I wish you had not waited until the morning I left Port LaConner to tell me that you were pregnant. If you had let me know earlier we could have been married before this expedition. But in the end, it won't matter. I'll be back in three months and then we'll make it official.
You gave me more than you will ever know when you agreed to marry me. Spend the next three months planning the wedding. This will be my last expedition. When I return I want to settle down in the islands with my new family. In the meantime, know that you are my true love. I will keep you in my heart forever.
All my love, Bart
P.S.: Why do I get the feeling it will be a boy?
Zinnia blinked back tears.
"See the pattern of the words?" Nick said. "The shapes of the letters?"
She forced herself to concentrate on the handwriting, not the poignant message of love. There was, indeed, a pattern to the words. A kind of internal rhythm that seemed quite clear now that she viewed it with the assistance of a matrix-talent. Each letter was a tiny work of art with unique nuances and characteristics. She would never have detected the subtle differences with normal vision.
"Yes," she whispered. "I see what you mean."
"Now look at the journal."
She read a few sentences.
. . . I have instructed Sanderford to keep his eye on the jelly-ice fuel capsules but I no longer trust him. He's careless. I'm starting to wonder if he's got a drug problem . . .
"See the differences?" Nick asked.
Zinnia studied the words more closely. "Yes. There's a slight alteration in the rhythm or something."
"The design is wrong. It's out of sync. Unbalanced. The connections aren't right."
She could not see all those fine distinctions, but she did not doubt that Nick did. "The differences could be explained by the fact that this is a journal entry, not a personal letter."
Nick gave a decisive shake of his head. "The individual letters would still look the same. Handwriting doesn't change."
"No." She took a closer look. The seepage of matrix-talent that she picked up through the focus link was sufficient to allow her to see the tiny differences between the writing in the journal and that in the letter. "Something about the loops is off and the angle of the slant is not quite the same."
"Exactly." Without warning, Nick cut off the flow of talent. "Without a prism to help me focus, it took me a lot longer to be certain that I was looking at a forgery. But there's no doubt about it."
"How many entries are there in the journal?"
"Only eight. All of them are dated before the expedition was supposed to leave Serendipity. Each is shorter than the last. The tone of each one is increasingly paranoid and depressed. In the last entry the writer says that he can't go on much longer. He just wants to walk off into the jungle and be absorbed by what he calls the great green matrix."
"In other words, you're supposed to believe that your father really did commit suicide before the expedition took place."
"Yes."
Nick had shut down his formidable psychic power, but the sensation of intimacy did not vanish. It pulsed across Zinnia's nerve endings, insistent and compelling. She uncurled her legs and restlessly shifted position on the blanket.
"Someone went to a great deal of effort to deceive you with that fake journal," she said.
"And expense," Nick added. He closed the volume and rewrapped it. "This kind of craftsmanship doesn't come cheap."
"How much would an expert forger charge for something that detailed?"
His smile was chilling. "Probably about as much as I paid for it. Fifty grand."
Zinnia's heart twisted as she watched the care with which he refolded his father's letter. Once more she tried to beat back the empathy that threatened to swamp her common sense.
"Well, if you needed any further proof that I'm innocent, you've got it," she said briskly. "I couldn't possibly afford fifty grand for a fake journal."
"I don't need any more proof of your innocence."
"Gee, thanks." Why didn't the intense feeling of intimacy fade? It was messing up the synergistic balance of her entire nervous system. "Where does that leave us?"
Nick's eyes were rare exotic gems in the candlelight. "Here. Together."
On the other hand, why was she trying to fight this incredible attraction, Zinnia wondered. She had waited a long time for passion.
"Are you going to kiss me again?" she asked, deeply curious.
"I want to make love to you."
She smiled. "That's okay, too."
Chapter 14
The hunger inside him threatened to explode. He fought it, willing his self-control to win the battle. It worried him that the sensation of touching and being touched in some other dimension had not faded when the focus link was severed. The intimacy of the connection was disturbing enough as it was. He did not know what to make of the fact that tonight the feelings continued even after the psychic joining ended.
He had to be careful, Nick thought. He wanted her, but when he had sex with her he could not sacrifice the part of him that governed his self-control.
On the positive side, if there was one thing he was good at, it was control. He could handle this.
He touched the curve of her hair and smiled slowly. "We're going to be good together."
"I certainly hope so." She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. "I've got certain expectations, you understand."
"Expectations?"
Her eyes glowed with warmth and a shy amusement that caught him by surprise.
"I told you, I've read every psychic vampire romance novel that Orchid Adams has ever written."
Nick stared at her. "Five hells."
"Not that I want to put any pressure on you, of course."
Nick felt a very weird sensation rise inside him. It was big, powerful, all-consuming. He did not recognize it until he nearly choked on it.
And then the laughter roared forth. It cascaded out of him like a very strong orgasm.
He could not shut it down. It squeezed him as if he were a sponge, causing him to double over. He howled until he was breathless.
Through it all, he was aware of Zinnia studying him with deep interest.
Eventually he managed to catch his breath. When the unfamiliar laughter finally exhausted itself, he sprawled on his back on the blanket.
"You are so damn unpredictable," he said.
She hugged her knees. "Is that a bad thing?"
"I don't know. I used to think so, but now I'm not so sure." He reached for her and pulled her down across his chest. The skirts of her sunrise-red dress flowed around him.
The last of his laughter was consumed by the flashfire of need that swept through him. Something else evaporated with it. Something important. He worried briefly that it was the sense of control that he had told himself he must maintain at all costs. But for some obscure reason it no longer seemed quite so important.
He cradled her head between his hands and kissed her with the same fierce energy that he had channeled into his psychic talent moments earlier.
She responded with a sweet passion that took his breath. Excitement slammed through the matrix, igniting all of his senses.
There was no time for the slow erotic loveplay that he had fantasized about all day.
"I need to be inside you," he said against her soft mouth.
"That sounds . . . interesting." She fumbled with the fastenings of his shirt.
He groaned when he felt her fingers on his bare chest. "Zinnia."
"You feel so good." She dipped her head and brushed her mouth across his bare skin.