Beyond Fearless (6 page)

ZACH SWORE, BUT
Bertrand acted quickly, pushing Anna back into the hallway and closing the door before turning to survey the dangerous scene.

As he stepped forward, he reached down to his boot, and a knife appeared in his hand.

“You wanna fight me, you hot steppas?” he asked, his voice calm, his speech island slow as he addressed the two would-be muggers.

“We wasn't doin' nothin'.”

“Liar. You wanna tess me?

“No, mon.”

The two punks looked at each other, then turned and ran, leaving Zach and Bertrand in the alley.

Zach lowered his weapon, half wishing he'd gotten the chance to beat the crap out of them.

Still, he wasn't going to challenge the big man for putting himself at risk. Turning to the club owner, he said, “Thanks. You evened up the odds.”

Bertrand gave him a long gaze. “What you doing back here, mon?”

Zach shrugged, looking around as though he had just realized where he was.

Bertrand tipped his head to one side, studying Zach's face with narrowed eyes. “You was in the club tonight. Both shows.”

“So?”

“If you come back here to talk to Anna, she don't converse with guys from the audience.”

“You make the rules for her?”

“She make her own rules.”

Before Zach could reply, the door opened, and the woman in question looked out. In the light from over the doorway, her face was pale and drawn.

She went still as she caught sight of Zach, and he heard her breath hitch. “You were watching me,” she said accusingly. “During the show.”

She could have said a lot more than that, but he focused on her statement.

“Everybody was watching you,” he answered. “Your act is very impressive.”

This wasn't the way he had planned to meet her. But nothing in the past two days had gone the way he'd planned.

“If you were so interested, why didn't you put something on the tray?” she challenged.

“I didn't want to be part of the act,” he said, the answer true as far as it went.

Neither one of them had mentioned the daydream. It was like the elephant in the room that they were both ignoring. Was it possible she didn't know she'd been there with him?

Had it all been his fantasy? Like a guy calling up a picture of a beautiful woman when he wanted to jack off?

His stomach muscles clenched. It hadn't been like that. Not at all. It hadn't come from his head—unless maybe he was going crazy.

Every instinct urged him to cross the space between them and touch her. His hand on her arm or her shoulder. Then, in some unaccountable way, he'd
know
!

He gave himself a mental shake. What was he thinking? That touching each other would be the key to some private communication? Right here in front of the club owner?

It helped his mental state that she was looking at him expectantly—like she really had been there with him in that fantasy experience. Or was he grasping at straws?

He stayed where he was and kept his lips pressed together, because Bertrand was standing between them.

Still, he couldn't stop himself from speaking to her. In his mind.

I'm Zachary Robinson. You and I have to talk. Zachary Robinson. I'm staying at the Sea Breeze Hotel.

She stared at him, blinking. And he wondered if he actually had sent her a private message.

If so, it didn't look like the contact had done him any good. She wasn't going to respond. Or maybe the silent communication only went one way. Could she receive his thoughts the way she picked up memories from the objects she touched? But not talk back to him?

She licked her lips, drawing his gaze to the slight movement. In the daydream he had kissed her. And he wanted her to acknowledge that.

He thought she was going to respond. Give him some clue. Something. But her next words dashed his hopes. “I don't have private conversations with patrons. That's an absolute rule.”

Bertrand gave him a satisfied smirk.

Zach would have argued if he'd thought that it would do him any good.

I'll see you later,
he silently vowed, then turned and walked away, his back straight and his arms swinging easily at his sides.

 

ANNA
stood staring at the man's departing back, ordering her pulse to stop pounding. In the club, she'd felt his interest like heat coming off a blast furnace. Not just in the club—in the fantasy.

Then she and Bertrand had stepped into the alley—and there was the guy. In the middle of a fight with two island punks.

A name leaped into her mind. Zachary Robinson. He had told her he was Zachary Robinson. And along with the name came an image of him dressed in diving gear, standing on the deck of a handsome boat. The water scene vanished, and she saw them together the way they had been in the fantasy. She and Zachary Robinson were holding each other tightly. She felt his hard-muscled body, his erection pressed to her middle.

The sensation was so strong that she expected him to turn around, come running back down the alley, and pull her into his arms.

But he kept walking—around the corner and out of her sight. Because she had sent him away.

No. Yes.

She made a small sound as she fought to separate fantasy and reality. Truth from imagination.

“Everything's rosy,” Bertrand said. “Nothin' bad is gonna happen.”

She knew he was wrong. She could feel the danger like lightning crackling in the clouds. A few miles away, but rolling inexorably closer.

Bertrand spoke again, breaking into her thoughts. “You know that guy?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I just saw him in the audience.” She certainly wasn't going to admit anything else. Not when she hadn't worked her way through it herself.

“You want I should take care of him?”

“You mean hurt him?”

The club owner shrugged.

“No. Just take me home.”

“Mos def,” he answered easily. “Maybe you been workin' too hard. Maybe you need to relax a little. Take a vacation on the island when you finish this gig.”

Her head snapped toward him. “A vacation…here?”

“Just a suggestion. Let's get you to your hotel. You relax tonight. Sleep late.”

“Yes. Thanks,” she answered, but her mind was racing again. He wanted her to stay
here
? Why?

They walked through the midnight streets, then through the empty marketplace, and she knew she was safe from robbers. Nobody was coming after Etienne Bertrand. At least, nobody in his right mind.

But robbers weren't her main concern. Not now.

“Have you hired a psychic before?” she asked.

“Yeah. Once. Why?

“I was just wondering.” Relief flooded through her. So maybe her theory was right.

Maybe.

Bertand watched her walk into her hotel, the Palm Court, and she was grateful that he didn't try to follow. She'd heard some of the girls who worked in the club talking about the way he took advantage of them.

But not her. It was almost as though he'd labeled her off limits.

That should be reassuring. But somehow it wasn't.

 

ETIENNE
waited until he saw the light come on in Anna's room. He saw her walk to the window and pull down the shade, and he knew she was tucked in for the night.

Bon.
It was his responsibility to keep her safe. So walking out of the club with her and into the middle of a street fight had set his teeth on edge. And he didn't much like finding one of his patrons heading for the stage door.

He'd instinctively reacted to the fight scene, letting the two islanders know they'd better crawl back under the rock where they'd come from. But if he'd been alone, he would have made sure that the tourist guy stayed away from Anna in the future.

He hurried back the way he'd come, the street lights giving the town a romantic look that he had always liked.

When he stepped into his office, which was furnished with comfortable chairs and a desk purchased from a small hotel going out of business, Raoul San Donato was waiting for him.

The two of them went way back. He'd been a ten-year-old living in his momma's hut when Raoul had come back home with tales of life in Palmiro. And when Etienne's aunt had decided to look for work in the city, he'd begged to go with her.

Once he'd gotten to the city, he'd never looked back.

Raoul, who was a few years older, had shown him the ropes. They'd been street vendors together. Then Etienne had worked as a waiter in one of the hotels, saving as much money as he could, until Raoul had clued him in that Eddie Morgan, the owner of the Sugar Cane Club, had been murdered right behind the stage by a guy who'd found out Eddie was boinking his wife.

That had put a hex on the place, as far as most of the locals were concerned. But Etienne hadn't cared about the hex. He'd gotten a sweet deal from the widow when he'd leased the space. Then he'd used all his savings to put a down payment on the club.

Now he owned one of the premier nightspots in the city. And other properties around town.

Raoul had asked him to hire Anna, and he'd done it for his old pal. Well, Raoul was more than a friend now.

His guest was already sipping a rum and Coke.

Etienne fixed one for himself.

Then, instead of sitting behind his desk, he took one of the guest chairs and stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles.

Raoul gestured toward the video player and monitor on the sideboard. “I watched the tape of her act—from last night and the night before.” His friend swirled liquid and ice cubes in the glass, then took a sip. “No bull. She amazing.”

“Yeah. Exactly what I wanted. I owe you for getting her here.”

Etienne shifted in his seat, and his friend immediately picked up on the movement.

“You got a problem?” Raoul asked sharply.

“Maybe nothin',” he said, relaxing into their childhood dialect. “I come out the back way to take her home, and I run into two hot steppas tryin' to put a knife in some guy.”

“Bad for business,” Raoul murmured.

“I tink the guy was lookin' for the stage door when he caught it.”

Raoul sat forward. “The stage door? Why?”

“Maybe to see Anna.”

“Oh yeah?” Raoul asked sharply.

“Happens sometimes, you know. Dey see what she can do, and dey want a private session.”

Raoul got up and paced to the door, then turned. “What he look like?”

“A dude from the States. But not a tourist.” Etienne tried to recall the man's features, silently cursing himself for not paying attention to the guy when he'd been in the club. But back then he'd just been another paying customer. “Tall, good muscles. Tanned, like he works outside. Sun-streaked hair. And he had dem boat shoes on.”

“Okay. Den go down to the docks tomorrow. See if you can spot him.”

“Sure,” Etienne quickly agreed. He was hoping that would be the end of it, but Raoul had more to say.

“And I got plans for Anna tomorrow.” In a quiet voice, he began to outline what he had in mind.

Etienne didn't like it. But he wasn't going to say so. He owed Raoul too much.

RAOUL FINISHED HIS
drink and left the club. He'd gone there to reassure himself that everything was okay after the nasty episode when he'd lost control of his own vision. Now he was more worried than ever.

And he knew that his own arrogance had brought on the trouble. He'd moved too fast with Anna. He should have picked a more normal way to meet her. Let her see how important he was on Grand Fernandino. How much she'd benefit from getting hooked up with him.

Etienne had brought Anna to the island for him. He'd thought that once she was here, everything would fall into place. Now he knew he needed stronger magic than a simple chicken blood ceremony asking for Ibena's blessing.

There was too much at stake to lose his bride to another man.

She had the magic. He had seen it for himself on the videotapes from the club. And once he joined his power with hers, his place would be secure.

When he'd come to the city from the backcountry, he'd learned that he had a knack for making money. Then he'd added a whole new dimension to his life when he'd begun studying with Old Joe.

He'd started as a lowly convert, trembling before the priest—and even the men and women of the congregation. Raoul could still remember the ceremony where Joe had shaved the new boy's head, dripped the blood of a young chicken on him, then stripped him naked and washed his body as part of his initiation.

He'd thought at first that just being a member of the group would secure his future.

But as he'd gotten to understand the way things worked in the congregation, he'd realized that the priest held the real power. People brought him tributes, gave him a special place in their lives, because he asked the Blessed Ones to favor them.

Raoul wanted that big up. And he'd started making plans for how to get it. He'd gotten a pile of good stuff. But a whole lot more was almost within his grasp. He could feel it. Taste it. And he wasn't going to let some viper snatch it away. Certainly not when he'd already gone to so much trouble.

He walked rapidly toward one of the houses he owned in old town, his anticipation growing.

As a kid, he'd thought that he was like everyone else. But it wasn't true. He had powers that other people only dreamed of. And when he'd learned about Vadiana, he'd realized that, since boyhood, he'd had a special connection with the saints.

With his power, he had served many of his people. Like Etienne. He had held a ceremony, asking the saints to help his friend prosper. And they had obliged him with the untimely death of Eddie Morgan.

There were other proofs of his favor with the saints. Like when he'd snagged a rich husband for Maria Delgado. When the man's wife had died in childbirth, he'd needed someone to take care of the child, and Maria had filled the position—then married the father.

Raoul knew he had rare abilities. And he had invented creative rituals to bring him closer to the Blessed Ones. Rituals that the other island priests, like Joe Hondino, would never have condoned. But he needed something more—a bride as powerful as himself.

At first he'd searched for the right woman close to home. It hadn't taken long to realize that no suitable mate for a man such as himself lived on Grand Fernandino. So he'd started using modern tools—like the Internet—to search for the right partner. He had focused on many psychics. And the one who felt right to him was the woman named Magic Anna.

Earlier he had sacrificed a chicken to Ibena to bring her to him in a place outside the world. Tonight he would use a different mojo to strengthen his position with her.

Ibena was the goddess of eroticism and pleasure. He must give the saint pleasure as well as animal sacrifices. And she would bless his plans for tomorrow.

He reached the little house and climbed the backstairs, unlocking the door with his key.

Inside, he looked around the kitchen. It was large by island standards and furnished with a modern stove and refrigerator. When he saw the dishes neatly stacked in the drying rack, he smiled. Nadine had started off leaving them in the sink. He'd told her that if she wanted to live in this house, she had to keep it clean.

She was capable of learning. And, if she continued to please him, she could stay in this house, in his life, even after he married Anna and took his bride to live in the compound on the other side of the island, where his followers could keep an eye on her.

He stopped at a locked cabinet in the hallway and inserted the key. Inside was a small bottle of lotion—a sexual aid he'd first gotten from a witch woman a few years ago. Not that he had any trouble with his cock. This was his gift to Nadine.

When he had poured some into his hands and rubbed them together, he strode through the silent rooms, furnished with pieces he had taken from a house the owners had abandoned during the threat of a hurricane. After the couple left, Raoul prayed to the saints, sweetening his request with many animal offerings. And the gods changed the course of the hurricane, sparing the island.

In the bedroom, Nadine was sleeping, her golden hair brushed out and spread seductively across the pillow. The sheet was pulled down to her waist, giving him a view of her generous breasts through the silky fabric of her gown.

She had come to Grand Fernandino on a luxury yacht, crewing for a rich man who liked to watch nimble young women at work on his craft. He also liked to take two of them to bed with him at one time—and watch them make love to each other before he fucked them, a practice that Nadine hated.

She had jumped ship in Grand Fernandino and disappeared into old town.

The cops had found her sleeping in a warehouse, hiding from the man who wanted her back on his boat. The saints had sent Raoul there at the right time. He'd paid off the cops and offered her a job in his shop—and a place in his bed. Where she'd stayed for the past year.

He moved into the room, stopping at the side of the bed, admiring her sleep-smoothed features before reaching to run his dark hand over her pale shoulder with his lotion-slick hand.

She gave him a sleepy smile.

“Let's go into the altar room,” he murmured.

“You want to worship Ibena with me?”

“Yes.”

“I'm honored,” she answered, but he knew it might have been a lie. She had come from the mainland, where his religion was an oddity. And she tolerated his practices because she liked the life he could give her.

He didn't care what she thought about his deities. He only needed her cooperation and her pleasure. Ibena would not honor him if he failed to bring Nadine to climax.

He knew men who believed that sex was only for their own enjoyment. For Raoul, pleasuring a woman was an important skill that any self-respecting man must possess.

When he connected with Anna, he would bring her to ecstasy. He would make her understand the advantages of joining with him. And he would show her what wonders they could work together.

But tonight he and Nadine would worship the goddess to ensure his success in his quest.

He reached out, stroking her collarbones, then slid lower, under the bodice of her gown, lifting one of her generous breasts in his palm, stroking her softness until he could see her nipple harden through the thin fabric.

Pleased with her response, he squeezed the tight bud, watching her heat up from his knowing touch—and from the lotion. He had it specially made for him now, in this form and as a scented soap. A little gave you a pleasant sexual buzz. A lot sent you into a sexual frenzy.

But he didn't need to make Nadine frantic. He had learned what she liked, learned the best ways to please her. As he fondled her now, he closed his eyes, imagining that he was already with Anna, touching her, arousing her. As he let the fantasy grow, his breath quickened.

“Raoul?”

His eyes snapped open. “Right here, sweetheart.”

Taking her hand, he helped her off the bed, then pulled her gown over her head and tossed it onto the iron footrail. He leaned to suck one nipple into his mouth while he unbuttoned his own shirt and dropped it on the floor. Nadine could pick it up later.

When he was naked, he dragged his lover's body against his, stroking his hands down the curve of her back and over her rounded bottom, loving the feel of her feminine skin as he rubbed his tattooed chest against her breasts, knowing that Ibena would like the contact.

He wanted Anna, but he kept his focus on Nadine, kissing her neck the way he knew she'd liked, then nibbling at her earlobes and making his tongue into a point so he could probe the sensitive canal above it.

She softened in his arms, leaning against him, and he stroked between her butt cheeks, and farther down, feeling her folds. She was juicy and ready for him, and he moved his hips, sliding his erection against her middle.

Then he broke away, turning to drape an arm around her waist as he led her down the hall to his private sanctuary.

The room was decorated much like the shrine behind his shop. The main colors were gold, coral, and red, with favorite objects of the goddess on display. Fans, peacock feathers. At one side was a fountain where a stream of water shot from a turtle's mouth into a shell-shaped basin. The animal's head looked a lot like a penis.

The altar opposite the door was draped with gold and coral cloth.

At the doorway, he stopped and kissed her deeply before lifting her into his arms and carrying her to the worship table.

He lay her onto the padded surface so that her head rested on a red silk pillow near the altar and her legs dangled off the other end. Standing between her legs, he could look up and worship Ibena or look down and see Nadine.

He stepped to the end of the table and opened her thighs, lifting her feet onto the wooden pedestals on either side, comfortably supporting her legs.

He loved to view a woman that way. It gave him a feeling of power over her. Standing between her thighs, he looked down at her hidden female parts spread out before him so trustingly.

“Look at my tattoo,” he said, his voice thick.

She did as he asked. “The faces look like they're alive,” she whispered.

“They are. When I worship here, they are.”

Delicately, he caressed her knees and then slid down to her thighs, stroking his hands inward toward her pussy. He loved the deep coral color of her intimate flesh, the delicate dewy sheen that told him she was aroused.

He stroked his fingers to the sensitive line where her thighs met her body, then moved inward, playing with her labia, then dipping one finger inside her, slipping it in and out, before stroking up to her clit, watching what he was doing, smiling as he saw that she was hot and ready for anything he wanted to do next.

She moved restlessly on the table, lifting her hips toward him in supplication.

“Play with your breasts,” he said in a husky voice. “Twist your nipples, pull on them.” She did as he asked, moaning as he bent to stiffen his tongue and probe the sensitive bud of her clit, before stroking down between her lips, tasting her juices as he lapped his way back to her clit. As he focused there, he slipped two fingers inside her, finger fucking her as he pushed her to climax.

He felt her orgasm gathering, heard her cry out as her pleasure exploded from her clit to the rest of her body. He kept lapping at her, stroking her until she climbed over the peak and screamed in ecstasy. When she started down, he stood and thrust his cock inside her, pumping in and out as he pushed to reach his own climax, feeling the skin under his tattoo tingling.

His pleasure burst from him as he directed his gaze toward the altar, asking Ibena to bless him as he shot his juice into the vessel spread before him.

When he lowered his gaze, Nadine was smiling up at him.

“That was good.”

“Wonderful,” he answered, meaning it. “Your turn to do the work,” he said, reaching for her hand.

She nodded, letting him help her up, then standing beside the table while he reversed the pedestals and the pillow.

Then he lay down, smiling at Nadine as she looked down at him.

She leaned over, stroking her breasts against his face, allowing him to capture first one nipple and then the other in his mouth.

When she stepped away, he was hard again. And this time he let her suck him off.

Afterward, he slid his lips to her cheek, then stroked back her damp hair so he could nibble at her ear. He had gotten what he wanted, and in their bed, he let her choose the way they pleasured each other one more time before finally falling asleep.

 

ANNA
tossed in her bed for a long time. Finally she fell into a relaxing sleep, until a dream captured her.

She was standing onstage, about to start her act. Nothing strange about that, until Zachary Robinson walked up beside her. Zachary Robinson, the man who had told her his name in the alley.

He looked at her expectantly, then started pulling things out of his pockets and plopping them onto the tray, so fast she couldn't see each one until he was finished.

Her stomach muscles knotted as she stared down at the collection he'd given her. Her eyes were drawn to a gold coin that looked very old, an Indian arrowhead, a child's alphabet block, a metal button, an old spoon, a worn piece of tooled leather that she was sure had come from a saddle, a red toothbrush, a crumpled cigarette pack, and a set of car keys.