Out of Sight

by Stella Cameron

  Spread them open and there it will be, the Heart of Harmony. You need not shield your eyes from its brilliance. Our eyes may safely look upon it.

  Hold the Heart of Harmony in your hands and it will prepare you for whatever is to come. Those family members who cannot touch it will be strengthened by the light only they will see. Only the seven families are joined by the one Heart. We cannot tell which families may be charged with protecting the rest or if all will be involved.

  Then, when it is safe to do so, it will be time to replace our beautiful angel in her rightful place—in the Court of Angels.

  Signatures of seven men bearing the last names in the body of the instructions followed.

  And no mention of any curse. “None,” Sykes said, filling his lungs with air. “They just decided there must be one because it was the only thing they could come up with and Jude didn’t know what this said.” He flapped the paper.

  He rolled the pages again and tied them together carefully before putting them back in the box.

  “Why are you grinning?” Poppy asked.

  “Because I’m not cursed.”

  She looked blank. “Of course you aren’t. What did you just read, or can’t I ask.”

  “Of course you can. And I’ll tell you. You have a right to know. But we have a job to do, Poppy. We’ve got to find what was in the leather box.” He grew serious. “And why someone found it necessary to tear out those pages and come up with such an elaborate hiding place for them.”

  “Now?” she said, scooting a little lower beneath the coverlet.

  He looked sideways at her. “I’ll need to work some things out first. Maybe the family heads changed their minds about leaving their instructions in the rule book and hid them instead. Separated them for safety.”

  “Could be.”

  Poppy read the pages. “I still don’t get why the keys were spread around. They should still be with the families.”

  “I’ll have to contact each of them,” Sykes said, unhappy with the idea.

  He dialed Ben who told him the first key he had any knowledge of was the one he found in the griffin.

  Next Sykes tracked down Nick Montrachet and pounded the bed with a fist when Nick said, “You’ve got problems and now you call me to solve them for you? Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

  “Thanks,” Sykes said. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  When he cut the conversation off, he said, “Damn. It would help if I knew where ours was.”

  Poppy tightened her fingers in his. “Oh, no. Pascal would have said if he had one, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Sykes bolted upright and sat cross-legged. “Damn,” he said. “Damn, damn, damn. In the papers they didn’t say where their Bella Angelus is. We’re no closer to finding her.”

  30

  Sykes curled his toes. Gold keys lay scattered on the beach, at the water’s edge. Dozens and dozens of them. The ocean’s gentle scallops of shallow surf brushed the keys closer and wet ripples ran beneath the soles of his feet.

  If he stepped back, he’d leave the moist, tickling caress on that sensitive place. He stood firm and tossed his head to the side, smiling at the tickling brushes.

  The water lapped….

  His eyes opened in the dark bedroom. He lay on his back on top of the bed wearing his shorts, his legs spread as usual, the fan sending the lightest breeze across his naked chest.

  Two firm hands held his ankles while a soft, wet tongue played with the bottoms of his feet.

  Sykes barely stopped himself from leaping out of bed.

  Beside him the bed was empty of Poppy, who had worn one of his shirts to sleep. They hadn’t discussed making love, they simply took their sides and were quiet.

  He smiled up at the fan, its blades barely visible as light through the blinds caught them. Poppy had given up on sleep and she was making sure he didn’t get any more, either.

  Why not wait and see what she intended to do to get his full attention—not that she didn’t already have it.

  She nibbled the arch of his right foot and Sykes gritted his teeth.

  Would just a teensy something special be so wrong?

  Not for a good cause.

  He stared straight ahead and visualized her back, the way it tapered at the waist and flared over her bottom, the soft cleft that disappeared between her legs.

  And he heard her intake of breath the instant before he closed his eyes and assumed a deep sleep appearance.

  He could project his touch. Down her spine, lightly spanning her waist until she wriggled, spread over her bottom, cupping the cheeks, and so softly tracing the dip all the way around in to the warm moisture between her legs, the vibrant hair he knew was very dark.

  “Oh,” she muttered, writhing a little.

  This was too good. That erotic nub of tissue had already swollen and without the restrictions of his own anatomy he could massage it from all angles, and press inside her.

  But she isn’t leaping away, he thought, knowing that one small look would tell her he wasn’t sleeping, or not so deeply that he didn’t have an erection growing into its own small Mount Vesuvius at eruption time.

  Her breasts were high and round, and very full, the nipples large and pink, and distended at their centers.

  He sighed and turned his head to the side. And he passed over the sides of her breasts like a warm breeze, back and forth until the breeze became a very physical feeling brush.

  Fingers of sensation started at the outer edges and slipped inward, stopping at the edges of her nipples. Fortunately he had very long fingers. He must not smile, just in case.

  With the projection of his fingers and thumbs, Sykes took hold of her nipples. He pulled carefully, wiggled, touched a fingernail over the very tips until she cried out.

  “Sykes—”

  Before she could finish, he returned to the swollen place between her legs and with a dozen lighter feather strokes, he reduced her to a panting, helpless creature spread eagle on the bed. She pulled up her knees, but he didn’t stop. In seconds, she climaxed a second time.

  He thought he heard a scream choke off in her throat.

  “How are you doing that?” she gasped out, moving deliberately, kneeling beside him and taking his face in her hands.

  He didn’t answer.

  She shook his head so hard he opened his eyes. “Mean,” he said. “Is that the way to repay a beautiful experience?”

  Her smile was beautiful. “No. I’m very bad, but I’m going to make it up to you. Will you promise to lie absolutely still and not interfere with the exercise I’m about to show you?”

  Low in his belly, everything turned. His shorts must resemble a tent.

  “I promise,” he whispered. But he pulled her face to his and kissed her, turned her onto her back and opened his mouth to devour her lips, pull them inside his; used his lips and tongue hard enough to rock her head. And she kissed him back, matching move for move, sighing, moaning, shivering with the intensity of their powerful reactions to each other.

  “I’m glad you’re naked,” he said. “Did you get too hot?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she agreed.

  He paused and before he could start again, she whipped out of reach to the floor at the bottom of the bed. “Where was I,” she said but her voice was unsteady and the rough edge spoiled her attempt at teasing.

  Poppy went back to licking the sole of his foot and this time every nerve in his body was on alert. Only his fear of hurting her kept him still.

  Slowly, she kissed her way to his knee while she ran her hand up his other leg.

  “I love your legs,” she whispered. “They’re all man, just like the rest of you.”

  He didn’t say anything—couldn’t. Control was costing him all the energy he had.

  Poppy knelt between his legs. With her forefingers and thumbs she squeezed the muscles in his thighs and made them jump. He heard her little laugh and smiled.

  But she wiped that
smile away and replaced it with the tossing of his head. She moved fast, pulled aside a leg of his boxers and sank her mouth over him.

  He reached for her.

  “Ah, ah,” she said. “You promised.” His boxers were skimmed down his legs and over his feet and Poppy’s body lay, his penis buried in her mouth, stretched over his legs, her nipples pressing into him. She reached up to stroke his chest, feel the shape of his mouth, play with his hair.

  “I can’t,” he said, appalled at his croaking voice. “Poppy, have a heart.”

  He climaxed, and his shout seemed so loud he wondered if everyone around the Court heard it.

  “I have a heart,” Poppy said, letting him slip from her lips. She scooted up his body, dragging every erotic bit of her over his scorched skin.

  He had his own brief laugh when her breasts encountered the hair on his chest and she couldn’t catch her breath for seconds.

  Sykes lifted her, slid her upward until he could replace anything else with his mouth and teeth fastened to her breasts.

  Her shudders came in waves until she sat astride him and he looked up at her breasts. Running his eyes downward, he took in that small waist and flared hips. He glanced back at something hanging around her neck and touched it. “What’s this?” It was soft, like velvet.

  “A beautiful little bag Wazoo gave me. I love it.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “I don’t know. And it’s none of your business.”

  “And you still have the ring Pascal gave you?” He ran a thumb over it. “Beautiful thing.”

  “He won’t let me give it back, but I’ll find a way.”

  Now wasn’t a time when he wanted to talk too much, but she was his. He would never let her go. He was crazy about her like this, but he was crazy about everything she brought into his life.

  “Ready, lover,” she said.

  He opened his mouth to protest, but nodded his head, yes, instead.

  She settled the wet center of her over his still throbbing parts. “I can feel that,” she murmured, raising her hips until she could guide him inside her.

  He bounced her upward, so hard she had to hang on to his shoulders. “Sykes!”

  “Your fault,” he said, not easing off at all.

  It was too soon when their climaxes broke again and she fell on top of him, struggling for breath. He let her lie there, stroked her all over, kissed her hair.

  “Not enough, Poppy,” he said when he couldn’t wait any longer.

  “Animal,” she muttered, sitting on him again.

  But he flipped her over onto her hands and knees. “I want you to feel me everywhere you can.”

  Holding her hips, he carefully pushed himself into her vagina and leaned over her back. The rhythm settled until all he heard was the slap of her bottom on his belly.

  “Oh!” Poppy dropped her head and shoulders onto the mattress. “Sykes. I never—”

  “It’s got to be right, sweetheart. Everything’s right with us.”

  His release was like a spear piercing him from groin to navel and it went on and on. He heard when Poppy started to cry.

  “I’m hurting you?”

  “No,” she said. “I’ve never been so happy. This is so right.”

  “I can never be without you,” he told her. “If you decide you hate me one day, you still won’t get rid of me.”

  They collapsed, arms and legs entwined, their bodies slick. And they kissed again before she pushed her head beneath his chin.

  “There will never be another man for me,” she told him. “Only you—ever.”

  31

  Poppy chose not to accept the invitation to be at the Millet’s meeting about what she and Sykes had found the night before.

  He had not been pleased when she left.

  She would always be independent and if he couldn’t accept that, their road ahead would be rocky.

  A black Mercedes limousine stood at the curb in front of Fortunes.

  Poppy stopped in the act of turning down the alley that led to the side entrance she used. Limousines were rare at Fortunes—she couldn’t remember the last one she had seen there.

  Curious, she went through the vestibule and pushed open one side of the double blue doors into the main part of the club. The house band noodled on the stage, the pianist, fedora tipped over his eyes, rocked his head in time to rapid riffs.

  Bart Dolan, Ward’s PR guy, was the first person she noticed. He shouted at Otis across the bar, “Do what I goddamn tell you to do, and get her here.”

  Otis saw Poppy at the same time and continued polishing a glass at a measured pace, holding it up to the light from time to time.

  “Shit,” Bart said with a lot of feeling. “Am I supposed to believe this?” He looked at other customers at the bar, who all kept their eyes on their drinks.

  “Look,” Bart said, puffing with the effort of trying to calm down. “I know you’re probably busy. Perhaps one of Poppy’s brothers is available.”

  Much as she would have liked to watch the show a little longer, Poppy didn’t want Liam or Ethan disturbed, if they were in, and Otis needed a break.

  “Looking for me?” she said brightly, walking toward the bar. “You’d better watch your carbon footprint.”

  “Huh?” Bart said, and she wondered how good a PR man he was. Looking like the all-American golden boy went just so far.

  She laughed. “Sorry. Did you come in the limo outside?”

  “Uh-huh,” Bart said.

  Poppy shrugged. “Forget it. What can I do for you, Bart?”

  “Ward wants you at his place. He sent me to get you.”

  The faintest curl of annoyance attacked her stomach. “I’m not free right now. A business like this takes some running.”

  “There’s three of you and you got plenty of help,” Bart said, sounding irritated, petulant and pushy. “Ward wants you. He had me bring the limo for you. Special.”

  Poppy didn’t go around reading the auras and brain waves of everyone she met but there were times when something caught her attention and she concentrated. Bart Dolan was no Einstein, she decided, but he was determined. Blue dots coalesced, interspersed with gray and they trembled. Bart was the kind of man who followed directions to the letter and expected others to fall in with whatever he needed to please his authority figure.

  “Sorry,” she said, irritated. “Can’t do it now.”

  “But—”

  “Did you put in that order for liqueur glasses, Poppy,” Otis said. “No problem if you didn’t, I’ll phone it in myself.”

  “It went in,” she told him.

  Bart walked close to Poppy. He shook his head, sighed and looked at his feet before staring her dolefully straight in the eyes. He lowered his voice. “Ward isn’t doing so well.”

  “I thought he’d gone out of town.”

  “He got back this morning. The talk about the murders isn’t doing him any good. You know how it goes. Once they read bad publicity in a paper or see it on TV, they convict.”

  Poppy wasn’t sure who “they” were. “There’s absolute proof that Ward had nothing to do with that.”

  Bart shuffled a bit. “He needs to tell you about it himself. I hate to see a man with his potential cut off in the prime of his career.”

  “It won’t be,” Poppy said. She made up her mind, “Okay, I’ll come with you but I can’t stay long.” And she would prefer if Sykes never found out, or her brothers.

  It wouldn’t be fair not to let anyone know where she was going.

  “Otis,” she said, as offhand as possible. “I’m going to visit a friend, but I’ll be back shortly.”

  Otis grunted and gave Bart a hard look.

  Riding in the back of the stretch limousine felt ridiculous, especially when they weren’t going far.

  On St. Louis Street, Bart drew up in front of a pink-washed house next to the one where Poppy had been to the party. He got out and opened her door. “The boss is in here today. The cops still keep ru
nning in and out of the other place.”

  He let her into the very pretty building and led the way through rooms furnished primarily in overstuffed but well-done Victorian style to a conservatory at the back of the house. A small but elegant garden was visible through the windows.

  “Poppy, you came!” Ward leaped out of a white wicker chair with green cushions and strode to meet her. “I’ll call if I need you,” he told Bart.

  “Hi,” she said.

  Ward took her by the hand and studied her face for so long her awkwardness swelled to painful proportions. What he wanted from her she couldn’t give but she needed inspiration to make him get the message.

  “I came back early. I missed you.”

  “Bart said you ran into trouble,” she responded without thinking.

  “Yes. Let’s go into the garden.” He took her by the hand and led her outside. A path of broken stone went between lawns and flower beds. The surrounding walls were covered with blooming creepers and climbing roses.

  “This is lovely. Why do you have two houses next to each other?”

  “I like the idea of privacy. I own the one on the other side, too.”

  He withdrew his hand and put the arm around her shoulders. “You are such a gentle thing.”

  He didn’t know her well.

  “I feel as if I have to handle you like porcelain or you’ll break. Maybe that’s because you’re good, and I feel that in you.”

  The water was getting deeper.

  “Let’s sit on the bench, on the other side of the rose beds.”

  The bench was of ornately carved white marble. Ward stood and so did Poppy. He kept on standing and looking at her until she gave up and sat down.

  Today she was into auras. Ward’s showed he was intelligent, but she already knew that. And that he believed he had a right to get what he wanted.

  That revelation unnerved her.

  But he wasn’t completely certain of himself.