Out of Sight (2 page)

Her breasts rose with an indrawn breath and she turned her face toward him again. She was beautiful enough in an unconventional way to all but stop his heart.

“I told you it was up to you if you wanted Ben to find out. I would never step in the middle. Willow already knows and if she doesn’t feel like saying anything, why should you?”

“To start over with my brother.”

Impulsively, he touched her shoulder and let his fingertips slide to her elbow. She shuddered almost imperceptibly. Sykes felt the atmosphere between them change. There was a connection. He wanted that connection. “Give things time,” he told her. “Sometimes we get too deep into something and it takes a while to climb out.”

She smiled and the glitter in her eyes might be moonlight on tears.

“There you are, Poppy. I only just found out you were here at all.” Sykes heard the soft, Louisiana gentleman’s accent and expected Ward Bienville’s arrival. The instant Poppy looked at the man over her shoulder, Sykes withdrew along the gallery.

“You are a vision, honey,” Ward said, coming through the doors. He turned Poppy toward him and held her by the arms while he kissed her forehead. “But you always are a vision.”

Dark blond, tanned, built like a middleweight boxer, but sleek and with a perfectly straight nose and regular features, Bienville had all the physical attributes he’d need for any photo op. Thick hair, Sykes thought, with a little smile that didn’t warm him.

He didn’t like the possessive way Bienville behaved with Poppy. The greeting didn’t sound as if it were coming from a casual acquaintance.

Poppy glanced in Syke’s direction but he had already made sure he was out of sight.

“This is a special night for me,” the other man said. His hands passed up over Poppy’s shoulders and circled her neck. “I want it to be special for you, too. You know how much you mean to me.”

From where he was and in this light Sykes had to use his third eye to see their faces clearly. He blessed the power that allowed him to go beyond the ability of his human sight.

Lips slightly parted, Poppy stared into Ward Bienville’s almost begging brown eyes. A dewy anticipation hovered around her. She didn’t even blink.

“I’ve got to talk to these people,” Ward said. “I know everyone thinks I’ve got steel nerves. They’re wrong. I’m still new to this. Tonight I need to know I can look at you while I’m talking to them. I need to see you believing in me.”

W
ard held Poppy’s hand tightly. She had never seen him agitated before but she could feel excitement running through him.

“I was afraid you weren’t coming,” he said under his breath. “I kept trying to call you.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but I had a rushed day. I wanted to take my time. If I’d known you needed me I’d have been here earlier.” And she would have. He was a kind, considerate man, and from the looks he got, a number of women in the room would cut off a hand to replace Poppy’s in his.

As they passed the piano, Sonia Gardner, the lovely singer reached out to take hold of Ward’s sleeve and smiled up at him. He bent over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She whispered in his ear, and he laughed before carrying on to stand beneath a portrait of a woman in mid-nineteenth-century dress, who bore a resemblance to Ward.

He let Poppy go as if it hurt to be separated from her and moved to stand in front of an ornate marble-topped
demilune table. Stacks of small boxes stood on the table.

A space cleared around him and Poppy tried to melt back into the crowd. The best she could do was a place beside one of Ward’s advisors just behind those closest to Ward.

As wide as he was tall, this man was all muscle. His ascetic features and rimless glasses didn’t match his tense stance, or the impression that he could walk through concrete walls.

The room quickly got too hot for Poppy. Overhead fans moved the air and a muddle of perfumes, but didn’t cool anything. Poppy disliked being hemmed in.

When the chatter died down, Ward said, “Since I want you all on my side, I’ll keep this short.”

A chuckle went through the partygoers, and a smattering of applause.

“Is there anyone who doesn’t know why they were invited here tonight? Other than because they are among the brightest, best and most beautiful in New Orleans?”

Another chuckle and a chorus of, “No!”

Poppy rubbed the space between her brows. She felt a little sick.

“I guess you could say I’m on a fact-finding mission. I need to know who my friends are and how far they’re prepared to go to help me start turning things around in a big way for Louisiana.”

That brought a cheer.

“Thank you,” Ward said, meeting eyes straight on. “Whatever happens I want all of you to know that my doors are always open to you. If you have a question, ask. Doesn’t matter what it is…well, it almost doesn’t matter.” He gave a charming grin and laughed with the onlookers.

“The people closest to me from the outset are here. They are your go-to people while we get ourselves off the ground—if that’s what we decide we want to do. Bart Dolan is my public relations know-it-all.” He pointed at a small, thin man with a sandy crew cut and darting eyes. “Con Willis is security. Raise your hand, Con.”

The man beside Poppy put a hand in the air.

“Dolph Huddle is admin. Yeah, all of it at the moment. We really are a grassroots operation.”

Blond Dolph stepped forward with a boyish grin on his all-American face. He had the torso of a swimmer and his thighs strained against his tux pants.

“Last but not least, the delectable Joan Lewis is our treasurer.”

Small, dark, middle-aged and attractive, Joan Lewis ducked in a mock curtsey and wiggled her fingers all around.

Dolph Huddle placed himself to Ward’s right and held up both hands for quiet. “We aren’t going to start talking money this evening,” he said. “That’ll come soon enough.”

More laughter, the knowing kind between people
who didn’t talk about money, they just had it. The Bienvilles were certainly well heeled.

“But we are asking those of you who want to join us to take one of the zippy black boxes on the table behind us here.” He grabbed and opened one and held out a gold pin reading WWW. “Discreet, but the message says it all for us. Win With Ward! Those who are with us from the beginning will be the only ones to own these limited-edition pins.” His voice rose and his words were echoed back from around the room.

“We’re hoping you’ll wear one of these—or two if you’re real enthusiastic—and sign the book Joan has. We want it as a keepsake of this night.”

This was how these things were done, Poppy guessed, but never having been part of anything political in her life, the whole performance embarrassed her.

“I’ve got one more thing to tell you,” Ward said. “And to me it’s the most important thing I’m going to say this evening. I don’t have a wife.”

Cheers went up and the next round of laughter lasted a long time.

“Now, you know if there’s one thing that raises eyebrows, it’s a single politician. I don’t think I can fix that before you all go home tonight, but I can ask you to give me a little help with the problem.”

He had his crowd in his hands, Poppy saw. They loved his delivery and the way he embraced them with his words and made them his nearest and dearest buddies.

“You askin’ for volunteers?” a man called out.

Ward cocked his head to one side. He appeared in deep thought. Then he walked forward, reached between the people in front of Poppy and took her by the wrist. He pulled her gently through and turned her to face everyone.

The dresses, the faces, the movement, everything blurred before her.

“No,” Ward said. “This is not the future Mrs. Ward Bienville. Yet. This is Poppy Fortune. Some of you know her from Fortunes in the Quarter and you know her fine family.”

Had he lost his mind, or was she losing hers?

“I just wanted to share with all of you that she’s the best thing that has happened to me. I never met a sweeter, more intelligent and generous woman in my life. So, the next time you encounter her I’d take it very kindly if you’d sidle up and whisper, ‘That Ward is one fine man. You ought to consider him.’”

Poppy could no longer distinguish between sounds. She let Ward hold her hand because she might have fainted without the support. And she managed to smile.

She gazed around blankly, aware of myriad auras that blasted forth from the gathering. Powerful emotion and obsessive ambition radiated in the room.

Then she looked into a pair of electric-blue eyes.

Without saying a word, Sykes Millet let her know he disagreed with every compliment Ward had paid her.

P
oppy Fortune was nothing. One way or another, Sonia would get her out of the picture with Ward. He must consider the woman demure, the perfect little shadow for a successful politician, but he was wrong. He needed someone who would shine, someone who could do the things that might be needed to pull in that special favor and make all the difference.

Tonight he had as good as asked Poppy to marry him. If he had even remembered Sonia sitting at the piano, and what they meant to each other, he didn’t care.

Sniffling, tipping her head back to stop the tears from streaming down her face, Sonia blinked against the mascara stinging her eyes.

She could go and kill the little nothing. The gun in the drawer by the bed was loaded and ready to go. It was meant for self-defense.

This was self-defense.

Why couldn’t Ward have chosen her? They were good together. She made him more than happy, she made him beg for more of what only she had ever given him.

Exactly what he wanted.

No one else knew what turned Ward Bienville wild with lust. Sonia did and she was damn good at it. She yanked the loose top of her silver dress beneath her bare breasts and looked at them. Cradling each one, she held them up and laughed. Poppy—the mouse—Fortune, didn’t have anything like these in her bag of tricks and if she did there was no way she knew how to use her body the way Sonia did.

She needed another drink.

Sonia started toward the big wall mirror but changed her mind. She didn’t want to see the telltale splotches of mascara. She had cried all the way home in the car Ward had insisted that squat goon of his drive her in.

She smirked. From behind his silly intellectual glasses Con Willis’s piggy eyes had the nerve to look at what could never be his. He had gone so far as to ask if there was anything he could do to help her and she’d seen the bulge in his trousers. For only an instant she’d lingered, looking over his massive muscles and wondering how he’d be in bed. The answer came mercifully quickly: like a slathering animal.

The only light she had turned on in her apartment was a table lamp and that was low, but she wanted to fuzz out her reality until the pain didn’t show anymore.

She’d get it together.

The fight had scarcely begun.

She had begged Ward to let her stay over with him, but he had his sights set on new things now. Even
hanging around for a couple of extra glasses of champagne after everyone else left his place had piled more fuel on her hurt.

Rather than drink, too, he had stood looking down at her, his legs braced apart, and his eyes roving the way that should have made her feel great. Only he wasn’t planning what they would do next. He had looked because he was a man who analyzed constantly, analyzed everything, including women. And he tapped a toe, anxious for her to leave.

She would bet he wouldn’t want to let the wonderful, pure Poppy go. He insisted he had fallen in love with her.

From what she could see, Poppy was the wise one. She left early and kept that deliberately wide-eyed innocent look on her face. The voluptuous mouth and the way she looked up at Ward gave her away, though.

Bitch.

Sonia heaved and pressed a hand over her mouth. She should have eaten before drinking so much.

She walked across the polished-wood floor, turning her ankles with each step. The very high silver shoes went perfectly with her abbreviated dress. In the kitchen she still avoided turning on anything but a dull strip light under some cabinets. Fumbling, she found an open packet of crackers and stuffed several into her mouth. She chewed and breathed through her nose, holding herself up on the counter.

The crackers scratched her throat as they went
down. A sip from an open bottle of red wine turned the next batch of crackers to a lump of dough in her mouth and she gulped it down in a series of damp masses.

Coughing, choking until she could gasp in more air, felt good because she couldn’t think about feeling sick.

She had to make a plan and put it into action.

Demure?

Okay, she could be demure. She had the clothes and knew how to dress down. She would do it.

Tomorrow.

And tomorrow she would go looking for a useful gig, somewhere that would put her in the middle of the action where Ward would keep seeing her. She would use quiet smiles, deference, be sweetness and light to Poppy and wish her and Ward well. And every time she had the opportunity, she would give Ward a signal he would have to wonder about: had he imagined Sonia was offering him something, or was he just getting sick of being on a diet with the
demure
Poppy.

“Baby, you’ll get hungry real fast,” she whispered, turning off the kitchen strip light and wobbling back toward the sitting room.

When she went through the doorway, the wine bottle still in her hand, the table lamp went off. The little wall sconce inside the front door was already dark. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them, but the blackness was intense. These places were old. The electric
ity needed an overhaul. This wasn’t the first time everything had gone out on her.

Privacy was her thing and she almost never opened the heavy drapes over wall-to-wall windows. Even if they were open, this room faced a brick wall and that wouldn’t help.

She took a step and tripped. “Shit!” Finally she gave up on the shoes and kicked them off. At least she could feel her way to bed.

One of the main reasons she’d taken this place was for the loft. The bed took up most of the open space. A walk-in closet was big enough to host a party in and the bathroom was even bigger.

I guess you’re still not planning on having a family.

Ward said that every time they slept together there. This was a one man, one woman playpen and they both knew it. She kept plenty of toys to entertain him and he liked it that way.

Sonia made it to the bottom of the loft stairs and started up. Once she swung away from the banister and almost fell. After that she went the rest of the way on her knees, pausing only to slug more wine.

Her head buzzed, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

She reached the top and felt her way forward on her hands and knees.

Someone pulled the wine bottle from her hand.

Sonia shrieked, then she fell to her back, rolled flat and spread her arms. And she laughed. “I knew you would come.”

“You’ve had too much to drink. That was silly. Booze gets in the way of a really good performance—you know that.”

His voice came to her through a fog, but it wasn’t angry. “Hi, baby,” she said in the little girl voice he liked. “I was sad, so I had a little drink. It’ll pass real fast. You wanna take me in the shower and help me feel better?”

“Maybe.”

She rolled on her side, giggling, and put a thumb in her mouth. “I need to pee.”

“So pee,” he said.

She chuckled and hauled herself up, staggered against him. He smelled of a new cologne. Good.

“Help me, lover,” she whined. “Nobody takes off a pair of panties like you do.”

He hooked a hand under her skirt and ripped away her thong. “That’ll make it easy,” he said.

“Those… My silver thong went with my little dress, baby. Now you’ve ruined it.” He would have a dozen silver thongs sent to her in the morning—he loved doing things like that.

“C’mon,” he said. His fingers dug into the flesh at her elbow and he dragged her along.

“I can’t see,” she said, trying to wrench away. “You’re hurting me.”

“I can see just fine,” he said, sounding amused. “Let’s do all this by feel. How much fun will that be?”

“Fun,” she said, wiping the back of her free hand across her mouth and hiccuping. “Fun, fun, fun.”

He wrapped a hand under her bare bottom and moved her so fast her feet hardly touched the floor. She slammed down on the toilet seat, and he stood over her, silent.

Sonia shrugged. It wasn’t so easy to go when someone was waiting.

“I thought you were desperate,” he said.

“I—”

He pushed his hands inside her dress and pinched her nipples until she squealed. He pinched and rolled, bent over and sucked hard enough to make her yell.

“That help?” he said.

Sonia peed and tried to stop him from tearing the top of her dress.

“We don’t want to keep those things covered,” he said. “What a waste.”

They made it through the bathroom and back into the bedroom.

“I want to make it different,” she said, working on sounding sultry. Her mouth felt full of wax.

“It’s my turn to make it different,” he told her, putting his mouth to her ear. “I’ve got an imagination, too, bitch.”

She retched. “Why? You don’t say that to me.” Even when he felt mean, Ward was a gentleman.

“I say whatever I want to say to you. You told me I could have you any way I wanted, remember?”

His open hand landed across her face so hard her feet shot from beneath her.

His other hand, twisted in her hair, stopped her from falling.

Sonia tasted blood in her mouth. She cried out, but he hit her again and when she reached for him, his fist landed under her jaw, cracking her head back.

“Please—”

“This is what I want,” he said against her neck. “Beg. I’m going to hit you and keep hitting you. I want you to scream and ask me for it. You know you want it.”

The next breath she took wouldn’t go past her throat. She grabbed for his crotch, gasping, grappling to get a hold on him. She knew how to put him under her control.

She got his pants unzipped and pushed a hand inside.

Sonia screamed, and laughed. He was a big man, but tonight he was huge and throbbing. He swelled into her hand, pressed her fingers apart. She tried to put him inside her but he held her off.

“Baby,” she said, swallowing blood, not caring. Adrenaline pumped, and her heart thudded, her body pulsing with anticipation.

For an instant he released her, let her drop onto the rug. He loomed over her. She heard the heavy, almost animal sound of his breathing. In. Out. Then closer. He scraped her face with his fingernails, dug at her neck, drove into her breasts until she felt as if he skewered metal pins into her flesh.

Sonia cried. She screamed and sobbed and tried to catch hold of any part of him.

His fists came down on her, pummeling, first her chest and belly, her thighs, then he threw her onto her face and beat her back, methodically, working from the back of her head all the way to the delicate tendons behind her ankles.

Dull, blurring numbness seeped into her head.

She wanted to ask him to stop. Slowly, she got her mouth open and whispered, “Love…me.”

All she heard was a loud sawing sound between a groan and a bellow. Lights sparked in her mind, behind her eyelids. White, then so bright she sucked in and squeezed her eyelids together.

Points of fire raked at her.

She couldn’t hold a thought.

Music played, grew louder and louder.

Sonia shouted, she screamed and fought. On her back again, a great weight came down to smother her, rolled her over and over, slashed at her.

She was going to die.

“Help,” she cried around blood burbling from her lips. “Help me, please.”

Every inch of her burned as if it were raw, and her exposed flesh screamed at the passage of the slightest current of air.

Cloth slid over her head. He yanked a bag over her hair. She felt his thighs spread over her. They flayed her.

“Now,” he said, gurgling with excitement. “Now you make me happy. Understand?”

The last thing she saw before the bag covered her
face were two staring white globes with molten centers so glaring she had to look away.

The last thing she felt was a massive rough thing thrusting into her, inside her, high, so high she felt him shove against her internal organs.

“You’re…not…Ward.”

He tore at her, and her world stopped.