Read Online [Bayou Gavotte 03.0] Heart of Constantine by Barbara Monajem - Free Book Online Page B

got hurriedly to his feet. “Dufray! Finally, we meet! Your bodyguards don’t understand the importance of my work, but I’m certain you—”
    Zeb’s fist slammed into the Pontificator’s blathering face. “Fuck your work, you stinking bastard! Die, you scum-sucking sonofabitch!” He drew back his fist for more.
    “That’s enough, Zeb,” Constantine said.
    Zeb subsided immediately, his mask of hatred dissolving in a flurry of other emotions: resentment, shame, fear.
    Constantine motioned with his chin. “Get your guitar, and don’t leave it outdoors again. Let’s go.”

    Could it get much more embarrassing? The acting head of the Chemistry Department had crept up behind her while she was reading about the thirteen-inch penis. Her face hot, Marguerite clapped the paperback shut.
    “But if you’re really going out with that sleazy rock star,” Al Bonnard said, “why would you need to read that trash?” Since she’d never heard Al express an opinion about Constantine before, his choice of epithet came as a surprise. So did the mild sparking of his aura. He had a sharp tongue, but usually his aura was only marginally more emotional than a mannequin’s.
    She pulled herself together. “Damn it, did Lavonia already call and tell you everything? I thought she was somewhere with Eaton Wilson.”
    “Of course she called me, but I would have found out anyway.” Al sighed, setting down his espresso and pulling up a chair. He tossed a couple of the chocolate-cherry bonbons from which he got his nickname onto the table. “Eaton’s got some harebrained scheme about inducing visions. Even in Bayou Gavotte, science has to toe the line. He’ll never get funding for it, and no one will publish his results, so I don’t know why he wastes his time.” Pause. “Or Lavonia’s.” He took out his phone and ran a finger across the screen. “You seriously don’t know, do you? Marguerite, you’re all over the web.”
    She cringed. “Already?”
    “You’re not really having tantric sex with that fellow, are you?”
    “I’m not having tantric sex with anyone,” Marguerite said repressively.
    “It sure looks like you’re having some kind of sex with him.” Images popped up on the screen. Crumpled clothes, tousled hair, and a mildly annoyed expression. It wasn’t what she would have chosen for public view, but…
    The next picture appeared. Marguerite’s entire body heated at the sight of herself in a passionate clinch with Constantine Dufray. She covered her eyes with her hands. “Oh. My. God.” She got ahold of herself, externally at least. The Celtic knot that had taken up residence in her gut this morning was trying new and original twists, but she didn’t need to show it. She sighed and lowered her hands. It was just a kiss. No big deal—as long as they didn’t link her with her father. If and when they did, she would deal with it. Somehow.
    “What the hell got into you?” Al said.
    Constantine’s tongue?
“I was caught unawares,” she retorted. “Somebody drugged me while I was at that impromptu concert last night at the mounds. I woke up to find myself in the middle of a publicity stunt cooked up between Constantine Dufray and a reporter.”
    “Even Dufray wouldn’t cook up this crap,” Al said. “A bunch of drivel about drugs, rape, and human sacrifice can’t possibly help his career, if anything can at this point. Did you call the cops?”
    Jeez. “No, because I’d already told the reporter I was up there waiting for Constantine. I don’t want to look like a complete idiot.” She unwrapped a foil-covered bonbon.
    “It didn’t occur to you that saying you were sleeping with Dufray was idiotic?”
    “All that occurred to me was that the reporter was trying to make me say horrible things without any proof at all.When it comes to reporters, I have a knee-jerk reaction at the best of times.” She fumed silently for a minute, slowly consuming the candy. She scrunched up the foil wrapper