"Cruz." She closed her eyes against the surging energy. She could barely stand.
He rose, picked her up, and settled her on the bed. She opened her eyes and watched, enthralled, as he unbuckled his belt and stripped off his clothing and the knife sheath with a resolute efficiency and speed that spoke volumes about his own level of arousal.
And then he was on the bed with her, his rigid erection pressed against her hip, his lips on her breast.
"Trust me," he whispered against her throat. "We're meant for each other."
At least for tonight, she thought. And maybe tomorrow night, maybe for a week, a month. Who knew? She refused to look any further into the future.
She moved her hand down his hard, lean body, savoring the tautness of muscle and skin. He shuddered when she wrapped her fingers around him and stroked gently. She sensed his aura flaring, hot and dark with desire. For me, she thought. Of that much she could be certain. Tonight Cruz wanted her as badly as she wanted him.
The heat flaring between them was so intense that it left a sheen of perspiration on their bodies and dampened the sheets. When Cruz finally moved on top of her, looming over her in the darkness, gathering her close, all of her senses were thrilled. And then he was pushing slowly, heavily into her, stretching her, filling her, joining with her in ways that swept far beyond the physical.
This was so much more than sex. The shatteringly intense intimacy stole her breath. Nothing had changed since he had left three months ago. She loved this man. She would love him all of her life, regardless of what happened between them tomorrow or next week.
"Tell me that you know that what we have together is real," he whispered against her throat. "Give me that much tonight."
"This is real," she said.
It was the truth. She knew he must have sensed it in her aura. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of his ring. Green fire glowed in the depths of the black amber.
Moments later her release flashed through her in small shock waves. Her climax triggered his own. He followed her into the glorious aurora.
Chapter 38
LYRA CAME AWAKE TO THE SOUND OF CHIMES. IT TOOK her a moment to identify the source of the irritating noise.
"I think someone's at the door," she mumbled into the pillow.
"Good guess," Cruz said.
His voice came from across the bedroom, not the other pillow. She opened her eyes and saw him standing at the foot of the bed. He had his trousers on and was in the process of buckling his belt. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table.
"It's not even seven o'clock," she said. "Who in the world can it be at this hour?"
The doorbell chimed again and again.
"Whoever he is, he isn't going to go away quietly," Cruz said. He shrugged into his shirt. "I'll take care of it."
He went out into the main room. Alarm jolted through her. She leaped from the bed, grabbed her robe, and hurried after him.
"Wait," she hissed. "It could be some bill collector's goon. Did I mention I'm a little behind on the rent and a few other things?"
"I'll take care of it."
Cruz did not slow down. He kept going toward the door. Vincent was already there doing his happy dance and chortling a greeting. Lyra relaxed. Whoever was out in the hall was a friend.
Cruz opened the door. It took Lyra a few seconds to recognize the woman on the other side. Nancy's eyes were concealed behind oversized dark glasses. It promised to be another warm day, but she was wearing a heavy winter coat. The hood was pulled up around her face. She clutched a newspaper in one hand.
"About time," Nancy muttered. She glanced anxiously back down the stairs and rushed into the loft. "Close the door. Quick. I parked in the alley. I don't think anyone saw me on the street, but sooner or later they'll find this place."
"What's wrong?" Lyra asked. "Are you all right?"
"No, I'm not all right. I'm freaked out of my mind. You should be, too. We've got to get out of town. Throw some things into a suitcase, grab Vincent, and let's go. We can hide out at my parents' house on the lake."
"Take it easy," Cruz said. He closed the door with an air of great calm and went toward the kitchen. "How about some coffee first?"
"We don't have time for coffee," Nancy said. She jerked off her sunglasses and pushed back her hood. "Haven't you two seen the morning papers?"
"Not yet," Lyra said. "Why?"
"This is why." Nancy held up the copy of the Herald, displaying the front page.
Lyra stared with mounting horror at the photographs positioned just below the fold. The first was a picture of Vincent, clearly identifiable by his red beret. He was sitting on the kitchen counter, a cookie in one hand, a paintbrush in the other. The second photo was of one of the three paintings that had been auctioned off the night before.
The headline read, "Art Scam at Local Gallery?"
"Oh, my Lord," Lyra whispered. She yanked the newspaper out of Nancy's hands. "The plumber. I knew there was something off with that guy. The son of a bitch was a spy. That critic at the Frequency Herald must have hired him to watch your gallery. He probably saw me bringing Vincent's paintings in through the back door. Later he hired someone to pose as a plumber to get into my loft."
"I knew that critic was determined to find out the identity of Chimera," Nancy said, "but who would think that he would stoop to this? And how did he figure out that Vincent was the artist and not you?"
Lyra sighed. "Vincent was playing with his paints the day the plumber arrived. In fact, he was working on one of the paintings we sold last night."
"We're doomed," Nancy said darkly. "Get your things."
"I keep a pack ready," Lyra said. "Give me a few minutes to shower and get into some clothes."
"I strongly suggest coffee and breakfast before you two hightail it out of town," Cruz said from the kitchen. "You'll need the energy."
Nancy glared at him. "You don't understand. When Mr. Anonymous picks up the morning paper and finds out he bought six paintings that were done by a dust bunny, he's going to raise holy heck. We can't even refund all of his money. We spent what we got for the first three. Whatever happens, the reputation of the Halifax Gallery will be in ruins."
Lyra paused in the bedroom entrance. "And so will the reputation of Dore Tuning & Consulting. You know what people say about small-time tuners like me. A lot of folks think we're low level scam artists even on a good day. When it gets out that I was involved in this fiasco, I might as well close my doors for good."
Cruz set a large frying pan on the stove. "Wait until you taste my scrambled eggs. I don't do a lot of things in the kitchen, but I'm good with scrambled eggs."
Lyra narrowed her eyes. "You don't seem to grasp the gravity of the situation, Cruz."
"Probably because the situation is not grave." Cruz opened the refrigerator door. "Mr. Anonymous is satisfied with his paintings. He won't be suing the Halifax Gallery or anyone else."
"How do you know that?" Nancy demanded.
Understanding slammed through Lyra. She watched Cruz take a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator.
"Oh, geez," she whispered. "You're Mr. Anonymous, aren't you? You bought the first three paintings, too."
Cruz smiled. "They're all hanging in my office as we speak. I don't think the three I picked up last night will fit in that space, though. I'll probably put them up in my house, instead. The walls are pretty bare. The place could use some color."