The Taking

Seven Deadly Sins- Ongoing series

First Published 2010-01-01 in Trade Paperback

Publisher: Berkley

Nearly a century ago, Felix Leblanc made a deal with the demon of greed.  Now he’s the most celebrated and powerful voodoo priest in New Orleans, able to enchant anything he wishes from wealthy, beautiful women. Until one client,beautiful and dangerous,brings his reign to a disastrous end, condemning Felix to servitude and a loveless eternity of never being wanted for himself!

New Orleans, now.  Heiress Regan Henry knows that passion can be an illusion, and she keeps her emotions in check,until she falls under the spell of the beguiling Felix LeBlanc. He’s knows that the rumors that her mansion is haunted are true, and that he’s the only one who can save her from the spirits residing there. But the only way he can do it is to sacrifice his last chance at redemption!or risk a love that could consign them both to an eternity of evil.

Regan eyed her wedding ring on the table, wanting to ask for it back, then stopping herself. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like the voodoo practitioner was intending to steal it. Let it sit there on the crisp white tablecloth for a minute. She took the tarot cards from him and shuffled them carefully, precisely. They felt different from regular playing cards, softer, pliable. The colors had faded, and they looked dirty to her, not the fresh dirt of a recent soiling, but the indecipherable grim of years and years of handling.

“Cut the deck in three piles,” he told her, when she stopped shuffling and held them out to him.

Trying not to think about washing her hands post haste, Regan cut the deck as directed, staring down at the cards. It was too difficult to look at him. There was something about his eyes, probably the result of the unusual light color, that made her feel like he was seeing her with altogether too much clarity. He wasn’t buying the careful image she presented the world of happy wife, a classy, pulled-together modern woman.

A glance up showed he wasn’t looking at her, but at the cards as he picked a pile and started laying them out in a pattern. He had a strong jaw and high cheekbones, a long narrow nose, and a perfectly proportioned mouth with lips that had just a hint of flushed color to them. There was something so primal and male, and yet, so beautiful about him.

“Do you like what you see?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“The cards.” His hand indicated the spread on the table.

Regan saw nothing but pictures and swirls of color, all strange, meaningless images. “I don’t know anything about the cards. I’m Presbyterian.”

There was a short pause then he actually burst out laughing. “Now that was funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny.” Irritated, Regan sat back in her chair. She didn’t need this random man to laugh at her.

But he immediately stopped, his smile eradicated by her words. “I know. You never try to be funny, do you? You don’t think you’re witty. You’re afraid of being judged, so you hide behind platitudes and social correctness and never say what you’re really thinking.”

A hot flush rushed over Regan. God, that was a little too close to home. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And there’s nothing wrong with being polite.”

“You do know what I’m talking about.” He tapped a card, the upside down images blurring. “You try very hard to please all the time, you always have. But maybe you need to please yourself sometimes.”

Leg bouncing anxiously under the table, Regan shook her head, not even sure what she was denying. “I like myself just fine.”

His voice lowered. “And so do they, cherie, so do they. They never expected you to replace your sister.”

Regan’s body went completely still, the heat rushing through her extremities, hot saliva flooding her mouth, the unexpected buzzing in her ears and a sweeping dizziness make her question if she might actually faint. But she swallowed hard and the blurry world sharpened again. “I don’t have a sister.”

He was a hack, that was all. Just guessing, throwing out vague pronouncements, the kind that anyone would interpret however they chose.

“But you did,” he murmured, eyes on her while his hands pushed the cards together in a pile. “We don’t need these. I know all I need to about you. You had a sister, and when she died, the fire in you extinguished. You turned down the volume on your personality so that you wouldn’t hurt your parents any more than they had already been hurt. You wanted to be perfect.”

Now the tears did dribble out, unwanted, humiliating, as Regan bit her lip to prevent it from trembling. “How could you know about my sister?” she whispered. “Did you do research on me? It’s very cruel to bring her into a form of entertainment.”

He shook his head. “I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m trying to release you. Your parents don’t expect you to be perfect or to be your sister. They love you, just as you are.”

The stranger’s words lacerated her, and she wanted so much to believe them. Regan put her hand over her eyes, trying to push back the tears. “Of course they love me,” she managed to choke out. She knew that.

“They won’t understand, but they won’t be angry.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The decision you’re weighing right now. Your parents may not be happy about it, but just remember they love you.”

“What decision?” The heat suffusing her had turned to a chill, crawling across her skin like encroaching winter.

His fingers landed on her wedding ring, and he rocked it on the table, back and forth, back and forth. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Regan wanted to snatch the ring from him and leave, abandon his crazy pronouncements and dirty tarot cards and retreat from the courtyard. But she stayed in her chair, curious as to what he would say next, mesmerized by the casual way he fondled the symbol of her marriage. On her hand, it spoke volumes. On the table, it was just a pretty ring that held no power.

She jumped, the sensation of someone touching her shoulder sending her whirling around. “Something touched me!”

“It was probably a plant brushing you,” he said mildly.

Regan swept her gaze left and right, squeezing the spot on her shoulder where she had felt distinct pressure. “There are no plants within three feet of me.”

Even before the words were fully out of her mouth, she felt it again, this time on both of her shoulders, as if someone was standing behind her and resting their hands on either side of her head. She leaned forward in her chair, a little panicked as she looked around again, but the sensation remained.

“Next you’ll tell me it’s my sister watching over me,” she hissed, suddenly angry. She didn’t need this, not when she was already so close to the edge, anxiety her constant companion. This was just bullshit power of suggestion, taking advantage of people’s emotions for profit.

But he shook his head slowly. “No. No, that’s not what I am going to tell you. Your sister died an innocent child, and she is at peace. You, however, are not. Death is harder on the living than the dead.”

That wasn’t news as far as she was concerned. The feeling of being touched moved down her arms, as if she were being rubbed in a gesture of comfort, and Regan’s eyes went wide. She had the craziest goddamn feeling that it was him touching her. But that was absolutely impossible. He was over there, and she was here, and his hands were on the table in clear view.

The air around her shifted, and she turned to her left for no apparent reason, instinct telling her someone should be standing there when of course they weren’t. “What…” The word died on her lips, goose bumps racing up her arms as the invisible embrace came at her from the front, like a hug.

Regan’s chest swelled in and out rapidly with the frantic tenor of her breathing. She didn’t move, afraid to reach out and feel nothing, more frightened still of reaching out and feeling something that wasn’t visible. The tendrils of touch went up and down lightly between her shoulder blades, and somehow she recognized it as a man’s touch, physically intimate. It wasn’t the touch of a relative or a friend, but that of a lover.

It was that ridiculous thought that launched her to her feet. How in the hell could the touch that didn’t exist be qualified? If it didn’t exist, how could it be so distinct as to belong to a lover?

The chair she’d been sitting in fell backwards from her sudden movement, smacking to the bricks with a bang. She thrust her hand out. “My ring, please.”

He rose to his feet as well, but slowly, and she was appalled to see what sitting had hidden from her view. Not only was he attractive in the face, but when he uncoiled to his full height, it was evident he was a fine specimen of male perfection, toned and tall and broad shouldered. His soft worn jeans hung just right as he reached out, her ring in his hand.

“Just remember, if you’re going to wear it, wear it of your own free will.”

She had no answer to such a cryptic remark and she held out her hand. The ring dropped from his palm to hers, it’s weight heavy, the stone cutting into her flesh as she closed her fist around it.

“Thanks,” she said, turning to leave, righting the chair she had knocked over.

Regan had taken three steps when he said softly from behind her, “You’re welcome.”

Pausing, she turned, realizing that for all she strove for social perfection, she had committed the cardinal sin of a first meeting. “I’m sorry, what is your name?”

“Felix Leblanc.”

A name as unusual as the man. “I’m Regan Henry Alcroft. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Though pleasure wasn’t exactly the adjective to describe it. Confusing, a little scary, maybe even a tinge electric. Arousing.

“The pleasure is mine.”

It wasn’t suggestive or flirtatious, yet she felt the unmistakable jolt of desire between her thighs at his words, his voice. God, she needed to go. She crammed her ring back onto her finger and headed for the door, the lights and laughter of the party spilling out into the courtyard.

“Watch your step back in, Regan Henry Alcroft.”