by Jayne Castle
“Who?”
He waited.
Comprehension finally struck. She straightened abruptly behind the counter, eyes huge with shock.
“Me?” she squeaked.
“Look at it from the point of view of the killer. Everyone knows there’s been no luck rezzing those stones in the lab. Everyone thinks that you are the only talent around who can access the energy of those rocks, and everyone is aware that you have refused to cooperate in the research we’ve tried to conduct on them. Last but not least, everyone knows that you’ve been waging a one-woman vendetta against me and Amber Inc. That adds up to a lot of motive.”
She looked as if she had just been kicked in the stomach.
“That’s why you came back,” she whispered. “You think I stole that artifact and murdered the technician.”
“You know damn well that’s not true.” Fury and outrage twisted through him. He got up off the stool and circled the counter.
The sudden elevation of tension in the room must have alarmed Vincent. His fur sleeked back. His second set of eyes opened.
“Great,” Cruz said. “Now I’m going to have to deal with an irate dust bunny. So much for the Sweetwater luck.”
“Do you think I hired those two goons to kill you tonight, as well?” Lyra demanded.
“No.” He closed the distance between them. “I came back to protect you.”
“Right. You’re from Amber Inc., and you’re here to help me. And if I believe that, you’ve got a really nice amber mine treasure map you can sell me.”
“I tried to avoid dragging you into this thing, but yesterday when that crew got trapped in the ruin, I knew that was no longer an option. Whoever is trying to set you up to take the fall is going to keep pushing in that direction until I get the point. The only thing I can do now is to make it look as if I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re the most likely suspect.”
“So you take me out for dinner?” Her voice rose with outrage. “Try to seduce me? That’s supposed to convince the killer that you think I’m guilty?”
“Why not?” he said through his teeth. “It’s what I did the first time around when I wanted to get the location of that ruin out of you. Remember?”
“How could I possibly forget? You are a deceitful, ruthless, cold-blooded son of a bitch, Cruz Sweetwater.”
“Sometimes. But not tonight. Everything I’m telling you tonight is the truth. Including this.”
He pulled her close and kissed her hard, willing her to sense the full force of the hot storm ripping through him, willing her to acknowledge the psychic bond between them, willing her to trust him. She had to trust him now, because her life depended on it.
For the first time in their relationship he held nothing back. There was no longer any reason to bank the fires of his need. He set free the prowling hunger and the aching, haunting, all-consuming desire that he had kept on a mag-steel leash for the past three months.
Heat and energy flared in the atmosphere around them as passion infused their auras. She planted her hands on his shoulders and wrenched her mouth away from his.
“Damn it,” she gasped. “I do trust you. I’m pissed as hell, but I trust you. I must be an idiot.”
“No,” he said. “You feel it, too.”
“Feel what?”
“The psychic link between us. It’s not going to go away, Lyra. Take my word for it. I’m not going to go away. Not this time.”
He trapped her against the counter and kissed her again. She shivered, and then, in the next instant, she came alive in his arms, hotter than ghost light. She kissed him back with a feminine ferocity that took his breath. They fought each other for the embrace. He finally managed to pin her against the counter. Breathing hard, he yanked open the robe. She was wearing a pair of black silk panties and a black silk bra but nothing else. The scent of her body was intoxicating.
He grasped her thighs and wrapped them around his waist. She clung to him, kissing his throat wildly. The delicate charms of her bracelet clashed sweetly, seductively, just as they had in his dreams.
“It’s because of what happened earlier,” she gasped.
“What are you talking about?” he growled against her breast.
“I’ve read about it. The aftereffects of adrenaline and violence and using a lot of psi energy. It makes people want to have sex. Something to do with hormones and stuff. Survival instinct.”
“Do me a favor and shut up,” he said very softly.
“Okay.”
He picked her up and carried her around the kitchen counter, heading for the bedroom. He spared a single glance for Vincent. The dust bunny was fully fluffed once more, munching contentedly on his cookie.
Satisfied that he was not going to have to fend off Vincent, he paused just long enough to de-rez the lights. The loft was plunged into shadows drenched with the luminous emerald glow of the ancient quartz wall.
He angled Lyra through the opening in the sliding screens that veiled the bedroom and dropped her lightly on the bed. She lay there, swathed in the pristine white robe, her dark hair tangled around her face, and looked up at him with half-closed eyes. Her cheeks were flushed. Her mouth was soft and full from his kisses.
He got his shirt off with a few quick, impatient motions and sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. He got rid of the ankle sheath and the knife at the same time and kicked them out of sight under the bed before Lyra could see the weapon. She’d already had enough violence for one night. The last thing he wanted to do now was spoil the mood.
A moment later he was where he had been in his dreams every night since he’d met her: on the bed and on top of Lyra. She twisted sleekly beneath him, warm and vital. Her arms went around his neck. He opened his senses, drugging himself on her scent and her energy.
“You can’t know how many times I’ve thought about how it would be to be here like this with you,” he said against her throat.
She speared her fingers through his hair. “You really missed me, Sweetwater?”
“No.” He framed her face with his hands. “I was obsessed with you.”
She smiled. “I can see where a lawsuit might have that effect on a man.”
“I pay lawyers to deal with lawsuits. Believe me, the legal garbage had nothing to do with it. This was all about you.”
He kissed her heavily, silencing the possibility of any more teasing.
She raised one knee. The robe fell back, exposing the inside of her thigh. He stripped off the silk panties and slid his palm upward along bare skin until he could feel the dampness of her arousal. Three months ago he had never dared touch her so intimately. He had known that if he went this far, he would not be able to resist the temptation to make her his completely. He had told her the truth earlier. He’d sensed that she might forgive a few kisses, but if he had made love to her under false pretenses there would have been hell to pay.
She drew a sharp, unsteady breath when she felt his hand on her. She was already wet and full. He was damp, too, sweating with the effort required to hold himself in check until she had come for him at least once.
He found the tight little bud of nerve endings above her cleft and worked it gently with his thumb, pushing under and then up until she started to lift herself off the bed.
“Cruz.” She clutched at his shoulders.
He hooked two fingers into her and pressed upward again, searching for the sensitive, slightly swollen place just inside.
“You are so hot, so tight,” he whispered. “Incredible.”
She dug her nails into him. “Now. Do it right now.”
He used his thigh to force her legs wider apart.
“Come for me first,” he said.
“Damn it, Cruz. Cruz.”
Her climax blossomed through her. She shuddered in his arms, one leg wrapped around his hips. She cried out, sounding half-astonished and half-euphoric. The energy of her release soared across his senses, nearly shattering his control. But he held on. This wa
s too important. He had to get this right.
When she had just begun to go limp beneath him, he settled more intimately between her legs. Bracing himself on his elbows, he eased carefully inside her. She shivered, and he knew it was because she was very sensitive now.
“Wait,” she whispered. Her hands flattened on his chest. “I think I need a little time here.”
“Don’t worry,” he vowed. “We’ll take it slow. We’ve got all night.”
“You don’t understand,” she gasped. “That has never happened before. Not unless I used a small personal care appliance. But, oh, my, this was different. Really, really different.”
He smiled. “In a good way?”
“A very good way.” She took a few recovering breaths. “But it was a little over-the-top.”
“I’m a Sweetwater. I do over-the-top.”
She was laughing when he pushed gently into her, an inch, no more. She stopped laughing. He withdrew just as slowly. He could tell that she was tensed for possible discomfort. He was determined to give her only pleasure.
Gradually she relaxed, trusting him not to hurt her. After a while she began to tighten around him again.
“Cruz?”
She did not cry out his name in passion this time. She sounded startled. Unnerved.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
When she went taut and desperate beneath him a second time and started to tremble through another climax, he finally released the chains of control that had bound him for what seemed like forever.
He poured himself into her, hard and fast and exultant. His senses were still flung wide, and he knew hers were, too. She bound him tightly to her, her arms and legs snug and possessive around him.
He heard the amethyst charms clashing melodically in the night. A thousand shades of psychic fire burned in the shadows.
Chapter 15
THE FEATURELESS, SOUNDLESS VOID OF THE DREAMSCAPE was terrifying. She had to escape. Instinctively she pushed energy through the charms on her bracelet . . .
The nightmare broke up into fragments.
She came awake on a surge of adrenaline that left her damp and shivering. She sat up quickly, breathless, pulse racing.
The first thing that struck her was that she was alone in the bed. Cruz was gone. Everything inside her went cold.
Vincent drifted across the quilt toward her. He huddled close, making anxious little chittering noises. She picked him up and cuddled him, taking comfort from his furry little frame.
“I’m not alone, am I?” she whispered. “I’ve got you, pal.”
“Are you okay?” Cruz asked from somewhere near the window.
Shocked, she turned her head and saw him silhouetted against the pale green night light spilling through the window. The lines of his sleek, powerful shoulders and back were sharply etched, but his face was hidden in the shadows. Suddenly she was warm again.
Of course he was here, she thought. She would have known if he had left in the middle of the night. She had been so disoriented—so panicked—by the nightmare that she had not been paying attention to her senses.
“Bad dream,” she explained. “I’ve been having them a lot lately.” She hesitated. “But not usually at night. This one was different.”
“You have dreams while you’re awake?” he asked.
She drew a breath and let it out slowly. “More like hallucinations, I’m afraid. I know, I should probably see a para-shrink. I’ve been thinking about it. The thing is, most of the time I feel so damn normal. I can’t bring myself to believe I’m going crazy.”
“You’re not crazy, Lyra.”
“Something’s going on, that’s for sure. I’ve been telling myself that it’s just stress. But after what happened tonight, I have to face the fact that the waking nightmares are getting worse.”
“Tell me about them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and got to her feet. “There’s nothing more boring than listening to someone else’s dreams.”
He came around the foot of the bed, reaching her just as she was pulling on her robe. She saw that he was back in his trousers.
“Getting ready to leave?” she asked, managing somehow to keep the pain out of her voice. “There’s no need to sneak out. I won’t be filing any lawsuits this time.”
“I wasn’t leaving. I was thinking.” He tipped her chin up with one finger. “I’ve discovered that when I’m around you, I think better with my pants on.”
From the beginning he’d had a way of making her feel like the sexiest woman alive. She allowed herself to relax a little.
“That’s an interesting observation,” she said.
“Tell me about the dreams.”
She tried to see his expression more clearly, but in the shadowy room his face was all hard planes and angles.
“You’re serious?” she asked. “You really want to hear about my weird dreams?”
He stroked his thumb along her bottom lip. His eyes were pools of fathomless darkness.
“Yes,” he said. “Start with the one that just woke you up.”
She swallowed uneasily. “That’s the one that was different. Actually, it was more or less a repeat of the hallucination that hit me earlier tonight when those two men attacked us. It was as if my senses had been muffled. I couldn’t see or hear anything. There was no up or down, just this endless thick fog.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “That was me, Lyra. I did that to you.”
“What?”
“You asked me about my talent earlier. Well, that’s part of it. Makes it easier to hunt.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Various kinds of psychic talents have run through the Sweetwater family for generations, most of them related to the senses that happen to be very useful when it comes to hunting.”
“Good grief.”
“Things have taken a few twists for us here on Harmony. We’ve discovered we can use various kinds of amber to enhance our natural talents. I happen to have an affinity for obsidian amber.”
She glanced at his ring. Green fire danced in the depths of the obsidian.
“Black amber,” she whispered. “Most tuners believe that it is only a legend.”
“It’s rare, but it exists. Others in my family work different varieties of amber, but obsidian is the one I resonate with the best. What I’m trying to tell you is that when those two men attacked us tonight, I used my talent to deaden their normal senses: vision, sound, smell, touch, balance. I knocked out everything. Unfortunately, you got caught in the net because you were so close.”
“Okay, that’s weird.”
“There’s no way I can direct the effect toward a specific target. The energy is generated by my aura, and it sweeps out in a field all around me for a radius of about fifteen feet.”
“You’re saying it wasn’t one of my waking nightmares?”
“I’m not sure what you mean by a waking nightmare, but I can guarantee you that you weren’t hallucinating tonight.”
Relief crashed through her, leaving her a little jittery. She sank slowly back down onto the bed, hugging Vincent close.
“That’s it?” she asked, incredulous. “That’s your family’s secret talent?”
“Well, it’s my version of it. Like I said, the men in my family are all hunters of one kind or another, but no two talents are ever identical.”
“But you still need amber to focus your psi, right?”
“No. Our talent has been in the family for generations. There were Sweetwater hunters on the Old World long before the Curtain opened. But here on Harmony, it turns out that certain forms of nonstandard amber can be used to enhance our natural abilities.”
“You say you’re hunters but not ghost hunters?” she asked.
“In the old days they called us para-hunters. We don’t use the term anymore. We think of ourselves as amber talents. Sounds a little more modern, you know?”
She looked at him. “A little less scary, you mean? A tad more politically correct?”
“Yeah, that, too.” He sat down beside her.
“Who called you para-hunters back on Earth?”
He shrugged. “It’s the label that was used to describe people like me in the historical records of the Arcane Society.”
“What in the world is the Arcane Society?”
“An organization that was founded by an alchemist several centuries ago, Old Earth time. Its members were all psychically talented people. The group was devoted to the study of the paranormal. The Society maintained a very low profile back on the home world.”
“Why?”
“The paranormal was never really accepted as normal back on Earth.”
She gripped the lapels of her robe with one hand. “In some ways, it still isn’t. People get nervous around those who have strong or unusual kinds of talents.”
He threaded his fingers through hers. “And that’s why the Society still exists in the shadows.”
“You’re saying this Arcane Society exists here on Harmony?”
“A lot of registered members came through the Curtain, just like everyone else. When it became obvious that something in the environment here on Harmony was encouraging the development of latent psychic talents of all kinds, those in the Society thought things would be better here. But it turns out that being different is still not a good thing.”
“The definition of what is normal may shift but not the pressure to fit the definition.”
His smile held no trace of humor. “That’s even truer when your brand of talent just happens to be really useful for pursuing and taking down a certain kind of prey.”
“What kind would that be?” she asked warily.
“Human.”
She swallowed hard. “I see. Had a feeling you were going to say that. I saw the way you handled those two men tonight.”
“For generations on Earth, my family made a good living working for the Arcane Society and occasionally certain clandestine government agencies.”
