Midnight Jewels

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  The truth glowed between them. Two minds and two realities shimmered, blurred and finally meshed for a dazzling instant of time.

  And then the moment of realization was past, locked forever in their hearts and minds.

  “There are, naturally, one or two details to be ironed out,” Croft said musingly.

  Mercy was still feeling slightly dazed by the experience she had just been through. “Details?”

  “I understand that you can’t move to Oregon. You have to be near your business. That means I’ll have to move to Ignatius Cove. That’s no problem. I can run my business from anywhere along the coast. But we’ll have to find a bigger place closer to the water. There are going to be three dogs, I’m afraid. I’ve got another one at home. A neighbor looks after him when I’m gone. They’ll all need room to run and so do I.”

  “Well, Ι expect we’ll be able to find something larger than my apartment.” Mercy was feeling very agreeable at the moment.

  “I will require a meditation room in our new home, a place that’s used for nothing else except contemplation. I’ll teach you how to meditate properly. I’ll also have to instruct you in the proper selection of tea. I can’t be expected to exist on tea bags for the rest of my days. And you’ll need painting lessons.”

  “Anything else?” Mercy asked sweetly.

  “We’ll probably have to get rid of your television,” Croft said, thinking. “I dislike TV I find the flickering screen disturbing, not to mention the junk that’s on the flickering screen. And then there’s the matter of your taste in interior design. Ι realize you like bright colors, but with a little instruction, I think you can be made to appreciate the subtle nuances of more refined shades.”

  Mercy eyed him dangerously. “Is that the end of the list of your, er, requirements?”

  “There are probably some other things that will come to mind. I’ll jot them down as I think of them.”

  “Wonderful. Tell me, what am Ι going to get out of this relationship?”

  He smiled complacently. “You’ll be getting a man who will be able to help you control that streak of recklessness in you. A man who will always know what’s best for you and who will see to it that you get what you need, even if it’s not always quite what you want. You will also be getting a dedicated sex slave who will be devoted to your personal pleasure. What more could a woman ask?”

  That did it. Croft’s newfound ability to tease her was getting out of hand. Mercy launched herself at him, pushing him backward onto the carpet. He went down easily, his eyes full of wicked laughter. She pinned his arms on either side of his head while she straddled his chest.

  “That’s enough out of you, sex slave.”

  “Are you going to assault me again?”

  “Darn right, I am.”

  “Good. Then I suggest we get into a more comfortable position.” He moved without any warning, rolling over and pinning her beneath him.

  “Croft!” she sputtered, torn between laughter and mock outrage. “Let me up. You’re mashing me.”

  “You’re right. This position might be more comfortable for me, but I can see where it could be a little wearing on your sweet tail. This carpet isn’t very thick, is it?” He got to his feet, taking her with him.

  The room whirled briefly around Mercy and she clung to Croft to steady herself. When everything settled back down she found herself lying flat on the rumpled bed. Croft was already unfastening his jeans. When he stepped out of them she could see that he was fully aroused. The heavy weight of his manhood throbbed with anticipation. He shuddered as he came down beside her and gathered her into his arms. The teasing light vanished from his eyes and was replaced by a far more intense expression.

  “I always seem to need you so much,” he said in a harsh wonder.

  “I think I’m losing the initiative in this assault,” Mercy whispered. She felt him, hard and impatient against her thigh.

  “That’s all right,” he assured her thickly as he lowered his mouth to her breast. He kissed the budding crest with gentle adoration and then raised his head again. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  “I had a feeling you would,” she whispered dreamily. She put her arms around him, stroking the sleek, muscled contours of his back. “Croft, I love you so much.”

  “I know,” he said, his eyes turning to molten gold. “I can sense it and see it every time I look at you or touch you. You can’t begin to guess how good it feels to know you’re there for me. It’s like nothing else I’ve ever known.”

  “I can imagine exactly how it feels because I know you’re there for me. A very unique feeling, isn’t it.”

  “An incredible feeling.” He buried his face against her throat with a soft groan of desire. Mercy shivered delicately as he drew his palm down between her breasts and over the small curve of her stomach. When he stroked lower she murmured his name softly and lifted herself against his hand. Her hand slipped down to his thigh and she sank her fingers into his hard, muscled buttock.

  “Sweetheart.”

  “Oh, Croft.” She trembled again when his touch became more intimate. His fingers probed with exquisite care, finding all the secret, hidden places and making them tingle with need. He touched her until she was wet and warm and aching with her need.

  He stroked and caressed until Mercy was twisting in his arms. She touched him just as intimately, holding the heavy heat of him in her palm. When he said her name against her skin and urged her legs apart with his ankle, she clung to him.

  “Take me inside you,” Croft said in a hot whisper. “I need your warmth. I need to feel you all around me. Silky and smooth and strong. It feels so damn good when I’m inside you, honey.”

  She parted her thighs for him, pulling him to her with an urgency that matched his own. Carefully, fumbling a little, she guided him to her. He groaned and then he was there, seeking the intimate connection with her body. As always she reacted primitively to his bold, aggressive hardness. It was almost as if her body sought first to challenge and then to welcome and conquer the invader.

  For an instant the delicate muscles at the opening of Mercy’s soft, feminine sheath tightened in resistance. Croft pushed himself slowly forward, insisting on his right to enter and then, before the resistance could intensify, he withdrew. Her hips lifted immediately in a frantic attempt to retrieve what had been lost. Croft repeated the slow entry, opening the entrance more thoroughly until Mercy cried out at the deliciously exciting sensation. Then he once again withdrew.

  The sensual teasing drove Mercy wild. She clutched at Croft, struggling to hold him to her. “Now,” she gasped, her teeth at work on his ear. “I need you now.”

  “You couldn’t need me as much as I need you.”

  Then he was driving slowly and completely into her and she was welcoming him, stretching to encompass him, closing around him, clinging to him. He was locked within her and he held her imprisoned in his arms.

  The fierce, driving passion took them to a shatteringly intense climax that seemed to last for endless moments before leaving them adrift in a buoyant sea. Together they floated in each other’s embrace as love and morning sunlight warmed them.

  It was a long time before Mercy stirred and lifted herself on one elbow to smile down into Croft’s eyes. “I think I know what you mean about closing the Circle.”

  “Do you?” He lifted his fingers to toy with her hair.

  “We’re a closed Circle, you and I, aren’t we?”

  “Yes,” he said. He pulled her back down into his arms. “You know something? You might make a better student of philosophy than Ι would have guessed.”

  “I’ve been taking lessons from an expert.”

  “How good are you at walking dogs?”

  A Doberman in the corner whined in anticipation as if he had understood Croft’s question.

  Two months after
their return from Colorado, Mercy stood on a short ladder between two towering aisles of used books and waved a feather duster over the tops of the books. A bookseller’s work was never done.

  As she worked she mentally planned the evening ahead. Croft would be returning soon from the two-day visit to one of his schools in California. She wanted to have something special for him. Something besides the scandalously tiny set of see-through baby doll pajamas she had bought the previous month for their honeymoon.

  Fresh shrimp might be nice. With a Caesar salad, perhaps. And a bottle of Chardonnay.

  The plans for dinner were falling into place nicely when Mercy sensed she was no longer alone in the shop. The bell over the door hadn’t rung, but her feather duster stilled on top of the shelf of books. Mercy smiled to herself.

  Croft was back.

  She turned her head and there he was, standing at the end of the aisle. Dark and lean and potentially dangerous, but never a threat to her. As usual, he had materialized without a sound, but she knew he was very, very real. He held a package in his hand.

  “Croft! I wasn’t expecting you for another couple of hours.”

  He smiled and opened his arms as she clambered down off the ladder and raced toward him with a smile of eager welcome. “I got away early:” He kissed her thoroughly before pushing the package into her hands. “Here. This is for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “A gift from Ray Chandler.”

  “Chandler?” She wrinkled her nose as memory returned. “Oh, yes, your friend. The man whose daughter you rescued from that island. How did you happen to see him?”

  “I told you he worked for the government. Not being on overly familiar terms with the various and assorted government authorities, except for Ray, I decided to send him that strip of microfilm you found in Valley.”

  “I wondered what you’d done with it.” Mercy was busily unwrapping her package. “But why would he send me a gift? He doesn’t know me.”

  “No, but he’s grateful for the gift you gave him.”

  “The film?” Mercy looked up. “What was on it?”

  “A list of names. Some of them were powerful drug merchants with whom Gladstone did business in his earlier incarnation as Graves. The rest were the names of some interesting users.”

  “Users?”

  “Very highly placed people in this country who apparently have a drug habit. It was more than just a list of names. It contained a variety of incriminating evidence against his business associates and the important buyers. Apparently Gladstone had developed the information while he was still known as Egan Graves and kept it as both an insurance policy and a potential source of blackmail. Most of the people on that slip of film are very powerful and virtually untouchable. But the information about them that Gladstone put together might make it possible for the various governmental authorities to identify and neutralize at least some of them.”

  “Gladstone was trying to rebuild his kingdom.”

  Croft nodded. “Having that list back would have given him a quick boost up to the status he had once enjoyed.”

  Mercy finished unwrapping the package. When the nearly perfect first edition copy of Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management appeared, she laughed aloud. “An appropriate wedding gift for the bride.”

  Croft frowned. “It’s not exactly my field of interest, but I was told it was rare. Something that would attract a lot of interest in a catalog.”

  “Oh, it definitely will,” Mercy said quickly, examining the title page. “It’s a first edition, 1861, and it’s still in its original cloth binding. Fine condition, too. It’s a lovely item. I can’t wait to thank your friend Mr. Chandler.”

  Croft relaxed, smiling indulgently. “He asked how he could thank you and I told him to find you a book you could use to restart your short-lived career as an antiquarian book dealer.”

  Mercy laughed. “Mr. Chandler must have some interesting resources available to him.”

  “He does.” Croft glanced at his watch. “Ready to go home?”

  “I’m ready. We’ll have to stop at the store on the way I want to pick up some fresh shrimp and we need more dog food.”

  He nodded. “Sounds fine. But then, everything sounds fine around you. Let’s go.”

  “Here, you can lock up.” Mercy clutched her new treasure carefully and handed him the keys to the shop. Then she retrieved her purse from behind the counter, opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk to wait for him. The bell tinkled cheerily as the door closed behind her.

  Croft looked at her through the glass as he finished checking the back door locks. He still couldn’t get over the fact that she was his wife. It sent a wave of elation through him that couldn’t be equaled by any other kind of knowledge.

  When he finished checking the back door, he opened the front door and walked outside to join Mercy.

  As usual, when Croft entered or exited the shop, the bell overhead didn’t make a sound.

  Croft turned back with a frown. Some old habits were hard to break. “Just a minute, Mercy.”

  He unlocked the door, went back inside the shop, closed the door and smiled at Mercy through the glass. Then he reopened the door and stepped outside again.

  This time he made sure the bell chimed loudly.

  “You don’t have to prove anything to me, you know,” Mercy told him with loving laughter in her eyes. “I never did believe you were a ghost. Just a little hard to pin down at times.”

  Croft grinned at her and threw an arm around her shoulders to pull her close to his side. Then the grin became a roar of full, masculine laughter that filled the street and Mercy’s heart.

  THE END

  Excerpt from SHIELD’S LADY by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Chapter

  1

  THE unconscious man stirred slightly and groaned. He did not open his eyes and therefore was unable to appreciate the flamboyant luxury that surrounded him.

  He lay on the polished marble floor of an ornately appointed room. A high, heavily embossed ceiling arched overhead. The golden glow of the vapor lamps filtered through intricately beveled glass fixtures. A long, narrow table of polished black stone dominated the small chamber. The table was curved, forming a semicircle.

  Five people sat around the table. Two of them, the older man and woman, were obviously the matriarch and patriarch of the clan. The other two, a handsome young man and an equally attractive young woman, were clearly sister and brother. The distinctive combination of silvery blond hair and night-dark eyes that marked the father also characterized his offspring. The mother was also blond and dark-eyed, although her coloring came from a different set of genes. None of the four could be described as petite. The Avylyns were a tall, well-built clan, the men broad-shouldered and the women full-bodied.

  The fifth person present was another young woman. She was quite slender and far more delicately built than the others; she also lacked their regal height, much to her private disgust. There were times when she would have found the sheer presence that being tall and statuesque conveyed very useful. She had however, found ways to compensate.

  Her neatly arranged brown-gold hair and wide, hazel eyes also set her apart. But even if her looks and coloring had not been radically different, her attire would have made it clear she was not a member of the Avylyn Clan.

  Sariana Dayne was discreetly dressed in a conservative, dark green outfit that featured a strictly tailored jacket and a simple, flared skirt that ended just above her ankles. The snug little jacket emphasized her slenderness and its crisp, high collar framed her throat. Beneath the hem of the skirt dark stockings and low-heeled slippers of soft leather were visible. She wore no jewelry.

  The other two women at the table were wearing modishly cut, low-necked gowns in vivid gemstone hues with billowing sleeves and full skirts draped over large bustl
es. Their high-heeled slippers were made of heavily embroidered satin and their hair was arranged in towering confections of cascading curls.

  The women’s jewelry was magnificent. The Avylyns were, after all, a clan of jewelers. Fragile links of gold set with colorful stones were entwined in their hair. Several pairs of earrings vied for space on each pair of earlobes. The Avylyn women had their ears pierced in so many places Sariana had often thought it remarkable that there was any skin left there at all. Their ample bosoms were adorned with wide collars fashioned of gold and silver and two kinds of rare quartz. They had rings on almost every finger.

  The men were equally gaudy in appearance. They wore brightly colored doublets, scarlet tights and shirts with enough fabric in the slashed sleeves to sail a ship. They wore nearly as many jewels as the Avylyn women.

  Sariana had noticed lately that Bryer, the handsome eldest son, had adopted the new fashion of wearing a vividly decorated codpiece. He had one on tonight. The truth was, she probably couldn’t have failed to notice it if she’d tried. Codpieces were not easily overlooked, especially ones set with semiprecious stones.

  The Avylyns had flair, Sariana observed once again with secret amusement. There was not a dull one in the bunch.

  The members of the Avylyn Clan tended toward the dramatic in their choice of clothing just as they did in everything else. After a year of living in the household, Sariana was accustomed to her employers’ dazzling attire and volatile ways. She had even grown quite fond of them, much to her surprise. They could be exasperating but they were also rather fascinating, just like everything else here in the western provinces.

  The man on the floor groaned again, interrupting Sariana’s thoughts. One booted foot shifted slightly on the marble.

  “Excellent,” Sariana said as she looked down at the man sprawled on the floor. “We’re in luck. He’s not dead.” She kept her voice light and cheerful, trying not to show the relief she felt. Never let the client know you were nervous was one of her mottoes. She sent up a silent thank you to whatever unseen forces looked out for business consultants. At least she wasn’t going to have to worry about explaining a dead man to the authorities. Her palms were still damp from the anxiety she had been hiding.