As he clipped the bottle to his belt, the amusement in his aura faded, and his voice was cool. “Do you think someone could have switched bottles while you were watching the concert?”
“No. I know people who’ve been date-raped. I never set the bottle down. I was holding it the entire time.”
“Maybe you were so absorbed in the music you didn’t notice.” He sounded as if getting carried away by the music was stupid and disgusting. What was wrong with him?
“No,” she said, “I would have noticed when I picked it up again.” She could see he still didn’t believe her. More and more rattled by the second, she picked up her pace, and they came out into the open. “There’s my car. I really have to get home.” A tiny tremor in her voice betrayed her. She thought she’d grown accustomed to disbelief, but evidently not.
Her little Honda sat forlornly alone in the parking lot. She dug her keys from the pocket of her shorts and tossed the cup and bowl into the trunk.
“This is your blanket?” The mask still dangled from his hand.
She nodded, spread the blanket in the trunk, and took the mask and laid it carefully inside. She’d expected him to object, to insist on keeping it—or perhaps keeping everything. She was pretty sure he’d telepathically ordered her to pick up the cup and bowl. It was not as clear as those self-destructive suggestions he’d made earlier, but definitely a different timbre from her own thoughts. If he wanted the items, why let her take them?
Surprise made her blurt, “Do you need a ride into town?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t look fine. She needed to get away before he asked anything more about Zeb. She cared about Zeb Bonnard; he was a troubled teen and one of the few people to whom she’d revealed that she could see auras. She’d had no choice when faced with Zeb’s astonishing ability to control his own aura and his desperate need for someone to confide in about it. She couldn’t leave him at the mercy of a vigilante, hero or not. She had to get some answers of her own first.
“What are you planning to do with that stuff?” Constantine’s voice held a hint of laughter. She tried to read his colors, but whatever they revealed, it wasn’t amusement.
“Find out who put it there,” she said.
“You don’t know?” Supercilious on the surface, intensely focused underneath. Tell me the truth, girl.
“Of course I don’t know! Somebody drugged me, remember?” She shut the trunk. “I mean to find out who did it.”
“No,” he said sharply. “No.”
“No what?”
“If you really don’t know, don’t try to find out. You’ll put yourself in danger.”
She scowled. “Then why did you tell me to pick up the cup and bowl?”
“Did I?” he asked, all innocence.
She didn’t try to hide her annoyance. “That’s not the only telepathic message you sent me, and we both know it.”
“Most people can’t tell that a telepathic message isn’t one of their own thoughts.”
She shrugged, not wanting to get into this discussion. “I repeat: Why did you tell me to take the stuff?”
“Because I couldn’t carry it all myself. Don’t have a vehicle with me either. I’ll pick it up later, and I’ll find out who put it here. You need to stay out of this.”
“It’s a bit late for that,” she said.
“No, it’s not.” His tone made her shiver. She followed his eyes and the tilt of his chin to where the nose of a low-slung car poked out from behind a hedge bordering the parking lot. “You can back out of this mess right now. Pretend we’ve had words.” A crow dove from the trees, its caws raucous and insistent. “Tell me to go to hell.”
“After all I just implied about you to save your sorry butt?” The crow fluttered sharply onto the gravel, narrowly missing Constantine. He didn’t seem to notice. His eyes flickered, dark eyes with flecks of copper, sparks of heat. “Last chance, babe.” A BMW with Nathan at the wheel slithered toward them like a malevolent white rat. The snout of a camera followed their every move from the rear window. “Come on. Slap me across the face.” He leaned toward her, offered his cheek.
More pissed off by the second, she took a step back. “Why would I do that?”
“To dissociate yourself from me. It’s for your own safety. He may find out who you are and harass you a little, but once he realizes there’s nothing between us, he’ll leave you alone.”
She glanced at the white car and back at Constantine.
“Hit me, and I’ll distract him. Maybe you’ll manage to escape him completely.”
God, what a temptation. The last thing she needed was a reporter following her around. If he found out who she was… She shut that thought away. He might find out anyway. Regardless, she couldn’t just quit.
“I’ll have one of my bodyguards pick up that paraphernalia, and whoever set up that scenario will leave you alone, too,” Constantine said.
“I can’t dissociate myself from you yet,” she said. “That would make people believe his allegations. I have to finish what I started up there.” She felt a flush crawl up her neck. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant—”
“Don’t worry,” Constantine said dryly. “I don’t plan to take you up on your delightful suggestion. It was clever, but it won’t keep Nathan away for long. He’ll want more and more, and if you associate with me, it will only get worse.”
She knew that, but she couldn’t support him one minute and abandon him the next. It went against everything she’d been taught, everything she’d learned by her father’s example.
And, she had to admit, that wasn’t all that held her. The closer Constantine came, the more he was aroused. His words urged her to leave, while his aura pulled her closer. She didn’t need a sixth sense to melt under the heat of his sensuality, but it sure came in handy. He could have been made of stone for all the interest he showed, but he was extremely turned on, and she knew it.
Miraculously, it turned her on, too.
She breathed him in. He smelled fabulous. Her lips yearned for the smooth bronze of his skin.
“Hit me hard, get into that car, and drive the hell away.”
“Not on your life,” she said, and swiftly kissed his cheek.
With a growl of despair, he gave in and pulled her hard against him, kissing her properly, while the crow cackled, She wants you, wants you, wants you. He sent it a halfhearted They all do, and let himself explore her.
But she’s not afraid, the bird said as it flew away.
That didn’t mean she was safe with him, but she was hot and sweet, and it had been too damned long. If he were a good guy, he’d just shoot her one of the one-touch orgasms he’d perfected during his long period of celibacy and send her away to become another of the chicks who raved about him.
But he wasn’t a good guy, and she melted against him and kissed him back, and before he knew it, he was hard as a tree, gripping her ass, and grinding himself against her.
He was used to the incessant click of cameras, but she wasn’t and pulled away first.
“Welcome to the tabloids,” he said, as Nathan whooped and tore out of the parking lot. “By noon, we’ll be all over the web.”
She’d gone pale as ice, but she composed herself. “I’d better run while he’s out of the way.” She got into the car and buckled herself in. She rolled down the window and frowned up at Constantine, lips parted, as if she wanted to say something.
He shouldn’t let himself look at her lips. He couldn’t risk a relationship. He couldn’t even risk a quick fuck.
“Good-bye, then,” she said, eyes widening. Slowly, she drove away. He sent a kiss on the wind as her car disappeared from sight.
“Are you out of your mind?” Lavonia said. Her wild black curls quivered against her creamy brown skin. Even just out of bed, her voluptuous figure wrapped in a tattered pink robe and about to deliver a rant, Lavonia was drop-dead gorgeous.
Marguerite folded her arms against her che
st, rubbing the goose bumps away. Lavonia always kept her air conditioning too cold, and by the time Marguerite had finished explaining what had happened at the mound—a little too incoherently for her own self-respect—she was frozen from top to toe. “Maybe. I don’t know. Regardless, I can’t call the cops.” She got up from her chair by the kitchen table and paced to keep herself warm.
Or maybe to keep herself from freaking out.
Lavonia was her closest friend in Bayou Gavotte. Not that Marguerite considered any of her friends close, apart from Zeb; her aura-reading ability made that difficult. Still, Lavonia’s was the shoulder she’d cried on after Pauline’s suicide, and was Marguerite’s support through the funeral and all the attendant business. She was also a witch, a psychology student, and a former nurse, and she had listened in growing disbelief to Marguerite’s story. “You were drugged and maybe raped. You have to go to the police. You have to be examined at the hospital.”
“I can’t,” Marguerite said wearily. “I already said, in public and for the whole world to know, that I fell asleep waiting for Constantine Dufray to have tantric sex with me.”
“And you can now report to the same world that you were befuddled by a date rape drug. That when you woke and saw him, you couldn’t think of anything but how sexy he was. That you temporarily lost your mind and said the first thing that popped into it.”
“I can’t possibly say anything so stupid!”
“You already said something stupid.”
“I know that,” Marguerite said in a small voice. “But it would have been worse to agree with what that foul reporter said.”
“You could have told the truth.” Lavonia tightened her dressing gown around herself and banged cupboards and drawers as she got the coffee going.
No, because the truth included what she’d read in Constantine’s aura, and no one would have believed her. She’d stopped talking about auras long ago, because she’d had enough of not being believed or, alternatively, of being shunned. She hadn’t told Lavonia about being able to read auras for fear that it would ruin their friendship the way it had ruined several of Marguerite’s friendships in the past. Those who believed her felt she was invading their privacy by seeing the emotions they wanted to hide. She didn’t want to see all those chaotic feelings, but all too often, she had no choice.
“No, I couldn’t. The reporter would have put a spin on it to suit his purposes.” The press had hounded her father for telling the truth, twisting it into something evil. A shudder ran through her. If Nathan found out whose daughter she was and raked up all that garbage again… But maybe he wouldn’t. “Anyway, sounding confused and wasted would only have supported the reporter’s horrible theories. I had to distract him with something his readers would like.”
“You didn’t have to. You wanted to.” Lavonia glowered as she scooped coffee beans and turned on the coffeemaker. The noise of the grinder postponed her tirade for a second or two, but the instant it stopped, she burst out, “He’s a dangerous man! He’s not only a vigilante, but from what I’ve heard, he abused his wife and then poisoned her, whether you and the rest of his crazy fans want to believe it or not.”
“We’re not crazy. The abuse stories were the ravings of a woman addled by drugs, and he was hours away in Mississippi when she died.”
“So he contracted with someone to kill her. You can’t simply let this go.”
“I’m not letting it go. I’m just not taking the usual route.” She sat down again, shivering even more. Reaction, she supposed. She’d controlled herself fine up on the mound, just as she’d remained externally calm after Pauline’s death, only letting go when safely alone. Not that she’d been particularly close to Pauline, but the suicide had been such a shock. Pauline’s aura had shown that she’d been healing, getting over her horrific past, and then, completely out of the blue… she was dead.
Marguerite slumped in the chair. It hit her now, as it had several times on the drive over, that she was lucky not to be dead herself. Lavonia’s cat, a sleek calico that had recently had a litter of kittens, rubbed against Marguerite’s legs. She picked up the cat and caressed it, taking comfort in its warmth and its contented purr. “How are the kittens doing? Have you found homes for any of them?”
“They’re fine. Yes, I’ve found homes for two, and don’t try to change the subject,” Lavonia said. “Are you afraid of Constantine? Because if you are, we’ll do something about it. We’ll get the police involved. We’ll put you in hiding if necessary. I’ll even get the coven to try a protection spell, although I’m still not sure we’ve got it right.” She stormed into the living room, came back with a fuzzy lavender throw, and wrapped it around Marguerite. The cat jumped down and stalked away. “See? You’re shaking all over. You are afraid.”
“No, I’m freezing.” She didn’t need protection against Constantine Dufray, but saying so wouldn’t encourage Lavonia to give her a quick checkup, here and now. “I’m not really afraid of him. He was actually quite considerate.” When he wasn’t trying to scare her away or kissing the hell out of her.
If anything, she was afraid for him. His life had been a series of catastrophes for the past two years, and yet he’d encouraged her to offer him up to the hostile world on a platter. Why? It would mean total ruin of his already disastrous career. Suspected murder might be titillating, vigilante brutality might seem justified, but rape? Nobody but pervs would go for that.
It hit her then: He didn’t care about his career. You’re dead, the reporter had said, and Constantine had agreed. The reporter had meant career-dead, but had Constantine meant… dead dead?
It made sense. Several months ago, he had appeared to attempt suicide, although afterward he’d told the media it was just a joke. Today, his aura had clearly revealed his emotional anguish, a ghastly mixture of bitterness, anger, and pain. He expected betrayal. How would it be to live like that? Maybe he really did want to die.
She couldn’t let him. “I will not throw him to the jackals,” she said. “It’s too late for that anyway, even if I wanted to, which I don’t. They believe I’m sleeping with him.”
“Only because you said you were.” Because she’d kissed him, too, but she hadn’t mentioned that to Lavonia. She still didn’t know what to think of it herself.
Oh, God, what a kiss. She’d never felt hunger like that before, never been so enmeshed in another’s aura. Never participated like that, never felt such a sensation of enjoying and being enjoyed.
If he was so eager to get rid of her, why kiss her like that? Any woman with enough breath to run would hurry back for more. As for the image of their naked bodies writhing together that had surged into her head just before she drove away…
“What got into you?” Lavonia said. “It’s one thing to like his music, but you’re acting like a silly little fan-girl.”
“So because I’m a fan, I shouldn’t help him?” Marguerite huddled inside the throw. “He needed rescuing from that jerk of a reporter. I had no choice.”
Lavonia rolled her eyes. “Maybe the rumors about his telepathic abilities are true. Maybe he planted that idea in your head. Tantric sex, my foot!”
“It was a great idea, and the credit is all mine.” It was also completely uncharacteristic; she’d pretty much given up on sex ages ago, both thinking and doing.
On the other hand, if she thought about having sex with Constantine, she might finally warm up to the idea.
“I’ve always wondered if the rumors were true,” Marguerite said. “It’s one of the reasons I came to Bayou Gavotte—because I wanted to see him in person. Not that I expected meeting him to prove anything, but because, in a way, I owe him.”
“Owe him? For what?”
Marguerite heaved a sigh. Lavonia probably wouldn’t go for this either. “You know the story of how he supposedly sent telepathic messages to a corrupt cop, scaring him into killing himself?”
“Yes, I know the story. That cop was a jerk who deserved to die, but I don’t know whe
ther I believe Constantine had anything to do with it.”
“I don’t know either. But—and don’t tell anyone this, please—that cop was my uncle, and he wasn’t just a corrupt, violent police officer. He was also a pedophile. Don’t tell me how I know—it’s a long story—but I was afraid he would get to my little sister. So if Constantine did cause his death, then he saved my sister, and I owe him.”
Lavonia huffed. “Even if the story is true, Constantine did it for vengeance. It had nothing to do with saving your sister.”
“Not directly, but it prevented my uncle from hurting anyone else, and I can’t help but be grateful.”
“That’s why you made a fool of yourself this morning?”
Oh, hell, she didn’t know. Her mind was such a muddle.
Fortunately, Lavonia didn’t need an answer. “Did they get pictures of you together? You’ll be all over the tabloids.”
Marguerite hunched a shoulder, while her stomach tied itself into knots like the ones on the Celtic cup. “I’ll survive. It’ll only be for a couple of days, and then some new gossip will take over. Anyway, people do scandalous stuff in Bayou Gavotte all the time. That’s another reason I moved here—because for the most part, it’s an easygoing town.”
“Next you’ll be saying it’s your civic duty. That you’re contributing to the twisted reputation of Bayou Gavotte.”
Marguerite cut off a laugh. “Too bad there’s nothing twisted about tantric sex. Now, listen. If they find out I came straight to you, you have to tell them it was for the calendar.” Lavonia was designing a witches’ calendar, and Marguerite helped with the illustrations.
“At seven on a Saturday morning?”
Marguerite waved the objection away. “I’m just glad you were awake.”
“I have a meeting with Eaton Wilson this morning.” Lavonia took two mugs out of the cupboard. “He wants to measure brain activity while people are having visions. He says they need to learn to induce visions by meditating in a sacred space before they can reproduce them in the lab. I think he wants someone to bounce ideas off who won’t act like he’s a nutcase.”
[Bayou Gavotte 03.0] Heart of Constantine Page 3
