by Robin Owens
“Nah, I felt your best.” Del looked over her shoulder, eyes merry. She bent over to take care of her boots and clothing and stopped Raz’s breath with the view. His mind went dizzy, but his hands reached for her. She whisked away. “Waterfall for us. Then you might as well stay here for a nap. When do you need to be at the theater?”
His brain wasn’t working. “Calendarsphere,” he said.
“Of course you have one. It’ll get you up? How many septhours ahead of time do you go into the theater before the show?”
“One. Maybe. Meditate.” All he wanted to do was see her bent over like that again, so he could take her again, ease this need again. His sex stirred.
Del had turned around. She took his hand and pulled him to his feet, glanced down, and laughed again. “Something to be said for younger lovers.”
“I’m not that much younger than you.”
She shrugged again.
He caught up with her, put his arm around her waist as they walked to the open door of the waterfall room. “Our age difference doesn’t matter. Get that in your beautiful curly head.”
She glanced up at him. “You like my hair, too?”
With a shift and a slide, she was in his arms. “I find all of you extremely attractive. Body and spirit.”
Her expression was one of surprise. “You have some muscle there.”
“Let me show you my favorite one again.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Sixteen
Del watched Raz nap, nude. She wanted activity. She’d like more sex with Raz, but he needed to sleep for his performance later. If she couldn’t have sex, she’d like a ride out of the city . . . but she wouldn’t leave Raz alone to believe he was abandoned when he awoke and she was gone. Fligger.
If she couldn’t get physical activity, she’d settle for mental. She went into her landscape globe workroom.
Sex—no, making love with Raz had been more wonderful than she’d ever imagined. Better than the erotic dreams they shared. She wanted more, and more often.
HeartMate sex. The thought shivered her nerves. She let out a long breath and set two completed globes on her “done” shelf with ten others, including her HeartGift.
HeartMate and HeartGift, realities of her life.
Raz woke, mind sharp, as always. He knew where he was . . . in Del’s bedchamber. It was dim, with closed curtains, though a shaft of sunlight came from the open sitting room door, showing that it was late in the afternoon, nearly time for him to eat if he wanted a bite before he went on stage.
He considered food or sex and figured if he was lucky he could have both. As he rose and stretched, he scanned the room. The walls were bare, though he thought they might have murals bespelled for a touch.
Experimenting, he went over to a press-point and found himself in a noisy party filled with nobles all dressed formally and elegantly—a hologram projected from all four walls. He was naked and it felt more like a nightmare to him, especially since no one paid any attention to him. Then the late, unlamented FirstFamily lord T’Yew, a stickler for manners, turned to him and said, “I respect your opinion on that, T’Elecampane.” The moment was just too strange—a dead man talking to a dead man. Raz shuddered.
“I see you’re up,” Del said from the doorway, wiping her hands on a softleaf. She watched the mural cycle, shook her head. “My parents valued social connections.” Making a face, she continued, “I’ve got a guy named T’Anise calling to include me in all the rituals of something called the Bloom Noble Circle.” Her shoulders moved as if trying to shift a burden.
Then she glanced at him and stared. His body had reacted to her husky voice.
“Turn off the mural ‘compliment,’ ” she said. The party winked out.
He smiled his lopsided smile, made light of the eerie disturbance that had crawled down his spine. “I don’t usually attend gatherings nude.”
“Or in that condition, I hope.” She smiled and flung the softleaf aside. Stepping from the sitting room—that wasn’t a sitting room from what he could see of a workbench—she began undressing and his mouth went dry.
She stripped with efficient movements. Light summer work tunic side tabs opened with one slip of the fingers, drawstring trous shuffled off. She was barefoot, and to his surprise her toes were tinted the rich red he’d recalled from the first night they’d met. He’d rarely seen her in sandals since, felt through their link that she didn’t like open shoes, and the fact he was seeing her feet now was an additional boost to his lust.
Straif T’Blackthorn might never have seen her feet.
The stray thought was all too male, and from Del’s expression, she’d caught it telepathically. She laughed, shook her head. “No, Straif never saw my feet.” She paused and Raz got the impression of dark, rolling around in a tent, and regretted his stupid digression since she was thinking of another man. He strode to her and picked her up, tossed her on the bed. She spread her arms wide and laughed again, flashing those dimples.
He was beside her the next instant. She’d be open and ready for him, but he denied his lust. He wanted to explore her. So he swallowed hard and ordered the curtains open.
She reacted to that, her nipples tightening. She wouldn’t have often made love in the day, would she have? And that was the last damn time he was thinking about her previous lovers. Now she was here and his.
Del should have felt vulnerable, her body so open for Raz—for his pleasure and her own. She didn’t. She felt powerful, with a buzz under her skin that sensitized it, ready for his touch.
When his fingers feathered on her, the sensation was so wonderful that she arched into his hand, her body demanding more. He touched her everywhere, his blue eyes intent, noting when she reacted, remembering it . . . telling her with fingers and mouth alone that he would please her now and every time they made love by keeping what she liked in his thoughts until his body knew her completely. Then instinct would take over.
She let her mind blur, until she heard their ragged breathing, was only conscious of his hands skimming her, shaping her breasts, sliding between her legs to pleasure her until she moaned with greedy hunger and finally reached out for him.
He grasped her wrists, held them with one hand, and only then did she realize how much larger his hands were. How much smaller her bones were. Her breath hitched with the delight of being overwhelmed, out of control in this loving.
His mouth took hers and he covered her and lay atop her and she felt the heat radiating from him, sinking into her bones until she simmered in passion. All his muscles were hard against her, and a fine tension imbued them. He was building the yearning desire until they both would be frantic for mating.
It wound tight, the heat, the longing, the need. Until she twisted under him, until she could only groan demands, until her teeth found his shoulder and she nipped and he moaned and slid into her and they stormed the heights of ecstasy together and she tumbled off the cliff of passion.
This time she was limp and Raz was revving . . . thinking of food and the performance before him. She smiled at the change in their energy. He scooped her up and took her to the waterfall and they played again. She thought it odd that he wanted to carry her around—she wasn’t a small woman—but found it unexpectedly delightful.
He left the waterfall before she did, and when she walked back into her bedroom, he was nowhere to be seen. Her heart jumped in her chest at the thought of abandonment before she heard a rustling from the workroom.
When she turned, he was at the threshold, wearing only a towel around his waist. Looking great. “I couldn’t resist your work, Del. Fabulous.”
She joined him at the door. “Not much to see.”
“The creative process, which is fascinating, like you.” He kissed her.
“Would you like one?” Her pulse thumped hard throughout her body. Her HeartGift was arranged with the others. She’d put it there for contrast, since she’d made it, as usual, when she was seventeen during her second Passage to free
her psi power, Flair.
Raz knew about HeartGifts, hadn’t she overheard him speak of them with his previous lover? Would he recognize it?
The globe was shielded with spells—if it wasn’t it would be emitting such sexuality that she would feel nothing else—and when she and Raz were in the vicinity, they’d do nothing but make love.
She’d also put a security spell on it that only she and he—her HeartMate—would see it clearly.
“I’d love a landscape globe!” His smile went brilliant, lighting his eyes.
Her chest tightened. Were there formal words involved in giving a HeartGift? If there were, she didn’t know them. She waved her hand. “Take your pick.” After a long steadying breath in, she said deliberately, “A gift from me to you.”
Seventeen
He strolled in to study the shelves. “You do exquisite work.” He glanced back at her. “Like most of the people who buy them, I don’t know my perfect home. My ideal setting.” He shook his head. “Not my parents’ estate, T’Cherry Residence, no matter that they want all their Family close. Not my current apartment.” He slanted her a look. “Have you heard of the Turquoise House, the house becoming a Residence?”
“I think so.”
Pride filled his tones. “I did the voice for that house, even considered someday moving there.” He laughed. “But I’m not so egotistical that I would enjoy living with my own voice every day.” Again he shook his head. “I don’t know where I really belong . . . except on stage, but that isn’t truly a home. A theater is always shared, with cast and crew and audience. Even with the shades and vibrations of those who worked there in the past, and a slight anticipatory sense of those who will follow in the future.” He sighed. “A home of sorts, but not the home.”
“Um-hmm,” Del said. She tried to keep her face pleasant as he stopped in front of her HeartGift.
It was larger than most of the ones she made now and set on a pretty, polished reddwood ring. Rounder, easier to see. Good stuff inside. She could barely breathe, barely hear over the rushing of blood in her head as he reached for it.
She was giving Raz her HeartGift. If he accepted it, held on to it long enough to allow his ideal home to form, she could claim him as hers. Legally. In the eyes of the entire world. She dragged in a breath.
He cradled the glass globe, stared at the bits swirling around. “Wonderful.”
Glancing sideways at her, he shook it.
“It won’t break.” Her voice was tight. The HeartGift reflected her essence, was imbued with it. That globe would be the sturdiest she’d ever make.
He shifted his fingers until one hand was under the base and the other trailed over the glass. Then he shook his head, his expression dreamy. “A lot of very interesting items you have in here. I can’t imagine how they will become a model of my perfect home.”
“Flair,” she forced out. A model. She blinked. She’d never thought of her globes that way. She thought of them as base and glass and tiny found objects and various liquids imbued with her creative Flair. She cleared her throat. “My Flair interacting with yours. Unique.”
“Oh, yes.” He raised his brows and his eyes were wickedly intent. “We are definitely unique when we interact.”
Her turn to flush. “Yes. We are.”
“I’ll take this one.” He shook his head and scanned the others. “If I were less greedy, I’d choose a smaller one. But this one calls to me.”
Whew. He’d seen it, he’d picked it out, the HeartGift was his! “That’s how it’s supposed to happen,” she said, then made a deprecating gesture and smile. “I’d given a few to a store in Steep Springs on commission and none of them sold.” She hadn’t meant to ever tell that to anyone. Hadn’t realized how much the idea still hurt.
“Obviously the people of Steep Springs have no taste,” he said with a noble hauteur.
“Thank you.”
He shook his head again and smiled down at the globe, tilted it right and left. “This is the most amazing thing.”
“I’m glad you like it.” She turned back into the bedroom and headed for the closet.
They dressed—Del in her most comfortable and casually elegant masculine-cut clothes—and ate a light dinner. She sensed that he expected her to come with him to the theater and watch his show again. She was amenable. When she was on the trail, she watched the same holos over time and again. Since she knew the story so well, maybe she’d examine how the actors played it. Always interesting to see masters at work.
When she’d first seen the show, she’d noticed how Lily and Raz had interacted but hadn’t quite been able to separate what was real and what was show between them. Through her link with Raz, she’d sensed he had respect for Lily but wasn’t attracted to her . . . or wasn’t attracted now. She didn’t think they’d ever been lovers. She chuckled.
“What?” asked Raz, spooning up another bite of clucker in cream sauce.
“Just that it seems my jealousy has kicked in for you . . . I don’t think you and Lily Fescue were ever lovers?”
“Jealousy is a terrible emotion, but a little . . . desire for exclusivity . . . is good. I didn’t like meeting T’Blackthorn in this house.”
“Hmmm.” She drank a sip of wine.
“I didn’t like it at all, but I liked that he went home and I stayed here.” He smiled. “Made me feel like I was a victor. As for Lily, no, we were never lovers.” His exhalation was quiet. “I don’t like to speak ill of my colleagues . . .”
“. . . But I am your lover.”
He nodded. “But you are my lover, and Lily is . . . not always of a positive disposition.”
Del wondered what he meant by that, but just shrugged. “What do you think of the villain of your play, Rieng Galangal?”
“I think it’s good for my career that he likes playing villains.”
They put the tableware in the cleanser. “You’re more handsome than he and have more charisma,” Del said.
Raz’s glance was considering. “Thank you. He has great craft and presence. I think he should broaden his range.” He smiled and it was more sincere. “But I’m glad he hasn’t.” He glanced around. “Where’s Shunuk?”
“He is scouting around fox dens for a kit for your father.”
“Ah. What will we owe him?”
“FoxFams aren’t like cats. Sometimes they are generous for their own satisfaction.”
Raz laughed and his fingers sifted through her hair. “I thank you for the gift again, and we were very generous for our shared satisfaction today.” He bent down and kissed her until her mouth warmed and her body went liquid. “You’re an excellent lover, Del. Now come watch me work.”
“A pleasure,” she murmured.
The performance was the best Raz remembered. His Family was there, parents and his sister and her HeartMate. They were enjoying the play, though they’d seen it before. He got the idea through their Family link that they were taking their minds off the fire at the yard.
Del was there—and now he had cautiously deduced the show was so good because of the energy cycling between them. Why hadn’t he heard of this phenomena before? Lovers in the house could boost you. It should have been common knowledge, but apparently it wasn’t.
Anyway, he had charisma going on, the other actors responded, and the whole theater shook with the standing ovation. Raz was particularly pleased because a holo spell had been recording the show for a viz. It should sell well.
When he and the villain and Lily linked hands, the other two stared at him.
“Lady and Lord, what did you do, Raz?” Lily asked, keeping her brows up though he thought she wanted to frown.
“Took a new lover,” he said smugly, basking in the applause, bowing left, right.
As soon as he entered his dressing room after his last—record—bow, he was informed that a guardsman wanted to see him as soon as he changed and that the secondary lounge was reserved for him and Del, and his family.
T’Spindle and Winterberry, t
he guardsman assigned to the FirstFamilies, were there. The guard made it plain that all the incidents of vandalism were connected to Raz and the Cherrys and now the investigation was very official. T’Cherry—and Raz—were asked to leave any investigation in the hands of experts.
His Family went home to the securely shielded Residence and Raz wrapped an arm around Del’s waist, looked down into her eyes. “Will you spend the night with me?”
Her quiet breath out was less than a sigh. “I would love to.” She smiled and he had to kiss her, a tender kiss, one that only had the seed of passion. “I’d love to see your apartment.”
He smiled. She wouldn’t care about how he’d decorated, whether it was a good setting for him. She’d be interested in what he had there—the things he kept around him that showed her who he was. Fine with him.
“What of your house?”
She shrugged. “It will be fine.”
She was obviously not attached to her home, and Raz wondered how that might feel. He’d taken care with his living space, so it would be comfortable, as well as where he could entertain—friends . . . his agent . . . he wouldn’t be ashamed to invite T’Spindle there. Raz took his settings seriously. He got the impression that Del took her settings seriously when she was measuring them . . . or it was an exterior instead of an interior.
He wanted to show her his apartment and share himself with her more than he expected. More than he’d wanted to share with other lovers in a long time. “I need my keys from my dressing room.”
This time she took his hand and linked fingers, and he knew that was progress. As they walked down the dim hallways shrouded with shadows, she said, “Guardsman Winterberry didn’t question you as closely as I thought he would. Did you get the idea that he wasn’t telling everything he knew?”
Raz’s mind was jerked from romance and the image of Del on his cream-colored sheets back to mystery and the enigmatic guard. “Yes,” he said. He wasn’t sure whether his Family had picked up on that. “But I don’t tell everything I know to T’Spindle, either. Do you tell everything you should to the FirstFamilies?”
