“Poppy?”
Okay, so he didn’t know if Ward was a murderer, but the man had spent the day with the police talking about a murder.
Tentatively, he took her hands in his. Her eyes weren’t tracking.
You would have done just about anything to stop her going to Ward. Admit it.
“What’s wrong with Poppy?” Pascal said.
“She’s had a really difficult time,” Sykes said. How had she found him up here?
“Sit down, David,” Pascal said in a surprisingly firm tone. “I can only deal with one disaster at a time.”
Even more surprising, the boy surveyed the available seating and chose a couch to drape himself on. Sykes tried to see his face more clearly. He had very defined features. His eyebrows winged out above his sunglasses, his nose—Sykes tried not to dwell on the gold ring which didn’t look as if the hole had been made quite right for it—his nose was straight and he had a good, firm mouth and chin.
“What’s wrong with Poppy?” Pascal said again, keeping his voice low and even. He walked smoothly to stand where he could see her face.
The long breath he expelled sounded gusty, and angry.
“We are already in a whole lot of trouble and you have to add this?” he muttered. “When will you learn not to ignore the rules?”
Marley puffed into view. Leaning on the doorjamb and panting, she took in the scene, barely changing her expression when she saw David. She crept up behind Poppy. I couldn’t stop her.
Telepathy could be invaluable when you wanted to keep communication under the radar. Did you tell her where I was? Sykes said.
What do you think? Of course I didn’t. This is all your fault—behaving like a kid with no control. She walked out before I saw her go. I only found her by accident after I figured she was probably looking for you. You’ve attached her to you, you creep. Fix it. And don’t expect any sympathy from me when she rips your head off.
A glance at Pascal’s smirk confirmed Sykes’s hunch that he had been included in the conversation.
I’ll deal with it, Sykes told them. Marley, stay here with Pascal until I get back. The kid on the couch says he’s Pascal’s son. Just help keep him here and keep everything calm—as calm as possible.
Marley blinked rapidly, then stared from Pascal to David. But how—I mean. You know what I mean.
Thank you, Sykes, Pascal cut in. You’re such a help. Now go. We’ll discuss this infraction later.
So much for being the one Pascal thought should become head of the family, Sykes thought. He glanced at the boy again and realized what he should have thought of the moment he saw him: this was unlikely to be Pascal’s son but if he was, he could well decide he was next in line as Millet-in-chief.
Hell.
That sounds appropriate, Marley whispered into his mind.
Watch for that signal I mentioned, Sykes, Pascal put in. Now, go. And be very careful.
12
Sykes had no choice but to take Poppy where he could hope they wouldn’t be interrupted. The flat at the Court of Angels wasn’t that place. He should have developed Ben’s ability to move people across distances without anyone noticing—until the one who got moved realized what had happened.
It was getting darker.
Misty rain blurred everything and the leaden sky sat on the rooftops. Gardenias loaded the air and he could hear water smattering in the fountain behind him.
Noises from Royal Street warned him there would be a lot of humanity out there.
He put an arm around Poppy’s shoulders and walked her to the street. What choice did he have?
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he looked at the caller ID to see if he had to answer.
He had to answer.
“Yeah, Nat?”
“You’re whisperin’.”
“Yeah.”
“You going to explain?” Nat said.
“Not now.”
“If you need me, I’ll come right now.”
“No!” A glance at Poppy’s serene face still didn’t stop the thud of his heart. “No,” he repeated softly.
“Okay. I just wanted to make sure you knew we decided to ask Ward Bienville back to the station a while ago. He’s not being so polite this time.”
Sykes grinned. “Why is he there?” He was due a lucky break. At least he could tell Poppy her buddy wasn’t pining for her in St. Louis Street.
“Routine stuff. I can’t talk about it. Just thought you ought to know.” He was quiet a moment. “Poppy wasn’t with him.”
“She’s with me.”
“Talk to you later, then,” Nat said. “It’s my case now.” He hung up.
Traffic had already been closed out of Royal for the night. Hunched over Poppy who had yet to say a word, Sykes walked her through the early evening wanderers to the corner.
The crowd grew thicker on Conti Street. Neon flashed rainbow squiggles over the shiny surface of the damp pavement and pulsed around the doorways of clubs and bars.
They stood at the curb until a cab showed up. The trip to St. Peter Street was very short, but Sykes didn’t want to risk having her slip out of the trance in the middle of a busy sidewalk.
The big question was why had Nat been put in charge of the Sonia Gardner case? Nat had become the go-to guy for unusual killings in the Quarter, and that meant unusual as in inexplicable in human terms.
Did this mean they suspected something Sykes didn’t want to even consider? Were the Embran back? Or had Nat taken this on for the Millets’ sake?
They got out of the cab at the little hotel on the corner of the lane leading to Sykes’s house and he had to force himself not to hurry.
Once inside the house with the door locked he took her into the living room with its eighteenth-century French furnishings and put her in a straight-backed chair. The way her eyes followed his every move reminded him he had better give himself a quick refresher on his advanced hypnosis skills, the ones he hadn’t used for years and then only sparingly.
Putting her into the trance had been easy. He’d gone straight into the appropriate routine without so much as a thought.
That was his problem here—not enough thought.
Not trying might be the way to go. Just follow your instincts. He crouched in front of her and smiled.
She smiled back, and he almost hugged her. He saw absolute faith in her face. He took her hands in his and rubbed them. Her fingers were icy. “Poppy, I’m glad you’ve had a rest. Remember how I told you it’s important to have quiet times with people you trust, so you can feel calm again.”
That smile didn’t shift.
“You rested because you’ve been through too much. We wanted you to have that chance. But now we’re going to start bringing you back to exactly the place you were before.”
His need to pull her into his arms almost overcame him. The heavy beat of his heart had his attention, so did the sharp, needling little pains shooting between their hands.
Sykes almost leaped to his feet.
He tried moving his fingers up her forearms.
Little muscles beside her mouth and eyes contracted and there was the slightest jump in the muscles he touched.
His gut contracted, then his belly. Then… Holy cow. Were they Bonding?
The insignificant pains in his hands spread rapidly to engulf him entirely. The farther they went, the less insignificant they became. He held still by the power of his will. His diaphragm, his gut…he wasn’t just aroused, he felt that if he bent in just the wrong way he would break something.
Cautious not to make any sudden moves, he made small, soft circles on her temple, hoping he had reversed direction from when he put her under. “Come back to me now, Poppy, love.” He kept rubbing and she blinked.
That was a good start.
He rose to one knee and kissed her lips. As soon as their skin met, it stung, but in the most intoxicating way Sykes had ever experienced.
The kiss got more heated. He pulled her against
him, massaging her back and shoulders. Poppy put her arms around his neck. She slid to kneel on the floor in front of him and urged their bodies so close together; they couldn’t get any closer.
Through their shirts, he felt her nipples harden.
And he felt the changes in his own body with a kind of shock. He teetered between the greatest pleasure imaginable and an awareness that every scorched muscle and nerve seared his brain.
His own breath came heavy and fast, but Poppy matched him.
Control was slipping. This wasn’t the time for that. He tore his mouth away and looked at her. Poppy stared back, her eyes clearer now, her features taught.
“Should we back off a little, slow down?” Sykes said.
“No.” She reached up and sucked his bottom lip between hers.
Relief poured like a molten river through him. He didn’t want to stop, not ever.
But Poppy was coming out of a trance. This probably wasn’t how she would react if she was completely herself.
He couldn’t take advantage of her.
“We can’t stop now,” she said, her voice so husky he could barely make out the words. “I’ve waited a long time. Too long. I’m doing this my way.”
Oh, God.
“Stand up,” she said.
“Poppy, I—”
Her mouth shut him up. She kissed him so thoroughly his head spun. When she looked at his face again, her eyes were huge, luminous and just about black. “Please stand up, Sykes,” she told him softly.
For a man with strong legs, his felt decidedly wobbly but he did as she asked.
And Poppy sat back on her heels to look him over from head to foot. Her smile was pure delight.
The button on his jeans parted, and the zipper opened with what sounded like enough noise to wake the neighbors—if he had any.
Poppy rested her cheek against the parts of him over which he had least control, and slipped her hands under his boxers so she could cup his rock-hard rear.
Shock ripped through him.
The stroking of her long fingers sucked all the air from his lungs.
Responsibility warred with need. He had messed with her mind which had possibly unhinged her, but he needed every collision with her skin, her body.
Poppy eased his boxers down over his thighs, taking the jeans with them.
Things like this didn’t happen except in early morning dreams.
With her mouth open wide on his belly, Poppy spread her fingers over his ribs and dragged her finger-nails through the hair on his chest. She pinched his flat nipples and he almost choked and moved in until he felt her breasts flattening to his thighs.
A duck of her head and small, hard kisses rained where they felt best and did their worst to his tenuous restraint. He flexed his hands in and out of fists at his sides.
He didn’t trust himself to reach for her.
If he did he would tear off her clothes and this might end up as a day when he had even more apologizing to do.
And Ben might kill him if word got back somehow.
Ben would kill him.
Just stop her. You’re so much bigger and stronger, you loon. Stop her and make sure she’s out of the trance.
“Do you think I’m a slut?” she said, and sucked in as much of him as her mouth would take.
He heard himself keen before he controlled it. “Of course not,” he panted. “You’re the sweetest woman I ever met. You’re magical. You’re amazing. Oh, hell.”
She nipped him gently, over and over and weighted his balls, squeezing, pulling…and kissing.
“Poppy,” he said, insisting she look at him, “are you sure this is what you want? You’ve had a rocky day—”
“Could you stop sounding as if you want to talk me out of making love with you?” she said.
Sykes ran his hands from her elbows to her under-arms and started to lift her.
Poppy stopped him. She pulled his hands over her breasts and went back to what she had been doing.
It was happening. Sykes locked his legs and fought against his own reactions….
Sykes climaxed and felt like a pent-up storm breaking free: unstoppable. Rather than let him pull away, Poppy hooked her feet behind his ankles, keeping him in her mouth until the spasms faded. He slid to his knees and leaned on her.
Poppy stared at a very old picture on the wall, a nude of robust proportions. A muzziness clouded her head, but it passed and she leaned her cheek against Sykes’s.
“You can seduce me anytime,” he said. “I didn’t know what I was missing.”
She smiled to herself, a secret smile and rested her chin on his shoulder. So he thought she had seduced him, well, they each had to use their special powers, didn’t they? He was sleepy now, she could feel it in his weight. But she needed more from him.
“Kiss me,” she murmured and shifted to see his face.
The lion awoke as if she had pinched him, and he made sure the kiss was everything it needed to be. He would want to talk about the way it felt for them to be together like this, but she wasn’t in the mood for talk. She frowned. The magic of the moment was in the way he made her feel. Almost as if she were in a trance, suspended and completely new.
They were at the beginning of what was meant to be.
“Poppy,” he whispered against her lips, “do you feel it?”
Men did have a problem with having to ask the obvious. “I surely do.”
“What do you feel—exactly?”
“Like I’m losing my mind and loving it,” she told him honestly. “And I don’t know what took us so long to find this together.”
She shucked his shirt over his head and sighed. Confronted with the wide expanse of his chest, she ached inside, and outside, and she was wet. And it was wonderful.
Sykes was meant to be with her. Why hadn’t she known that with such certainty until now?
He took his time with her T-shirt, skinned it up her ribs, rubbing her body from front to back with each fresh inch revealed.
“You’re like silk,” he murmured. “Do you know how sexy you are?”
She held his face still and kissed him soundly. “Yes.”
His thumbs met the undersides of her breasts. Poppy shuddered. The hidden parts of her clenched, but they felt incomplete. She wanted him inside her.
Under her shirt, he stroked her breasts, used the backs of his fingers to press up and weight them, made circles around each one. When he lifted the shirt over her head, the rapt concentration on his face stunned her.
He set her away from him where he could watch her and the longing in his eyes seemed tinged with uncertainty.
She would get him past that.
Power drove Poppy to her feet. She stood with her hands on her hips, watching him watching her.
The trail he followed with his tongue started at her navel and slid up close to one nipple. He held her by the waist and teased her, coming close and closer, but never quite touching what she wanted him to touch.
She let her head fall back, and he gave her the dream move she had waited for, flicked first one, then the other nipple with the tip of his strong, talented tongue until she sagged.
Holding her against him where the hair on his chest teased every raw nerve for her, he worked on her jeans, but Poppy pushed his hands out of the way and finished the job herself.
Naked, they layered together and Poppy grabbed for everything she needed. And she needed everything now.
Sykes laughed deep in his throat and gripped her wrists, put her hands behind her back and walked with her until she stood against a wall. Helpless, she tried to cross her legs, to stop the climax that bore down on her. He saw the movement and grinned, his eyes so bright and blue, they hurt to look at.
Everywhere they touched felt singed. She loved it.
A knee between her thighs parted her legs and in one smooth move Sykes was back on his knees, burying his face in her soft, wet hair and seeking with his tongue.
He released her hands to hold her
hips, and Poppy drove her fingers into his unyielding shoulders.
The scream she tried to make didn’t happen. Collapsing over him, her body jerked with every spasm. She felt herself falling, but Sykes was too fast. Her bottom landed on the edge of a table.
“Now,” Sykes said, and it wasn’t a question,
His first thrust was slow, slick, and it destroyed her. The second made her wonder if she could take a third.
His body was too damp for her to get a good hold on any part of him. Then it didn’t matter. They shunted together across the top of the table, their breath mingling, and their cries.
“Why didn’t we know before now?” Sykes said. “It’s real. God, so real.”
They convulsed together. The room spun for Poppy and the meager light turned to formless bursts. Sykes stood. She wrapped her legs around his waist and they rolled, shuddering, to the carpet.
“Don’t leave me,” she told him.
“We’ve got to talk,” he said.
“No,” she said, clamping his face against her neck, “we don’t.”
13
Jude felt time and space shift around him.
He concentrated on a sound, the whispering he knew so well. No words formed and he frowned. Agitation—yes, there was plenty of that. And fear. A scrambling to be heard, to be understood.
These were the ones called the Ushers and they mostly kept to themselves unless Marley needed them when she traveled out of her body. She would not risk leaving while she was pregnant, so these frantic ones had another reason for their babbling.
The Ushers had existed much longer and in more forms than anyone but Jude realized. They were the guides and the guards, the last defense for the paranormal families of New Orleans.
In a decision made even before Jude’s time, the Millets had become hosts to the Ushers, whose French Quarter waiting place was in the Court of Angels.
A scene gradually formed in Jude’s mind, a crowd of people dressed for celebration. They interacted and he could see them laughing, but he couldn’t hear them. That of itself was unusual, in fact it had never happened before.
He made himself study one person after another. Women in shiny dresses with diamonds sparkling at their ears and throats. Men in the evening wear of present time. But not all of them talked or laughed. Some of them were watchful and hung back on the edge of the throng.
Out of Sight Page 9