“You mean they won’t have to struggle the way you did?” she asked softly.
His eyes were fierce with unshakable determination. “I will make certain that they don’t have to go through what I did to achieve success. My family will have every advantage I can give them.”
“I see.” She was suddenly aware of a slight chill in the room. She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Tell me, what’s the rest of this grand plan? How do you go about buying respectability?”
“Simple. You purchase a membership in the Founders’ Club and attend its annual charity ball.” He broke off. A look of speculation appeared in his gaze. “Which just happens to take place in a few days.”
“Yes, I know. Go on. What else do you do to get respectable?”
He shrugged. “You give big bucks to the New Seattle Art Museum and to the Theater Guild. You contribute to the right political campaigns. You buy a house like this one and you pay someone who knows what she’s doing to restore it.”
“And you marry into the right family,” Zinnia concluded.
“That’s about it. Like I said, all you need is money and a plan. I’ve got both.”
She looked into his eyes for a long time. He did not look away. “I wish you luck,” she said, meaning every word.
“Luck has nothing to do with it.”
“Of course.” She managed a bright professional smile. “Well, this is supposed to be a business dinner, so let’s do some business, partner. I wanted to ask you how you knew for certain that the journal Polly and Omar sold you was a fraud.”
He eyed her thoughtfully for a long moment. “I’ll show you after we eat.” He walked to the picnic hamper and opened it.
She watched curiously as he spread a blanket on the floor and began to unpack a variety of tempting packages. He arranged a pâté, a cold pasta salad, tiny sandwiches, fruit, and a tart on top of the hamper.
“I’m impressed.” She walked to the blanket and sat down, curling her legs beneath her gauzy dress. “Did you make all this?”
“What do you think?” Nick lit the two jelly-ice candles that he had taken from the hamper.
Zinnia sampled a tiny sandwich and grinned. “I think you hired an excellent chef.”
“The best. Rathbone. Formerly of the Founders’ Club. He supervises the dining rooms at the Palace.”
“Lucky you.”
Nick looked up from pouring the wine. “I keep telling you, luck is not a factor.”
“Spoken like a true matrix.”
Zinnia was amazed at how quickly the next hour slipped past. By the time she and Nick had polished off the outrageously expensive bottle of blue wine and eaten the last bit of the flaky pear-berry pastry, night had descended. The twin moons, Yakima and Chelan, rose above the horizon and cast a golden glow over the bay. The light of the two jelly-ice candles flickered warmly.
“Now I’ll show you how I knew the journal was a fraud.” Nick pulled another package out of the hamper.
Zinnia recognized it. “That’s the fake that Polly and Omar sold to you.”
“Yes.” He unwrapped the brown paper and put the volume down on the blanket. Then he reached back into the hamper and removed a faded envelope.
“What’s that?”
“The letter my father wrote to my mother the night before the Third Expedition left for uncharted territory.”
She stared at him with mingled disbelief and excitement. “You’ve got a letter?”
“Yes. After Andy died I went through his old storeroom and found it. My mother must have hidden it there all those years ago before she left for Serendipity. I think she may have sensed that it was valuable. It refers to the fact that the expedition was preparing to leave on schedule. My father was looking forward to it. He was focused on the future. He was not talking of suicide.”
“My God, Nick. No wonder you’ve been so sure that the expedition actually took place. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
He looked up, his eyes very cold. “Because someone went to a hell of a lot of trouble to make it appear that it didn’t take place. Until I know why, I’m not going to reveal the existence of this letter. It’s the only hard evidence I’ve got.”
She watched as Nick carefully, reverently unfolded the letter. It occurred to her that the handwritten note was probably the only link he had with his mother and father. Another wave of empathy went through her.
“I take it you did a handwriting analysis?” she asked, struggling to sound businesslike. Nick would not appreciate it if she started crying, she thought.
“Yes. With the aid of my talent. I have some control over it when I use it in short bursts.” He opened the journal and placed it next to the letter. “Take a look.”
She peered at the bold firm handwriting on the first page of the journal and then glanced at the letter. “It looks identical to me.”
“It’s a very good forgery. But give me a prism and then take another look.”
Zinnia hesitated, remembering the strong sense of intimacy she experienced whenever she held the focus for him. But she’d heard that one of the side effects of focusing with a strong talent was that a prism could observe a small portion of what the talent sensed. She was just curious enough now to risk the connection.
“All right.” She braced herself.
She didn’t have long to wait. Waves of power surged toward the prism she projected onto the metaphysical plane. They crashed through the glittering lens and emerged as controlled energy on the other side.
A feeling of intense intimacy swept through her. But it did not jolt her this time. It was becoming familiar, she thought. Comfortable. Right.
Not good.
“Ready?” Nick watched her face.
“Sure. Go ahead. Show me.” It annoyed her that he seemed oblivious to the personal nature of their link. Perhaps he felt nothing.
“Look at the handwriting on the letter,” Nick instructed.
She looked down at the note. The candlelight created intricate patterns of shadows as it illuminated the single sheet of paper.
My dearest Sally:
I’m writing this from Serendipity, our jumping-off point. The six of us leave at dawn. This is the last time I’ll have a means of sending a letter until we return in three months. It’s late but I can’t sleep. I should be going over the details of our plans but I’m thinking of you, instead. I’ll miss your laughter and your warmth and all that we have found together. You cannot know how important you are to me. When I’m with you, I am no longer alone. And now that I know you’re carrying my baby, I feel as if I’ve finally found my future.
I wish you had not waited until the morning I left Port LaConner to tell me that you were pregnant. If you had let me know earlier we could have been married before this expedition. But in the end, it won’t matter. I’ll be back in three months and then we’ll make it official.
You gave me more than you will ever know when you agreed to marry me. Spend the next three months planning the wedding. This will be my last expedition. When I return I want to settle down in the islands with my new family. In the meantime, know that you are my true love. I will keep you in my heart forever.
All my love,
Bart
P.S.: Why do I get the feeling it will be a boy?
Zinnia blinked back tears.
“See the pattern of the words?” Nick said. “The shapes of the letters?”
She forced herself to concentrate on the handwriting, not the poignant message of love. There was, indeed, a pattern to the words. A kind of internal rhythm that seemed quite clear now that she viewed it with the assistance of a matrix-talent. Each letter was a tiny work of art with unique nuances and characteristics. She would never have detected the subtle differences with normal vision.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I see what you mean.”
“Now look at the journal.”
She read a few sentences.
… I have instructed Sanderford to keep his eye on the jelly-ic
e fuel capsules but I no longer trust him. He’s careless. I’m starting to wonder if he’s got a drug problem …
“See the differences?” Nick asked.
Zinnia studied the words more closely. “Yes. There’s a slight alteration in the rhythm or something.”
“The design is wrong. It’s out of sync. Unbalanced. The connections aren’t right.”
She could not see all those fine distinctions, but she did not doubt that Nick did. “The differences could be explained by the fact that this is a journal entry, not a personal letter.”
Nick gave a decisive shake of his head. “The individual letters would still look the same. Handwriting doesn’t change.”
“No.” She took a closer look. The seepage of matrix-talent that she picked up through the focus link was sufficient to allow her to see the tiny differences between the writing in the journal and that in the letter. “Something about the loops is off and the angle of the slant is not quite the same.”
“Exactly.” Without warning, Nick cut off the flow of talent. “Without a prism to help me focus, it took me a lot longer to be certain that I was looking at a forgery. But there’s no doubt about it.”
“How many entries are there in the journal?”
“Only eight. All of them are dated before the expedition was supposed to leave Serendipity. Each is shorter than the last. The tone of each one is increasingly paranoid and depressed. In the last entry the writer says that he can’t go on much longer. He just wants to walk off into the jungle and be absorbed by what he calls the great green matrix.”
“In other words, you’re supposed to believe that your father really did commit suicide before the expedition took place.”
“Yes.”
Nick had shut down his formidable psychic power, but the sensation of intimacy did not vanish. It pulsed across Zinnia’s nerve endings, insistent and compelling. She uncurled her legs and restlessly shifted position on the blanket.
“Someone went to a great deal of effort to deceive you with that fake journal,” she said.
“And expense,” Nick added. He closed the volume and rewrapped it. “This kind of craftsmanship doesn’t come cheap.”
“How much would an expert forger charge for something that detailed?”
His smile was chilling. “Probably about as much as I paid for it. Fifty grand.”
Zinnia’s heart twisted as she watched the care with which he refolded his father’s letter. Once more she tried to beat back the empathy that threatened to swamp her common sense.
“Well, if you needed any further proof that I’m innocent, you’ve got it,” she said briskly. “I couldn’t possibly afford fifty grand for a fake journal.”
“I don’t need any more proof of your innocence.”
“Gee, thanks.” Why didn’t the intense feeling of intimacy fade? It was messing up the synergistic balance of her entire nervous system. “Where does that leave us?”
Nick’s eyes were rare exotic gems in the candlelight. “Here. Together.”
On the other hand, why was she trying to fight this incredible attraction, Zinnia wondered. She had waited a long time for passion.
“Are you going to kiss me again?” she asked, deeply curious.
“I want to make love to you.”
She smiled. “That’s okay, too.”
Chapter
14
* * * * * * * * * *
The hunger inside him threatened to explode. He fought it, willing his self-control to win the battle. It worried him that the sensation of touching and being touched in some other dimension had not faded when the focus link was severed. The intimacy of the connection was disturbing enough as it was. He did not know what to make of the fact that tonight the feelings continued even after the psychic joining ended.
He had to be careful, Nick thought. He wanted her, but when he had sex with her he could not sacrifice the part of him that governed his self-control.
On the positive side, if there was one thing he was good at, it was control. He could handle this.
He touched the curve of her hair and smiled slowly. “We’re going to be good together.”
“I certainly hope so.” She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “I’ve got certain expectations, you understand.”
“Expectations?”
Her eyes glowed with warmth and a shy amusement that caught him by surprise.
“I told you, I’ve read every psychic vampire romance novel that Orchid Adams has ever written.”
Nick stared at her. “Five hells.”
“Not that I want to put any pressure on you, of course.”
Nick felt a very weird sensation rise inside him. It was big, powerful, all-consuming. He did not recognize it until he nearly choked on it.
And then the laughter roared forth. It cascaded out of him like a very strong orgasm.
He could not shut it down. It squeezed him as if he were a sponge, causing him to double over. He howled until he was breathless.
Through it all, he was aware of Zinnia studying him with deep interest.
Eventually he managed to catch his breath. When the unfamiliar laughter finally exhausted itself, he sprawled on his back on the blanket.
“You are so damn unpredictable,” he said.
She hugged her knees. “Is that a bad thing?”
“I don’t know. I used to think so, but now I’m not so sure.” He reached for her and pulled her down across his chest. The skirts of her sunrise-red dress flowed around him.
The last of his laughter was consumed by the flashfire of need that swept through him. Something else evaporated with it. Something important. He worried briefly that it was the sense of control that he had told himself he must maintain at all costs. But for some obscure reason it no longer seemed quite so important.
He cradled her head between his hands and kissed her with the same fierce energy that he had channeled into his psychic talent moments earlier.
She responded with a sweet passion that took his breath. Excitement slammed through the matrix, igniting all of his senses.
There was no time for the slow erotic loveplay that he had fantasized about all day.
“I need to be inside you,” he said against her soft mouth.
“That sounds … interesting.” She fumbled with the fastenings of his shirt.
He groaned when he felt her fingers on his bare chest. “Zinnia.”
“You feel so good.” She dipped her head and brushed her mouth across his bare skin.
He smiled when he saw that her hands were trembling. He buried his face in her hair. “You smell good.”
She shifted slightly. The soft firm weight of her thigh settled against his erection. He could tell it was an unintentional move. She had no idea of the impact it had on him.
He thought he would lose it all then, but he managed to hold himself together. He opened the front of her dress and found her breasts. Her nipples budded, firm and proud, against his palms. He heard her sharp intake of breath and a soft half-strangled cry. Her fingers suddenly sank deep into his shoulders. Although they were linked, he could have sworn that iceworks lit up the metaphysical plane.
He surged upward and tumbled her gently onto her back.
“Nick.”
His hands shook as he pushed the skirts of her dress up to her waist. He reached between her thighs and discovered that her panties were already damp. He managed to drag the scrap of delicate fabric down her long legs and free of her ankles. She went very still.
He smiled and bent his head to kiss her throat. She sighed and seemed to relax against him.
He was fascinated to discover that her skin felt as soft as it looked in the golden glow of the candles. The dark triangle of curls glittered with moisture. The scent of her body clouded his mind.
He quickly unbuckled his pants and shoved them downward until he could kick them aside.
Zinnia’s eyes widened at the sight of his aroused body. “I didn’t realize�
��”
’Touch me,” he whispered. He caught her hand and moved it to his rigid penis.
“So strong,” she breathed. Hesitantly she encircled him with her fingers. “Hard and strong.”
He closed his eyes, set his teeth, and held on to the last shreds of his control with sheer willpower. When she moved her palm, tightening her grasp, he shuddered.
“Don’t,” he managed. His voice was ragged. “I won’t last another second if you do that again.”
She released him quickly. “Are you all right?”
He opened his eyes partway and saw that she was genuinely concerned. “Are you kidding? I’m about to disintegrate into a million pieces. I’d rather do it inside you than on the damn blanket.”
“Oh.”
“That’s all you can say? Oh?”
She looked up at him with an uncertainty that he did not understand. Then she smiled tremulously. “What would you like me to say?”
“How about, please make love to me?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Please make love to me, Nick.”
“That’s better. Much better.” He spread her legs widely apart and settled himself between them.
When he glanced down he saw the pink wet folds waiting for him. He stroked the tight swollen nub nestled in the damp curls and felt the shiver that went through her. She was as ready as he was for this.
He could not wait any longer. He parted her, positioned himself, and pushed swiftly into the snug clinging heat of her body.
“Nick.”
He did not need her sharp shocked exclamation to bring him to a stunning realization of the truth. But by then it was much too late. He was lodged tightly inside her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was little more than a hoarse croak.
“The subject did not come up,” she said through gritted teeth. “Unlike something else around here.” She drew a deep breath. A shiver went through her. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”
He did not dare to move. He could feel the perspiration on his back. His shoulders were slick with it. “Damn it, you should have told me.”
Zinnia Page 16
