"What makes you think he might be the one?" Cruz asked.
"Vincent didn't take to him, and I must admit there was something about him that bothered me, too."
"Did he make a pass?"
"No, he behaved himself. But he spent a lot of time fussing with the sink in the bathroom and then the one in the kitchen. He was here for quite a while before he decided that there was nothing wrong. And there's something else."
"What?"
"From time to time these past few weeks I've had that creepy feeling you get when you know someone is watching you."
"I'll check out the plumber tomorrow," Cruz said.
"How? I don't know his name or the name of his company."
He smiled faintly. "I run a security business, remember? We find people. I'll call your landlord tomorrow."
Alarm jolted through her. "Promise me that you won't frighten my landlord. I don't want to give Mr. Ashwell an excuse to kick me out. I'm a little behind on the rent."
"You make it sound like I deliberately go around scaring people."
She smiled wryly. "I don't think you realize how scary you can be at times."
He looked at her, his expression hard. "Do I scare you?"
She wrinkled her nose. "No, of course not. I wouldn't have let you through the door the first time if I had been afraid of you. And I certainly wouldn't have let you back into my apartment a second time."
"I'd never hurt you, Lyra."
"I know."
"That's something, at least." He put his unfinished drink down on the coffee table and walked to the wall where he de-rezzed the lights.
A frisson of sensual energy shivered across her senses, stirring her deep inside.
"Cruz?" she whispered, suddenly uncertain.
He did not respond. Instead he came toward her, gliding through the emerald shadows of the room. The psychic energy of passion flared in the atmosphere. Her fingers trembled. Afraid that she might drop her glass, she set it on the nearest end table and forced herself to breathe.
"It could be that what is between us is nothing more than sexual attraction," she reminded him.
"Sex is involved." He stopped in front of her. "And sex is good. It certainly works for me. But when it comes to this kind of energy, you're talking about a lot more than sex. Sweetwaters understand that."
"Because you're into over the top?"
"Right."
He was so close now that she could inhale his scent and feel the heat, not only of his body but also of his aura. Memories of all the sleepless nights she had endured during the last three months came flooding back. The price she would pay if he went away again would be even higher this time, she thought. Because this time she would have to face the bitter knowledge that she had known the risks. There would be no excuses.
"And just how did your family come to be such experts on the subject?" she asked.
"I told you, it's in the talent."
In the psi, she thought.
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a slow, relentless deliberation that burned through all of her hesitation and uncertainty. She could do this, she thought. She was a Dore. She knew how to take risks.
And she could trust Cruz, at least when it came to passion. He had his priorities, and he had an agenda, but when he held her like this, she knew that the intoxicating exhilaration and the incredible sense of intimacy were real for both of them. It was all there in the way the invisible currents of their auras resonated together across the spectrum. She had never experienced this kind of psychic rush with any other man, and she knew that she never would, no matter how long she lived.
She put her arms around him and abandoned herself to the embrace. He deepened the kiss until she parted her lips for him. Then he moved his mouth to her throat. Her head fell back; her eyes squeezed shut against the heady euphoria of his need and her own.
"You take my breath away," he whispered.
"Oh, Cruz."
He picked her up in his arms and carried her toward the bedroom. She heard a faint scurrying sound in the outer room. Vincent, she thought. It occurred to her in a fleeting way that she had left the chest of paints unlocked.
But in the next moment she forgot all about the paint-brushes. Cruz was undressing her, and she was wholly occupied with the task of trying to get him out of his shirt.
In a matter of moments their clothes were relegated to a soft heap on the floor. She thought she saw him kick something out of sight under the bed, but there was no time to question the small action. Cruz fell back across the comforter, taking her with him. She came down on top, astride. The rising tide of her own feminine power made her wild and reckless.
Cruz was fully aroused, hard and rigid. She braced herself for the first thrust. But he used his hand on her instead, stroking her until she was soaking wet and breathless with need and anticipation. When he showed no inclination to finish what he had started, she lost patience.
She grabbed his wrists and pinned them on the bed on either side of his head. His teeth gleamed briefly in a wicked smile.
"Speed isn't what we're going for here," he said.
"Well, in that case, maybe I should slow down."
She lowered herself very, very slowly onto his erection. Cruz laughed a little at first, but soon he was groaning. She rose even more slowly. Soon he was slick with his own sweat, and his breathing was harsh. She could feel him straining to hang on to his control.
"Then again, there are times when there's something to be said for speed," he said, his voice a low, sexy growl.
He freed himself, tumbled her onto her back, and came down between her legs.
She laughed, and then he was back inside her, plunging deep, and laughter gave way to the sounds of hot, urgent need. The fever built swiftly within her. She clutched at his damp shoulders.
The tightness inside her came undone in shivery currents that flooded through her and through her aura.
He followed her over the edge with a hoarse shout of exultant release.
Chapter 22
SOME TIME LATER HE FELT HER STIR BESIDE HIM.
"Where are you going?" he asked without opening his eyes.
"I forgot to lock up Vincent's paints," Lyra said.
He opened one eye and watched her pull on a robe. "You're afraid Vincent is going to get carried away?"
"Painting is just a game to him. Everything's a potential canvas. That's why I keep his brushes padlocked when I'm not around to supervise. One of these days, though, he's going to figure out how to de-rez the lock the same way he discovered how to get the caps off the brushes."
She disappeared through the sliding screens. A moment later a light came on in the kitchen. He heard a horrified wail.
"Vincent. What have you done? Do you realize how hard it's going to be to get all this paint off the floor? If Mr. Ashwell sees this, we'll be sleeping in the alley."
A cupboard door opened.
"I just hope it hasn't had a chance to dry completely," Lyra said. "If that's the case, I may be able to get most of it up with water. If I have to resort to paint remover, it will mean refinishing the floors. Do you know how much that will cost?"
Water ran in the kitchen sink.
Cruz got to his feet and pulled on his trousers. Force of habit made him pause to collect the knife sheath from under the bed and buckle it around his lower leg. Sweetwater men always felt naked when they were unarmed. There was an old saying in the family: talent is great, but never forget the backup.
Lyra was at the sink, speaking sternly to Vincent, who was sitting on the counter.