He turned to do it with a smile, happier than he'd been in agesa happier and sadder. He'd forgotten how comfortable her bed was, how her housea"with all its refurbished finerya"wrapped a person in contentment.

"Adrian?" Her finger drew a circle through his chest hair, just skirting his nipple.

"Mm-hm?"

"Will your superintendent really fire you?"

The concern in her voice touched him. "Honestly, I'm not sure. Officers who are willing to do what I've done are in short supply."

"You mean they don't want implants?"

"They don't want to work Harborside at all. They'd rather leave that distasteful duty to the lower ranks. Atkinson might have to keep me ona"though I doubt he'll forgive me for defying him to his face. At the least, I can forget about promotion any time soon."

Her sigh warmed his collarbone. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble."

"You didn't. That's just the politics of my job."

"I wish it weren't."

He hugged her closer, breathing her warm woman's scent into his lungs. "I wish that, too."

In the street outside, a constable called an All's Well. With a start, Adrian recognized Farsi Ross's voice. They'd worked together on cases in the past. He hoped Ross wasn't the informer who'd reported his whereabouts. The Silver Islander had been one of few who treated him normally. He'd hate to think he'd lost that friendship, too. Whether Atkinson fired him or not, Adrian needed allies at the station. Without them, he seriously doubted he could do his job.

It would be a shame if he had to forfeit the only activity for which he'd never had to apologize. Adrian loved his family, but he knew he'd drawn away from them more than they liked. He'd loved his former wife, and what had he given her but misery? Working for Securit had been his sole undiluted success. Maybe, as his mother said, he gave too much of himself to it, but who would he be if he stopped being an inspector? The fact that the option even crossed his mind showed how close he was to falling for Roxiea"if he hadn't fallen already.

Her head shifted under his chin. "Did you ever find that boy you were looking for?"

"Not yet. But I found a peat man who unwittingly gave him a ride. It seems Tommy stowed away under his tarp."

"To where?"

His hand rode the curve of her waist. "Somewhere between here and Downingdale."

"That's a long stretch of coast."

"Yes, but it's mostly villages. Someone ought to remember a strange, smelly boy turning up out of the blue." Unless he'd found shelter right away, in which case Adrian hoped it was nothing more sinister than a farmer needing an extra hand. From what his folks had said, Tommy Bainbridge was st.u.r.dy. He liked to climb trees, play alley ball. "I've given his description to the mail carriers up that way. If they hear anything, they'll pa.s.s the word."

He'd also told Tommy's mother that her son was, so far as he knew, still alive. She'd been a tangle of emotions, embracing him one moment, sobbing on his shoulder the next. Why was Tommy still running? she'd demanded. Didn't he know he could come home anytime? Did he want to make them lose their minds with worry?

Adrian had stood in that threadbare kitchen with the woman weeping on his coat and tried to see the room as the boy would have. Decent but dull, it had a teakettle warming on the pipestove, cheap curtains, and knickknacks: same as he'd find in working-cla.s.s homes across the city. When Adrian was little, his mother had owned the same china pattern, white with pink roses, too heavy to crack with anything short of a sledgehammer. Young Tommy had too much imagination and too much youthful energy to feel completely at ease in a house like that.

Instinct told him Tommy would turn toward home when he was ready, and not a moment sooner. The boy had his own agenda. The problem was, fate might not keep him safe long enough to fulfill it.

"I'll tell you one thing, Roxie, I wish I knew what that boy was about."

Humming sympathetically, she insinuated her feet between his calves. He grinned in spite of his worries. Her toes were as cold as her nose.

"If you think it would help, I could make copies of that picture you had," she offered, her pleasure at having such a convenient foot warmer evident in her voice. "You could send it over by messenger if you didn't want to, you know, be seen here again."

"That would be helpful," he said, struggling to treat the subject casually.

None of his family members had ever wanted to discuss his professional life. In a way, Roxanne's interest, and his grat.i.tude for it, justified the superintendent's concern. It wasn't impossible to imagine this woman becoming more important to him than the rules.

Roxanne sensed his thoughts were troubled when the lines returned to his face. "Kiss me," she said, wanting them gone. "The night isn't over yet."

He hardened with gratifying swiftness, his erection strafing her inner thigh. "Just a kiss?"

"Everything," she said. "Give me everything."

Their limbs wound together eagerly, determined not to waste a moment they had left.

"Let me, sweetheart," he said, rolling her beneath him. "I can go deeper when I'm on top."

She hadn't the slightest desire to argue. Deep was precisely where she wanted him to be.

He groaned as he sank inside her. "Lift your knees for me. Yes, like that. Oh, G.o.d, you feel so good."

He thrust gently, smoothly, advancing and retreating.

"Don't stop," she said.

"I won't," he promised, kissing her. "I can't."

"Harder," she pleaded, her hands sliding down his back.

"You aren't sore?"

She shook her head and clutched his hips. "I want to know you were there. I want to feel you in me for weeks."

"Oh, G.o.d," he said, and closed his eyes tightly. His control was gone then, and so was hers. Banishing restraint, their bodies pounded together. Hard and wet slipped through soft and wet. Sweaty flesh slapped straining muscle. Moans fought with choked instructions.

"There," she said when he touched her sweetest spot. "Yes, you can go faster."

He cursed at this answer to a question he hadn't even known he asked, but his body took her permission with a vengeance. The bed creaked in its hair-fitted joints as they thumped together. Bhamjrishi beds weren't supposed to creak, but this one was, sounding as if any minute it would split apart. Roxie couldn't regret it, secretly relishing every squeal. They raced toward their mutual end as though it could be s.n.a.t.c.hed away. The sensations inspired by their frantic motions were so strong, she thought the tension must break soon. She didn't want it to. She wanted to hang here forever.

He began to say her name differently, his voice holding a new awareness, a new longing. "Please, Roxanne," he said as her body let him deeper. "Yes, yes, oh, Roxanne."

She held him close, hearing his pain, helpless to soothe it. And then she knew.

She wasn't the only one who'd lost her heart.

"Say it," she encouraged, releasing him long enough to cup his need-flushed cheek. His desperate thrusting slowed. "Tell me how you feel."

She watched the blood ebb precipitously from his face, his skin chilling beneath her hand. He set his jaw. She couldn't doubt he knew what she meant.

"Do it, Adrian." She circled him persuasively with her hips. "Say the words."

His breath caught, then rushed back out as he pushed his steely hardness into her. "I can't. I want to, but I can't."

She crossed her ankles just beneath his b.u.t.tocks. "It won't hurt."

"It might."

"It might make you feel better."

He moaned as she tightened her legs. "I don't have the right."

"I'm giving it to you."

"I can't," he cried, pushing so deep his tip seemed to breach her womb. He throbbed inside her violently. "Roxanne."

"Then I'll say it. Adrian, I lovea""

"No." He covered her mouth with one stiff hand, his hips snapping forward as though sensual oblivion could avert the disaster. Instead, he unraveled completely.

"Oh-h, G.o.d, I do love you," he groaned, then almost disengaged in dismay.

They stared at each other: he regretful, she bitterly amused. Quite obviously, her victory was not the miracle cure she'd been hoping for.

"I'm sorry." His hand drew an oddly comforting circle on her hip. He'd come to a halt hah? in, half out of her body. Oblivious to his emotional reservations, his c.o.c.k shuddered rhythmically. "Should I stop?"

"No." She pressed closer. "Let's give each other what we can."

He sighed at that, sighed and swore at the sweetness of moving again.

They were both too close to hold off climax. The peak came quickly, an acute but mournful pleasure. When it was over, he stayed inside her as long as he could, turning his cheek back and forth against her hair, the way Max did when he needed rea.s.surance. Roxanne nibbed his shoulders until he fell asleep but didn't whisper that she loved him. Though the words pressed against her throat, she held them back. They would be a burden to him, and to her, a cause for later regrets. Pride was her best shield now.

She woke once more that night, to a sound she'd never expected to hear, that of a man crying over her. Adrian was curled over the far edge of the bed, gasping softly in his effort not to rouse her. A month ago, a day ago, his tears might have salved her insecurity. Tonight, they stirred only compa.s.sion.

To have found a woman he wanted and probably loved, but with whom he dared not enjoy the feast; to know he had the power to hurt his beloved, and most likely woulda Well, she wouldn't have wanted to be in his shoes.

Not that her shoes were much better. Her nature rebelled at waiting for someone else to decide her future, but what could she do, really, to resolve his dilemma? She couldn't promise her love would be worth whatever he had to sacrifice. She didn't even know for certain what that was.

From the amount of personal time he spent oh work, she knew his job was more than a job to him. Awar needed dedicated law officers, especially ones who could handle their newest immigrants. Maybe one lonely woman didn't have the right to threaten that.

Then again, maybe loving her wasn't a threat at all, merely the door to a different destiny. She didn't know. She couldn't tell him what he should value most, how much he should risk. Only he could decide that.

But they were together tonight, and he was hurting. Pretending to turn in her sleep, she curled her body around his quaking back. He stiffened at first, but soon his shaking eased. His breathing slowed and deepened. He pulled her hand across his chest and tucked it close.

Small though the comfort was, the warmth eased both their hearts.

Chapter 16.

As citizens of Ohram, we have a sacred responsibility to share our values with those in our care. If we forget this, we become no better than any other race of conquerors. G.o.d willing, we shall always be a nation people are proud to call home.

a"Victoria Faen Aedlys, on signing the Awar Accord, the first to allow Yamish immigration The unaccustomed emotion of the night before must have knocked Adrian out. By the time he opened his eyes the following morning, the sun was high. He looked over his shoulder to the opposite side of the bed. His heart sank. Roxanne was gone.

And the house was unnaturally quiet.

Delaying the inevitable, he washed, then donned his rumpled clothes. He couldn't remember throwing them into the corner. Fortunately, his coat would hide the damage until he got home.

Rubbing his aching temple with the heel of one palm, he clumped up the back stairs to the fourth floor. As he'd feared, the rest of the house was empty.

They'd left a basket of rolls on the kitchen table. For him, he supposed, though he couldn't bring his unworthy self to eat them. He'd hurt her. He'd said "I love you" when he'd had no right. Worse, he'd made it clear he immediately wanted to take it back. No wonder she'd disappeared without a word.

Sighing heavily, he took one last look around and left.

Two days later, Roxie sat by the parlor fire, smiling at Charles and Max. The pair was squabbling over who needed a bath more. They'd taken the horse trolley to Fisherman's Wharf this morning. Got their toes wet in the foamy waves. Ate too many fish and chips. The beach had shone like a pink pearl beneath the wintry sky. Adrian was gone, and life went on.

For all her flaws, Roxie's mother had possessed a wealth of determination. She'd taught her daughter to use hers. Don't mope, honey, she'd say when they had to leave a place or person Roxie had grown fond of. If you don't walk away from spilt milk, you're sure to turn sour. Roxie preferred to mop up spills before she walked away, but she did see the value in moving on.

If only Adrian weren't so hard to forget.

He must have been disappointed to wake to an abandoned house and yet, that very day, he'd arranged for a job posting to appear on the message board at The Laughing Crow: Kitchen a.s.sistant wanted, Astoria House. Charles was so excited he'd never stopped to wonder why the Astoria would troll for workers at such a third-rate hole-in-the-wall.

The interview Charles had obtained for the following week had him close to incoherent. What should he wear?

Did Roxie think he ought to mention he could cook, or would that look forward? Maybe he should bring a dish for the head chef. His oyster stew always won raves, but might it be too low-brow for the Astoria?

"Just imagine," he'd said, his voice filled with youthful wonder and hope. "This time next week, I could be chopping parsley for Gaspar llano."

Adrian certainly knew how to do a favor. If he'd been anywhere nearby, she would have expressed all the grat.i.tude he'd spared Charles from shouldering.

The boy deserved a chance to shine. Sometimes he seemed to think he had nothing to offer beyond his pretty face. Not today, though. They'd strolled for miles down the beach, kicking up sh.e.l.ls and swinging an uncharacteristically bubbly Max at the end of their arms. Once, when Max scampered ahead to investigate some seaweed, Charles had taken her hand in both of his and held it against his heart for a long, poignant time.

A knock at the door shook her from her memories.

"I'll get it," she said. It was probably Abul's wife bringing the fancy fabric she'd ordered from her parents' cooperative weavers society. Sapphire blue, Linia had promised, embroidered with flying s...o...b..rds. Roxie was going to upholster Max's secondhand rocking chair in the material and maybe make curtains when she got time. The boy was big enough to appreciate a room that matched.

But it wasn't Abul's wife who'd knocked. It was Herrington.

Roxanne immediately stepped into the hall and shut the door behind her. She hadn't told the boys about her father yet. The way they'd grown up, on the streets, demons were real monsters to them. On top of everything else, Roxie hadn't been able to face the possibility of them looking at her with mistrust.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "In my home!"

Herrington's hands were in the pockets of his overcoat. Though his expression didn't change, she thought he might be clenching his fists. "I hoped to ascertain if you received my gift."

"I got it," she snapped. "It was horribly thoughtful. Now go away."

"I can't go away," he said with infuriating calm. "You and I share a heritagea""

"Half a heritage."