True Bliss (20 page)

"Like I'd been punched," she said, settling her other hand on her stomach. "Here. Not enough air."

"Me, too. You were different, but the same. Does that make sense?"

"Yes."

"The same as the picture I remembered but with finer brush strokes added."

"I know. I couldn't believe it."

They crossed over Main. Even through closed car windows the sound of a trombone wailed blues from the Central Tav-

ern—Seattle's self-acclaimed only second-class tavern. By the time they drew level with the jostling crowd in front of the J&M Cafe, Bliss's anxiety sickened her.

"We've got to deal with what we feel," Sebastian said. He slipped the Thunderbird into a curbside spot. "Let's put in an appearance and cut out again. I wouldn't go at all, but I'm expected."

"Too fast, Sebastian. You're moving too fast."

He turned off the ignition and pocketed his keys. "Okay." With one fingertip, he made a soft line from the tip of her shoulder to her wrist. "Okay. Sorry. I want this so badly I'm scared, I guess—scared it'll slip out of my hands if I don't tack it down fast."

Bliss regarded him steadily. "I'm not available to be tacked down. What exactly is this party, anyway?"

"I didn't mean . . ." Sebastian caught the tip of his tongue between his teeth. "These are people I'm going to have to learn to love in this area. Mostly media. TV. Radio. Print. Some types affiliated with the movies—and a lot of advertising honchos. They're the most interesting from my point of view—with the modeling agency in mind."

"Sounds awful."

He smiled and played with the long fringe on her scarf. "To be honest, I probably wouldn't have suggested this for tonight if I hadn't thought you might find it interesting. And maybe useful. There are bound to be some artsy types. Who knows, you might pick up a tenant or two. Anyway, you're bound to have something in common, aren't you?"

"Am I?" Once she'd had a clear vision of the people she wanted to fill her life with. That vision had clouded. Who a person was—inside—had gradually become more important than what they did.

Sebastian stopped smiling. His finger made the return journey to her shoulder. "Let's do it. Get this over with. Something else has definitely come up and it's going to make me want to get the hell out of this gig—as soon as possible." He pulled his

jacket from the back seat and draped it over his lap. "I'm going to have to keep my eyes off you and cool down or someone's going to notice I'm a man with a mission."

Bliss got out of the car. Her skin blazed. The clammy evening didn't help her discomfort—neither did the sound of Sebastian's door slamming. She turned and stared unseeingly into the windows of the Elliott Bay Book Company. One moment she felt they'd never been separated, the next she was aware of the fantastic gulf the years had made between them. In the sophistication department, Sebastian was the lion to her lamb. And he certainly wanted to lie down with her. She had to smile.

His arm descended around her shoulders and he guided her to the corner. "Believe in me, Bliss. We'll get it right this time. I'll get it right. It's taken too long, but I'm going to convince myself that's how long it had to take."

It would be so easy, so natural to slip her hand around his waist. She was tall, but even in heels the top of her head only reached his ear. He was that presence over and around and inside her that he'd talked about.

Darn, was she going to be burning up every few minutes for as long as she spent time with him?

A man with a golden retriever sat propped against the wall. He glanced up from the impossibly long muffler he was knitting to grin at Bliss. She fumbled her small purse open and dropped a coin in a cardboard box pleading for dog food funds—and stroked the dog.

"Trust you," Sebastian said, steering her onward. "Good to the core. I never was sure what you saw in me."

"Neither was I," she said, lifting her chin and tossing back her hair. "We all have lapses in taste."

He laughed and spun her into an embrace. "You had a caustic tongue at seventeen. You've still got a caustic tongue. Oh, shit!" His grip tightened.

Sebastian grew still and so did Bliss, then she pushed away from him. "What?"

The chant of raised voices warned her of impending trouble. She turned around.

"Filth!" a woman shouted. "Filth mongers."

Bliss drew close to Sebastian's side. Ahead on the sidewalk, clustered around a doorway, and spreading out in a straining, sign-flapping clot, men and women jostled together.

"Perverts. Get out of our children's minds." A couple dressed in woven beanies, serapes and sagging jeans, swayed, a sign that echoed their words held between them.

A limousine swept to the curb and the driver hopped out. He opened the door and a blond glitter girl encased in red sequins climbed out, followed by a paunchy man in evening dress.

"Perverts! Perverts!" The cries rose higher and higher.

From behind Bliss came the complaining bay of the golden retriever.

"I want to leave," Bliss said. "This isn't a good idea."

"That won't be possible." Sebastian's voice was cold. "I don't walk away from a fight."

"It's him! It's Sebastian Plato!"

Horrified, Bliss realized the small crowd's attention was now firmly aimed in her direction, hers and Sebastian's.

"Silly bastards," he muttered. "Come on."

"Save our children," the serape-clad couple demanded. "Send them home."

Sebastian held Bliss firmly and strode directly at the group.

"Send our children home, murderer!"

Bliss stared, appalled, as the distance between her and the angry mob narrowed. She could do nothing but allow Sebastian to sweep her along.

"Save our—"

"Bliss!" A figure forced an exit from the group. "Bliss? For God's sake, what are you doing with him? Here?"

Confronted by Prue O'Leary, Bliss felt first disoriented, then furious. "Let me go," she whispered to Sebastian. "Take your arm off me."

If he heard, he gave no sign. His arm stayed where it was.

With his other arm he pushed a path through straining bodies to a polished oak door that opened before he rang the bell.

"Welcome, sir," the doorman, who must have been watching through a peephole, said. "Sorry about the inconvenience."

Looking over her shoulder, the last thing Bliss saw before the door closed was Prue's disgusted face.

The doorman indicated for them to go in the direction from which voices, laughter and music sounded. "Mr. Wilman's in the conservatory. They're dancing on the terrace. The buffet's in the dining room—and the bar's—"

"We'll find our way, thanks," Sebastian said. His nostrils flared and he walked fast enough to make Bliss run to keep up.

"Sebastian—"

"Goddamn fools. They don't know what they're shouting about."

Bliss shrugged free and faced him. "Maybe they don't. But they think they do."

"Hello," a smoky female voice said. "I'm Fern Wilman. You must be? . . ."

"Sebastian Plato. This is Bliss Winters."

A sinuous, too-tanned woman joined them. Carefully careless upswept black hair showed off heavy diamond earrings. Her draping pants suit glimmered as if fashioned from blue fish scales. More diamonds glittered at her throat and on her fingers and wrists. She gave Bliss a brief, but curious glance. "Morris and Kitten's daughter. How interesting." Then she concentrated on Sebastian. "The Sebastian." She stepped away to survey all of him. "Oh, yes, you're everything they all say you are. A dish, my dear. I'm so sorry I didn't meet you in Chicago. Larry said you throw a helluva party, darling." She smiled hugely, showing large, strong teeth with a gap in the middle.

"Good evening, Mrs. Wilman," Sebastian said, offering her his hand. "Thank you for inviting us."

"Oh, phoo." Their hostess flapped his hand away and kissed his mouth. "We don't stand on formality here, darling. Come

along and meet some people. Clever of you to get Bliss to come with you."

She led the way through a foyer paneled in square blocks of dark wood. Sexless stainless steel figures stood sentry duty at the foot of a wide staircase. Green marble tiles echoed underfoot.

All Bliss could think about was the unspoken accusation on Prue's face as the front door had closed. Prue thought Bliss had sold out to the enemy.

By tomorrow, a great many people would think the same thing.

Morris and Kitten Winters would probably have heard the news.

"There are several lovely rooms to relax in upstairs, Bliss," Fern said. "Why don't you pop up there and freshen up. I'm sure you won't have any difficulty finding us again."

"Well—"

"Bliss doesn't need to freshen up," Sebastian said, gripping her elbow. "Do you, love?"

She needed to get out of here and think.

"Sure?" Fern said, rubbing the fingers and thumb of one hand together while shafts of brilliance shot from facets in a huge diamond ring.

Bliss nodded and let Fern get a little ahead before she murmured, "Did you have any idea those people would be out there?"

"How would I know about them?"

"I'm asking you if you knew. Simple question."

"No. No, I didn't. What does it matter anyway?"

She straightened her back. "I think you know the answer to that. The woman who spoke to me was a very old friend. Prue O'Leary."

"WOT," he said thoughtfully. "That Prue O'Leary?"

"I see you know her name."

"I've read it several times now. She's the one who talked to the press about your connection to me."

"Yes. And now the press will have more to say about my connection to you."

He contrived to fasten his arm around her waist. His firm grip at her side made it impossible to break away without making a fuss. "Later, okay, Bliss? We'll say the right things to the right people here. Then we'll get away on our own."

"Prue's group won't be asking me to chair their committee after this."

"Did you really want to?"

"I think you know what I'm telling you."

"Suggesting to me, do you mean? Suggesting that I wanted those freaks to see you with me so you'd lose any credibility they might have been able to use against me?"

Bliss felt his solid body from her shoulder to her thigh. His fingers kneaded her side. "You can draw your own conclusions about what I mean," she told him. "I'd like to leave, please."

"If we do that, people are going to talk."

Fern looked back and smiled, she reached to take Sebastian's hand. She drew him, still firmly holding Bliss, into a circle of guests by an opulently laden buffet table. Hanging shoji screens rested against the walls of the dining room. A chandelier fashioned into clusters of red, glass peonies cast a rosy glow over the black lacquer table and a silk rug boldly patterned in black and gold.

"Everybody," Fern said, clapping her hands. "Say hello to Sebastian Plato and Bliss Winters."

A chorus of hellos followed. Hands were shaken. Measure was taken. The conversation slid immediately to Raptor's new venture in the Northwest. Confident men and women introduced themselves, and the ritual of business mating began.

"And you're Morris's girl," a big, sandy-haired man said. He didn't smile. His rheumy eyes lingered where the tops of her breasts showed above the dress. "Small world. I was talking to Morris a few nights ago. I'm Walter DeFunk."

Muscles in her belly knotted. "Nice to meet you," she managed to say. Now he'd really have something to report to Daddy.

"My mother mentioned you just yesterday. Did you enjoy yourself at the Hunt Club?" She made sure she returned his cold appraisal. He'd get the message that she was aware of what he'd said to her father.

DeFunk grunted and filled a beefy hand with macadamia nuts. When he began funneling the nuts into his small mouth, his gaze was directed away from Bliss.

"Champagne?" a white-coated waiter asked, offering a silver tray bearing thin crystal champagne glasses.

Sebastian took one glass and handed it to Bliss. He passed for himself. "Excuse us," he said to whoever might be paying attention—everyone in the vicinity—and guided Bliss from the room. "The conservatory sounds nice. I wouldn't have expected to find one down here."

"These people can obviously have anything they want, and have it anywhere they want."

"True," he agreed. "Stylish place."

"I want to go home."

"So you keep telling me. Be a little patient, huh?" We'll circulate, then excuse ourselves."

"Make sure everyone sees us together, I suppose."

He stood still. "What do you mean by that?"

The look in his eyes left her in no doubt that he knew exactly what she meant. After tonight, who would believe Bliss Winters didn't approve of Sebastian Plato. Even if she'd wanted to help Prue, which she didn't, this evening's events had made certain she'd be useless.

Sebastian seemed about to speak, but changed his mind and carried on toward a door that opened into a courtyard with a glassed-over dome. A soft, dark sky mantled the glass. Palms rustled in lush plantings. The atmosphere was fragrantly humid. Dozens of varieties of potted orchids, each one in full bloom, had been placed in groups between the trees and shrubs.

"Huh," Sebastian remarked, almost offhand. "Pretty fantastic. Typically theatrical. These people always go in for the staged event."

"Do you know many of them?"

"Yeah. A lot of them."

"I don't see any starving artists in need of cheap digs."

He raised her glass to her lips and tipped just enough to force her to take a sip. "You haven't said more than two words to anyone. How would you know who's who, or who might need what?"

"If there's a dress in this house that didn't cost thousands I'd be surprised."

With his fingers still over hers, he swallowed some of the champagne. He took his time inventorying Bliss's body-skimming dress. Bands of silk fluttered free at the bottom of each layer. The lilies on her loosely woven scarf were of silver thread.

"I'd leave on my own but it's dark," she told him. "I'm brave, but I'm not a fool."

"I won't let you leave on your own. You're wearing the best dress in the place. Too bad all I can think of is taking it off."