King of Diamonds (3 page)

Annie raised an eyebrow. “You don’t cook.”

“Ah, but I make one hell of a mean warmed-up lasagna.” Awai reached for one of the shopping bags and pulled out a loaf of French bread, a packaged salad, a bottle of Annie’s favorite brand of merlot, and an aluminum pan with
Mama Mia’s Italian Grill
stamped across the cardboard top.

“Mmmmm. My favorite.” Annie peeked in the other bag. “Oooh, and you brought spumoni, too. I’ll put it in the freezer, Auntie.”

Awai gave Annie “the look” and said, “I’ve told you not to call me that. I’m only a couple of years older than you.”

With a grin, Annie replied, “Oh, but it’s so much fun to get you good and riled.”

Awai sniffed and turned back to the lasagna.

Annie had to admit it was fun chatting with Awai, and it helped to not be alone while she was thinking about her missing cousins. Awai was actually their aunt by marriage, not blood, and she only had four years on Annie, who had just passed her thirtieth birthday.

Awai’s being there to help her through this tough day reminded Annie of that night a year ago when she’d taken Alexi out for drinks and dinner to help get her mind off of Alice.

The night she up and disappeared. Some idea that was, getting her drunk.

With everything being pre-prepared, it wasn’t long before dinner was served. Annie and Awai sat at the small oak table in the kitchen nook and Abra rubbed her head against Annie’s feet beneath the table. Awai chatted about the latest account she’d won over to her advertising firm, and of the gorgeous blond man she’d just met at the club last night.

“Which club?” Annie asked before taking a sip of her merlot.

As her eyes met Annie’s, Awai gave a small shrug. “A BDSM club.”

Annie choked on her wine and it shot up her nose. She grabbed her napkin and managed to cover her mouth before she spewed merlot everywhere.

“Are you all right, sweets?” Awai asked as if she’d just said she’d found toilet paper on sale at the grocery store instead of announcing she’d gone to a BDSM club.

When she’d sufficiently recovered, Annie patted her mouth with the napkin then set it on her empty plate. “That’s why you were wearing that tight leather dress and those thigh high boots when I came by to ask you to go with me to Alexi’s last year. You weren’t off to a masquerade party. You were going to a BDSM club.”

Awai smiled and raised her glass. “Does it bother you that I’m a Dominatrix? That’s Domme for short.”

Annie almost choked again as she visualized Awai wearing that black leather number and whipping a submissive male. “Um, no. Not at all.”

Cocking her head to one side, Awai said, “You should come with me sometime and find a good Dom. You’re a born submissive, you know.”

“I don’t think so.” Annie shook her head. “I’m not into, ah, whips and handcuffs.”

“It’s not all about whips, chains, and pain, Annie.” Awai pushed her plate aside and folded her arms on the table as she gave Annie that penetrating look of hers that was sure to have won over plenty of accounts…and probably submissives, too. “For a sub, giving up control is more than bondage, more than pleasure and pain. It’s power. You have total control over your Master’s pleasure. You hold all the cards.”

Meeting Awai’s gaze head on, Annie asked, “Why are you a Domme?”

With a shrug Awai leaned back in her chair. “I enjoy having men obeying my every whim.”

“Like they do at the agency?” Annie asked as she arched one eyebrow.

Awai’s mouth curved into a half-smile. “Something like that.”

Annie pulled her braid over her shoulder and absently played with the end of it. “If the submissive has all the control, then why aren’t you a sub?”

For a moment Awai was silent. When she finally spoke she said, “Until I truly learned the concept behind BDSM, I always thought the Domme had the power.” She brushed imaginary lint off her black skirt. “By the time I figured out otherwise, I had learned all about being a Domme—and now, I enjoy it too much to switch.” But something in Awai’s eyes held just a tinge of regret.

Before Annie could respond, Awai said, “How about I come over in the morning, and we’ll head over to Macy’s? They have a big sale going on, and I could use a new suit.”

No doubt Awai had changed the subject because the reason she’d become a Domme was something she didn’t want to talk about. Perhaps she even regretted being a Domme instead of a submissive. It would take a hell of a man to dominate Awai, though. Annie didn’t think men like that existed on Earth.

Even though Awai lived in San Francisco, closer than Annie, she always insisted on picking Annie up. Awai had a Mercedes SL600, a sleek sports car and she loved to drive it every chance she got.

“I could use a few things, too.” Annie smiled and gave a slow nod. “Why don’t you drop by around ten?”

“Ten sharp.” Awai pushed her chair back, gracefully stood, and headed toward the easel in the living room. “So, what are you working on? Something depressing, right?”

Annie rolled her eyes, but then she realized she had no idea what she’d done during those hours of painting today. With Abra at her heels, Annie followed Awai to the easel.

Awai pushed the stool out of the way then folded her arms and pursed her lips as she studied the painting. “Oh, definitely morbid, but I like it.”

Annie’s frown deepened, but when she reached the easel and stopped in front of the canvas, her jaw dropped.

Cocking one eyebrow, Awai cut Annie a questioning glance. “Looks like it came right out of
Wuthering Heights.
”

“Yeah, it does.” Annie’s practiced eye scanned her work. It wasn’t quite finished, but it was damn good if not murky and mysterious. Maybe it was a sign that she was more down about her cousins’ disappearances than she’d thought.

A sprawling but gloomy mansion stood dark and foreboding in the background with only a single window dimly lit from within, as if by candlelight. Lightning illuminated the scene just enough that the viewer could see skeleton trees bowing close to the ground from raging winds, and in the distance whitecaps dotted a body of water below sheer black cliffs. In the lower right hand corner was a single magnolia bloom lying on the ground, its petals pure cream beside a shadow.

She narrowed her gaze. A man’s shadow. How odd.

“Well this is interesting,” Awai said, breaking into Annie’s thoughts. “How did you come up with it?”

Annie shook her head. “I have no idea. The twins still missing…maybe it’s bothering me even more than I thought.”

Unable to bear the sheer strangeness of seeing a painting she had obviously created without remembering a damned thing about it, Annie turned away from the canvas. She forced a smile for Awai’s benefit and tried to ignore a creeping sense that the painting was somehow…staring at her.

“Well come on,” Awai said. “Chop, chop. We’ve got spumoni waiting.”

Relieved, Annie followed Awai away from the mystery on the canvas. She’d deal with it later—probably with scissors.

Awai stayed for a while longer, long enough to share the spumoni and to polish off the bottle of wine. Annie wasn’t much of a drinker usually, and tonight she’d had two glasses of merlot. She felt mellow and relaxed, and definitely ready for bed.

Once Awai had left for her San Francisco apartment, Annie tried to make herself stay away from the painting. She had decided to deal with it in the morning. In the sunshine. And yet, it pulled at her.

Mumbling a few wine-enhanced curses, she finally gave up and moved the easel in front of her overstuffed armchair. Still feeling the merlot, she sat and studied her day’s work, her elbow resting on her knee, her chin in her hand. Her braid fell over her opposite shoulder as she tried to interpret her own work. Abra bounded onto the armrest and started batting the end of Annie’s braid.

Where the heck did I get this from?

The picture had a brooding, gothic feel to it. It was unlike her usual landscapes and seascapes, but was still in her distinctive style. The painting was fascinating, really. She rarely had dwellings in her work, and this mausoleum of a mansion was beyond anything she thought herself capable of. Perhaps it was so captivating because it reminded her of the gothic romance novels her grandmother was always reading when she was young and still lived in Tennessee.

At least it’s not giving me the creeps anymore. Who cares where it came from? It’s good. That’s what matters.
For a moment, she smiled, studying the mysterious lines and shadows.

“Maybe I have a dark, wild side after all. Yeah, right.” Stifling a yawn, Annie rose and turned away from the painting when she heard the crack of thunder. Abra hissed and arched her back then darted under the end table. Lights in her apartment flickered.

Everything went completely dark.

Annie frowned. They never had thunderstorms in the Bay Area because of the cool onshore flow of air from the Pacific. She started to go to the window when a flash lit up her dark apartment for a moment. Thunder boomed again, rattling her windows.

But the lightning flash hadn’t come from outside.

It had come from her painting.

A strange buzzing started in Annie’s ears as she moved back toward the painting—and her heart started pounding like mad.

She saw the same scene she had painted, only now it looked like a very tall and narrow television screen rather than a canvas. It was raining in the picture and trees swayed in fierce gusts of wind. She could even hear the haunting sound of whistling wind and could feel wet air blowing from the painting. It rushed across her face and misted her glasses. Something that looked like a very large cat stalked across the picture…a white tiger with black stripes.

Abra hissed again from beneath the end table, this time louder and much more fierce.

Goose bumps prickled Annie’s skin and her nipples pebbled beneath her white T-shirt.

“Too much wine, sugar,” she murmured as she pulled off her glasses that were now too fogged to see through. “This is why you don’t normally drink.”

Although hallucinating after only two goblets of wine was mighty strange.

Lightning flashed in the picture again and Annie jumped. In the brief illumination she saw the magnolia bloom—only this time a man was holding it.

A man. In the picture. Looking directly at her.

He moved closer so that he filled the scene and she could hardly see anything around him. Wind tugged at his black hair and clothing which were soaked from the rain. He was dressed in an equally black shirt and pants, but he was too close for her to be able to see what he wore on his feet. His eyes were black, too. Dark and haunting.

The man held his free hand out to her, and she took an automatic step back.

“Come, Annie,” he said in a deep, husky voice that caused a thrill to zip from her belly to her pussy. “It is time.”

Chapter Two

A peculiar sensation swept over Annie. It was the most surreal moment of her life and she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps she was dreaming. No way had her painting come alive, and no way was a man holding out his hand to her and telling her to come with him.

Thunder boomed and Abra gave a loud,
“Yerowl,”
from her hiding place.

“Come, Annie.” The sexy timbre of his voice and the sound of his unusual accent caused a sensual shiver to trail down her spine. “The path will soon close.”

Path. The path will soon close.

“Alice and Alexi.” Annie clenched her hand around her glasses as she spoke to the man in the picture. “You know them?”

He gave a slow nod. “They are in Tarok.”

Annie took a deep breath. This was bizarre enough that it could really be happening.

That or she’d passed out on her living room floor and was dreaming it all.

“
Now
, Annie.” His voice had a harder edge to it, a dominating command that brought her to attention immediately.

His voice was so compelling that she found herself stepping forward. She put her hand up to the painting to touch it, and her hand went into it. Not through the canvas, but
into
the scene. She immediately felt rain upon her wrist and the back of her hand. Cold air blasted against her skin, air that smelled of salt and brine from the ocean, mingling with the rain.

She started to withdraw when the man reached out of the painting and grabbed her by the shoulders.

Annie cried out in shock and surprise and instinctively tried to wrench herself free. But the man was far too strong. He pulled her forward, into the painting, dragging her into the canvas’s frame.

A strange sensation whooshed over her, as if she were being pulled through a giant bowl of cake batter. For a moment everything went dark and she felt like she was floundering in a black hole filled with that same gooey batter.

In the next instant her feet touched wet ground, mud and grass squishing between her bare toes. She found herself held tight in the man’s steel embrace, her arms trapped between his body and hers. He was huge, a good eight inches taller than her five foot nine and his muscular frame made her size 16 body suddenly feel little.

She’d never felt petite in all her life until now. It was strangely exciting and frightening all at once to find herself small and helpless in a man’s arms.

Rain pummeled their bodies but Annie barely noticed as the man’s intense black gaze captured hers. A flare of recognition and desire sparked in his eyes, and then it was gone as if buried deep within the black depths.

“Do I need to guard my bollocks with you?” He studied her features as he spoke then answered his own question. “I think not. You are unlike Darronn’s Alexi, the tigress. You seem more like…a kitten.”

“My claws can be sharp,” Annie responded, her southern accent growing stronger as she tried to withdraw from his grasp, but it was hopeless. She might as well have been struggling to climb out of a straightjacket. “Where are Alexi and Alice? What have y’all done with my cousins?”