[Bayou Gavotte 03.0] Heart of Constantine (14 page)

Calmly, coolly, displaying no feelings whatsoever, he said, “But I wouldn’t have.” Not that he didn’t want to. He wanted to pick all her locks, break down all her barriers, and
invade
her.

She would like that
, the bird said.
The invasion part, that is
.

Her fingers tightened around the broom again. Sweep. Sweep. “I realize that due to my stupid attempt to protect you from Nathan, I have to play a role for a day or two.”

This was so ass-backward. He was supposed to do the protecting. No one ever protected him.

It occurred to him suddenly that he had taken her words at face value. He was trusting her in spite of himself.

“But the fact remains that you can’t stay here.” She put up a hand. “It’s not that I don’t like you.” One brush-off after another. “I’m sure you’re trying to help, but…”

Clearly, his spirit guide had gone out of its mind. Unfortunately, it was still in possession of his. He took the broom out of her clasp. Her bosom rose and fell, her nipples showing hard through the thin T-shirt.
Nothing to do with sex
, he told the bird.
She’s just riled
. He looked away and set to work with the broom, but it did no good at all. He wanted to pull the T-shirt over her head, peel the bra away from those quivering breasts, and feast on her.

“Gideon says I need your protection, and I don’t see why. The guy seems to have gone through Pauline’s stuff, and I already know there’s nothing worth anything there. He has no reason to come back.”

“We don’t know what his reasons are for anything he’s doing, except to get at me.”

“I understand your need for self-preservation—”

“You understand nothing about me. I refuse to be responsible for any murders I don’t commit myself. Therefore, I need to protect you.” He stilled the broom. “Go ahead and take your shower while I clean up.” No big deal; he wouldn’t imagine her naked and wet only a few feet away. He’d think about that new riff he’d been working on the other night. It was one hell of a sexy riff; he’d written it just after watching Marguerite and her dog from the safety of the bayou. He’d been thinking about toppling her into the water and taking her then and there.

Oops
, said the bird.

Marguerite was looking at him as if he’d gone out of his mind. “You want me to take a shower.” Pause. “While you’re in the kitchen.” She threw up her hands. “Thinking about me wet and naked!”

“I’m not—that is, I won’t be—” Christ. He was babbling. What had happened to being Zen about sex? She was just another woman, and being horny shouldn’t reduce him from total control to incoherence. “I didn’t telepath anything. What are you, a mind reader?”

“No, of course not.” She averted her eyes. “I just
know
.”

He pounced on that. “
How
do you know?”

“I just do.”

Well. This was interesting, and it put him at a tiny bit less of a disadvantage. It might be fun to find out what went on in that honey-blond head, behind those hazel eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I’m thinking. I’m attracted to a lot of women, but I don’t act on the attraction. You’re a fan, and in your imagination you’ve painted me as something entirely different from what I actually am. You have a skewed idea of me.”

“No,” Marguerite said, “you
are
skewed.”

He couldn’t help but grin at that. “True, but you can go take your shower. I swear upon my honor and all that’s holy, I will not come on to you.”

“I believe you,” she said. “But has it never occurred to you that I might come on to you?”

“No.” Anxiety tore into the arousal in Constantine’s aura, shattering, scattering the sensual vibe. He put up a warning hand, set the broom against the fridge, and fended off Marguerite with the other hand, too, as if she really were attacking him. “Don’t even
think
about coming on to me.”

Now,
this
was genuinely bizarre. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be thinking about it,” Marguerite said. “Believe it or not, devastatingly attractive as you are, I would prefer not to think about it. I do without sex most of the time. It’s just not interesting, but as long as you are aroused, I will be aroused as well.”

“No,” he said again. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Why? Are you HIV positive?”

“No, and I don’t have any other STDs that I’m aware of. I’m just not safe.”

Oh,
God
, he pissed her off. But it didn’t matter, since she had no intention of coming on to him, now or ever.

“What are you going to do to Zeb?”

“Whatever it takes,” Constantine said. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew him this morning?”

“Because I planned to talk to him myself. I arranged for him to mow my lawn, but that’s a bust now. He’s a troubled kid and doesn’t get on well at school or with his dad, but he gets on fine with me. He would have talked to me.”

“A friendly conversation won’t cut it,” Constantine said. “You know what Zeb let slip? That the guy who drugged you knows you and likes you, too.”

Nausea rose into her gorge.

“Scary, isn’t it? Makes you sick, doesn’t it?” His aura twisted and stretched, and a vision of a monstrous glistening snake flashed into her mind.

“You’re so
horrible
,” she said, her voice shaking. “I feel so sorry for you.”

Constantine’s aura burst into flames. He laughed—a short, harsh bark. “Me?”

“Yes—you.” Marguerite’s head hurt, and her stomach heaved, but she stood her ground. “You’re so unhappy and filled with… with pain and misery, and you hurt people instead of talking to them, and—”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Constantine said icily. “I fed Zeb breakfast. I talked to him plenty. I offered him tickets and the pick of my groupies. I even offered cash, but he wouldn’t tell me what’s going on. If I have to hurt him, I will. And since you don’t want me here, I’ll send one of my bodyguards to protect you.”

“I don’t want your damned bodyguard,” she said. “If and when I decide I need one, I’ll get my own. Get out of my house. I’m going to lock the door. Kindly refrain from breaking in again.”

Constantine barely got in a few words about keeping the dog and her phone beside her at all times before she slammed the door behind him. His cell phone rang. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, but he never ignored Zelda. “Hey, kid. Can I call you back?”

“No,” said the vampire. “I need your help. I think my friend Zeb wants to kill himself, and I don’t know what to do.”

Constantine went slowly down the steps and stopped on the walkway, listening to Zelda blurt out her fears for Zeb and to the absolute silence in the back of his mind, which meant the bird knew full well it didn’t need to add a word.

“He’s your hugest fan in the world,” Zelda said. “If he’ll listen to anybody, it’s you.”

Constantine got rid of Zelda, offering meaningless comfort and help that he knew might have had a slim chance of acceptance yesterday but would now be refused. For all he knew, his threats had pushed the kid closer to the brink.

A blue jay fluttered past and landed on a crepe myrtle, looking ever so perky and pretty among the leaves.
How about a truce?

Very funny. We tried that, remember?

Not with me, dummy.
The jay cocked its head to one side.
With the chick
.

Constantine turned and considered knocking, considered trying Marguerite’s door, but… what was the point?

You’d get laid
, said the bird.

And then everything will be hunky-dory, right? It’ll all fall into place.

Yes!
the jay screeched, and Constantine got into his glossy blue pickup truck and glowered all the way to downtown Bayou Gavotte, wishing he had the guts to believe it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
hat’s one heck of a long penis.” Lavonia stared at the charcoal-pencil sketch Marguerite had just finished of the most intense sex dream of her entire life.

She supposed it shouldn’t be a surprise; she wasn’t prone to sex dreams as a rule, but awareness of Constantine’s desire for her was well-nigh impossible to shake off. For a long moment after shutting the door behind Constantine, she’d just stood there, resting her forehead against the cool wood with her eyes closed. She listened to his footsteps and to his voice, low and indistinguishable, as he answered his cell.

Done. Finished. Gone.

Violence was a lousy way to get information. She had to find Zeb before Constantine hurt him. Since he didn’t have a job elsewhere, he might have signed on at one of the sex clubs. Some of them didn’t care about the rules and hired any minor foolish or desperate enough to work there. They didn’t openly flaunt their infractions for fear of the underworld, but as a painted messenger boy, Zeb wouldn’t be easily recognized—by most people.

Because most people couldn’t read auras. Most people couldn’t control them well either. Zeb did, and because of this, Marguerite had a good chance of spotting him.

She locked the door, went straight for her phone, and called Tony Karaplis. If there was one man in town who could protect her and also stand up to Constantine, it was Tony. He also had entrée to every sex club in Bayou Gavotte.

“Love to go clubbing with you, baby,” came Tony’s deep voice, “but won’t that piss off Constantine Dufray?”

Cripes. “Please don’t tell me you’re afraid of him.”

Tony chuckled. “Nah, but I hear you’re his woman now.”

“I am not his woman,” she snapped, “and he can piss himself dry and shrivel up for all I care.”

“That bad, huh?” Tony said. “All right, then. What time should I come by?”

That settled, she showered, shut herself in the bedroom with Lawless and the cell phone, and conked out. She slept the sleep of the justified until the phone woke her just before the climax of the dream.

It was about Constantine, of course, and filled with symbolism that was far too easy to interpret. Constantine’s penis encircled her twice, binding her arms to her sides, before looping between her spread legs and poising itself at the opening of her vagina. Grumpily, she’d tried to reassure Lavonia that she was doing fine, but her friend insisted on coming over anyway. When she got there, she exclaimed about the break-in, fussed over Lawless, and commended Marguerite on having the sense to call the cops. “Which you should have done about being drugged on the mound,” she added predictably.

“Constantine told them,” Marguerite said. “
Before
I called about the break-in.”

“He wanted to get his version of the story in there right from the start,” Lavonia said cynically and told Marguerite
about the rock star breaking up the fight between Roy Lutsky and Zeb on the mound. “I’m pretty sure he was throwing acorns at Roy, although how he managed to keep out of sight in the live oak is beyond me. He winked at me,” she added. “I wish he hadn’t, because it made me sort of like him, and I don’t think I should. He sure is a hunk. What in God’s name is this?” She picked up the sketch pad from the couch where Marguerite had left it.

“I had a sex dream about him. It must be because I was reading this stupid book.” Marguerite tossed the biography to her friend. “It says he has a thirteen-inch penis.”

“The one you’ve drawn looks more like thirteen feet,” Lavonia said, holding the sketch at arm’s length and turning it this way and that.

“At least,” agreed Marguerite. “He insists that I need protection. He made me promise to keep Lawless and the cell phone with me at all times.” Which was why she’d been awakened just before what would probably have been the most astonishing orgasm of her entire life.

“That doesn’t look like protection to me,” Lavonia said. “It looks more like bondage.”

It felt like bondage, too, but of an emotional kind. Could he really send dreams? Supposedly, he’d sent the nightmares that had caused her uncle to kill himself. Had he sent her this dream today? If so, why? It made no sense, seeing as he’d warned her away.

“Constantine looks incredibly sexy and powerful, with those gorgeous muscles and wild hair, and you look like you’re enjoying it,” Lavonia said. “In fact, you look completely abandoned to pleasure.” She hesitated—not something Lavonia was wont to do—and Marguerite knew what
was coming. “Why didn’t you tell me your father made pornographic movies?”