"And there went your business."
"It fell off drastically and I've been devoting myself to rebuilding it ever since. So, what with one thing and another, I was just too busy to worry about my personal life."
There was more to it than that, she thought, a lot more, but she did not know how to put it into words. It was just beginning to dawn on her that her decision to wait had been influenced to some extent by the nature of her psychic energy. She might never know for certain but she had a suspicion that some part of her had been holding out for the right man, at least the right man on the metaphysical plane.
It was a scary thought because whatever else he was, Nick was not the right man.
"Too busy." He did not sound convinced. There was a distinctly brooding quality in the depths of his voice.
"You seem to be awfully concerned about this." She propped herself up on one elbow. "Do you always grill your dates after the big event?"
"No." His eyes glittered beneath his long black lashes. "I just want to know why you waited, that's all."
She swept her hand out in a wide all-encompassing gesture. "What can I say? Life happened. Sex didn't."
"The Eaton scandal," he said quietly.
"What about it?"
"I always knew there was something about the story in the tabloids that didn't ring true."
"No offense, Nick, but it doesn't take a matrix-talent to figure out that there's something about most of the stories in the tabloids that doesn't ring true."
"Why me?"
She knew what he meant. She looked out the window into the moonlight. "Things felt right tonight." That was truer than he would ever know.
He still did not appear content with her answer. But he picked up her hand, turned it, and kissed the inside of her wrist. His lips were warm on her skin. "I'm glad." His eyes burned beneath the fringe of his lashes.
She could not think of anything to say.
Nick released her hand to glance at his watch. "It's nearly midnight."
"The night is young for a casino owner."
"But not for a lady who has to go to work in the morning. I'd better get you home."
She did not need to be a high-class talent to feel him trying to pull back from the invisible brink. Now that sexual desire had been sated, his super-cautious matrix-instincts were coming to the fore. He was retreating into that more detached, remote sphere where he did not have to cope with the confusion of strong emotions.
Two could play that game.
She summoned up what she hoped was a breezy smile. "You're right. It's late." She started to rebutton her dress. "Speaking of business, any leads on Polly and Omar?"
"No." He gave her an assessing glance as he fastened his shirt. "My people will find them eventually, but I doubt we'll learn anything when we do."
"Why do you say that?"
"The forgery of the journal was a sophisticated, expensive operation. Feather hasn't turned up anything to indicate that either Polly or Omar had the kind of money or contacts it takes to plan such a scam, let alone finance it." Nick ran his fingers through his hair, shoving it straight back from his forehead. "I'm much more interested in getting hold of the forger."
"No word yet from that man you called?"
"Stonebraker? No." Nick got to his feet and pulled on his pants. "But Rafe works nights. With luck he'll turn up a name by morning."
She watched as he buckled his belt, fascinated by his powerful graceful hands. There was something quintessentially male about the way he went about the simple routine task. Every movement was efficient, economical, sure.
He saw her looking at him and raised his brows. "Something wrong?"
"No." She started to get to her feet and discovered that her legs were not quite steady. She could feel twinges in small muscles which until now had been unaccustomed to serious exercise.
"Are you all right?" Nick caught her arm.
"Yes, of course." She bent down to refold the blanket so that she would not have to meet his eyes. "Just a little stiff."
"The damn floor," he muttered. "Next time we'll use a bed."
She let a couple of heartbeats go by. Then she straightened and turned slowly to face him. "Next time?"
Uncertainty flashed briefly in his eyes. It vanished almost instantly, but Zinnia was curiously reassured by the glimpse of vulnerability.
"You said you weren't into one-night stands," he reminded her gruffly.
"That's true." She felt a little lighter now, more buoyant.
"Neither am I." He picked up the hamper. "And as long as we're working on Fenwick's murder together, I figure we'll be spending a lot of time in each other's company. We're both single. It's obvious there's a physical attraction between us. Why fight it?"
She widened her eyes. "Golly. Are all matrix-talents this romantic when they propose an affair?"
He stopped and turned so quickly to pin her with his intent gaze that she nearly collided with him.
"Are you laughing at me?" he asked.
She smiled. "Yes. If you aren't careful you'll ruin the image of mythical psychic vampire lovers everywhere. You've been doing swell up until this point. Candlelight picnic. View of the city. Wine. Great sex. Don't mess it up now."
"Was it?"
"Was it what?"
"Great sex?"
"Trust me, you met all of my expectations, and as I told you at the start, they were extremely high due to my devoted study of Orchid Adams's novels," she said cheerfully.
He touched her cheek. "You're sure?"
"Well, I'll admit I'm not in a position to make comparisons."
"Keep it that way." He went down on one knee to repack the hamper.
She gave him a few seconds. When he did not say anything more, she cleared her throat meaningfully, planted her hands on her hips, and tapped her toe. "So how was it for you, Mr. Chastain?"
"What?" He looked up, clearly startled.
"You heard me."
"Couldn't you tell?" His eyes darkened to the color of green that was at the heart of the jungle. He got to his feet and brushed his mouth across hers. "I'm still in shock."
"Okay." She mulled that over for a few seconds. "Shock is good. I think."
"Zinnia-"
"You're right," she said brightly, "it really is getting late." She swung around and led the way back through the darkened circular hall.
Nick followed with the hamper. "Zinnia, I'm not good with this kind of thing."
"You know, you really do have an incredible house here." She threw open the front door with a flourish and stepped out onto the colonnaded portico. "It will take a lot of work, but when it's finished-"
"Shut the door," Nick ordered sharply. He was gazing past her into the gardens. "Hurry."
But it was too late. Blinding light flashed in the nearby bushes.
Zinnia blinked. "What in the world?"
"A camera. Damned photographer must have followed us. Wait here." Nick dropped the hamper. He moved so quickly through the doorway that he seemed to flow, rather than run.
"What are you going to do?" Zinnia called after him.
"I'm going to get that film. I'll be back in a few minutes. Stay inside."
"But, Nick, you can't just grab a photographer and take his film," she shouted. "He'll sue or something."
Nick ignored her. He went down the steps and vanished almost instantly into the darkness.
"Just like a PV." Zinnia propped herself against the doorjamb and folded her arms. "One night of good sex and then he disappears." Or maybe it was just like a matrix, she corrected silently.
There was a violent commotion from the vicinity of the gardens where she had seen the flash. She realized that the photographer was running through the foliage back toward the front gates. There was no sign of Nick.
A moment later she saw a figure dart out of the trees that lined the drive. There was just enough moonlight to see the array of camera accoutrements flapping around his torso as he dashed toward the entrance of the estate.