant, boiling noise of the sea, the screaming of the gulls.

The score was all but completed, with only a few minor loose ends and a bit of polishing to be done. Copies of completed numbers had been sent back to California. Raven knew they were drawing out a job that could be finished quickly. She had her own reasons for procrastinating, though she wasn't wholly certain of Brand's. She didn't want to break the spell.

Raven wasn't sure precisely what Brand wanted from her because she hadn't permitted him to tell her yet. There were things, she knew, that had to be settled between them—things that could be avoided for the time being while they both simply let themselves be consumed by love. But the time would come when they would have to deal with the everyday business of living.

Would their work be a problem? That was one of the questions Raven refused to ask herself. Or if she asked it, she refused to answer. Commitments went with their profession, time-consuming commitments that made it difficult to establish any sort of a normal life. And there was so little privacy. Every detail of their relationship would be explored in the press. There would be pictures and stories, true and fabricated. The worst kind, Raven mused, were those with a bit of both. All of this, she realized, could be handled with hard work and determination if the love was strong enough. She had no doubt theirs was, but she had other doubts.

Would she ever be able to rid herself of the nagging fear that he might leave her again? The memory of the hurt kept her from giving herself to Brand completely. And her feelings of responsibility to her mother created yet another barrier. This was something she had always refused to share with anyone. She couldn't even bring herself to share it with the person she cared for most in the world. Years before, she had made a decision to control her own life, promising herself she would never depend too heavily on anything or anyone. Too often she had watched her mother relinquish control and lose.

If she could have found a way, Raven would have prolonged the summer. But more and more, the knowledge that the idyll was nearly at an end intruded into her thoughts. The prelude to fantasy was over. She hoped the fantasy would become a reality.

Brand watched Raven's face as she leaned her elbows on the rough stone wall and looked out to sea. There was a faraway look in her eyes that bothered him. He wanted to reach her, but their time alone together was slipping by rapidly. A cloud slid across the sun for a moment, and the light shifted and dimmed. He heard Raven sigh.

“What are you thinking?” he demanded, catching her flying hair in his hand.

“That of all the places I've ever been, this is the best.” Raven tilted her head to smile up at him but didn't alter her position against the wall. “Julie and I took a break in Monaco once, and I was sure it was the most beautiful spot on earth. Now I know it's the second.”

“I knew you'd love it if I could ever get you here,” Brand mused, still toying with the ends of her hair. “I had some bad moments thinking you'd refuse. I'm not at all sure I could have come up with an alternate plan.”

“Plan?” Raven's forehead puckered over the word. “I don't know what you mean. What plan?”

“To get you here, where we could be alone.”

Raven straightened away from the wall but continued looking out to sea. “I thought we came here to write a score.”

“Yes.” Brand watched the flight of a bird as it swooped down over the waves. “The timing of that was rather handy.”

“Handy?” Raven felt the knot start in her stomach. The clouds shifted over the sun again.

“I doubt you'd have agreed to work with me again if the project hadn't been so tempting,” he said. Brand frowned up at a passing cloud. “You certainly wouldn't have agreed to live with me.”

“So you dangled the score in front of my nose like a meaty bone?”

“Of course not. I wanted to work with you on the project the moment it was offered to me. It was all just a matter of timing, really.”

“Timing and planning,” she said softly. “Like a chess game. Julie's right; I've never been any good at strategy.” Raven turned away, but Brand caught her arm before she could retreat.

“Raven?”

“How could you?” She whirled back to face him. Her eyes were dark and hot, her cheeks flushed with fury. Brand narrowed his eyes and studied her.

“How could I what?” he asked coolly, releasing her arm.

“How could you use the score to trick me into coming here?” She dragged at her hair as the wind blew it into her face.

“I'd have used anything to get you back,” Brand said. “And I didn't trick you, Raven. I told you nothing but the truth.”

“Part of the truth,” she continued.

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “We're both rather good at that, aren't we?” He didn't touch her, but the look he gave her became more direct. “Why are you angry? Because I love you or because I made you realize you love me?”

“Nobody
makes
me do anything!” She balled her hands into fists as she whirled away. “Oh, I detest being maneuvered. I run my own life, make my own decisions.”

“I don't believe I've made any for you.”

“No, you just led me gently along by the nose until I
chose
what was best for myself.” Raven turned back again, and now her voice was low and vibrant with anger. “Why couldn't you have been honest with me?”

“You wouldn't have let me anywhere near you if I'd been completely honest. I had experience with you before, remember?”

Raven's eyes blazed. “Don't tell me what I would've done, Brandon. You're not inside my head.”

“No, you've never let me in there.” He pulled out a cigarette, cupped his hands around a match and lit it. Before speaking, he took a long, contemplative drag. “We'll say I wasn't in the mood to be taking chances, then. Will that suit you?”

His cool, careless tone fanned her fury. “You had no right!” she tossed at him. “You had no right to arrange my life this way. Who said I had to play by your rules, Brandon? When did you decide I was incapable of planning for myself?”

“If you'd like to be treated as a rational adult, perhaps you should behave as one,” he suggested in a deceptively mild tone. “At the moment I'd say you're being remarkably childish. I didn't bring you here under false pretenses, Raven. There was a score to be written, and this was a quiet place to do it. It was also a place I felt you'd have the chance to get used to being with me again. I wanted you back.”

“
You
felt.
You
wanted!” Raven tossed back her hair. “How incredibly selfish! What about
my
feelings? Do you think you can just pop in and out of my life at your convenience?”

“As I remember, I was pushed put.”

“You left me!” The tears came from nowhere and blinded her. “Nothing's ever hurt me like that before. Nothing!” Tears of hurt sprang to her eyes. “I'll be damned if you'll do it to me again. You went away without a word!”

“You mightn't have liked the words I wanted to say.” Brand tossed the stub of his cigarette over the wall. “You weren't the only one who was hurt that night. How the hell else could I be rational unless I put some distance between us? I couldn't have given you the time you seemed to need if I'd stayed anywhere near you.”

“Time?” Raven repeated as thoughts trembled and raced through her mind. “You gave me time?”

“You were a child when I left,” he said shortly. “I'd hoped you'd be a woman when I came back.”

“You had hoped . . .” Her voice trailed off into an astonished whisper. “Are you telling me you stayed away, giving me a chance to—to grow up?”

“I didn't see I had any choice.” Brand dug his hands into his pockets as his brows came together.

“Didn't you?” She remembered her despair at his going, the emptiness of the years. “And of course, why should you have given me one? You simply took it upon yourself to decide for me.”

“It wasn't a matter of deciding.” He turned away from her, knowing he was losing his grip on his temper. “It was a matter of keeping sane. I simply couldn't stay near you and not have you.”

“So you stayed away for five years, then suddenly reappeared, using my music as an excuse to lure me into bed. You didn't give a damn about the quality of
Fantasy.
You just used it—and the talent and sweat of the performers—for your own selfish ends.”

“That,” he said in a deadly calm voice, “is beyond contempt.” Turning, he walked away. Within moments Raven heard the roar of an engine over the sound of the sea.

She stood, watching the car speed down the lane. If she had meant to deal a savage blow, she had succeeded. The shock of her own words burned in her throat. She shut her eyes tightly.

Even with her eyes closed, she could see clearly the look of fury on Brand's face before he had walked away. Raven ran a shaking hand through her hair. Her head was throbbing with the aftereffects of temper. Slowly she opened her eyes and stared out at the choppy green sea.

Everything we've had these past weeks was all part of some master plan
, she thought. Even as she stood, the anger drained out of her, leaving only the weight of unhappiness.

She resented the fact that Brand had secretly placed a hand on the reins of her life, resented that he had offered her the biggest opportunity in her career as a step in drawing her to him. And yet . . . Raven shook her head in frustration. Confused and miserable, she turned to walk back to the house.

Mrs. Pengalley met her at the music room door. “There's a call for you, miss, from California.” She had watched the argument from the window with a healthy curiosity. Now, however, the look in the gray eyes set her maternal instincts quivering. She repressed an urge to smooth down Raven's hair. “I'll make you some tea,” she said.

Raven walked to the phone and lifted the receiver. “Yes, hello.”

“Raven, it's Julie.”

“Julie.” Raven sank down in a chair. She blinked back fresh tears at the sound of the familiar voice. “Back from the isles of Greece?”

“I've been back for a couple weeks, Raven.”

Of course. She should have known that. “Yes, all right. What's happened?”

“Karter contacted me because he wasn't able to reach you this morning. Some trouble on the line or something.”