"All right," Lyra said. "You can play with your paints for a while."

Vincent jumped down from the chest and hovered eagerly while she took out his supplies.

Cruz contemplated the card with a grim expression.

" 'We were meant for each other,' " he read aloud. He shoved the card back inside the envelope and dropped it onto the pile. "Same message as on all the others."

"Umm-hmm."

For a moment he stood there, looking at the orchids. "Does it strike you as a little weird that the orchids are always purple?"

She opened the lid of the chest. "At first, when I a.s.sumed they were from you, I thought that the color was meant to be a sentimental reference to amethyst amber."

"Maybe it is a reference to amethyst," he said, his voice low and very thoughtful.

Vincent jumped up onto the rim of the chest and surveyed the selection of brushes inside. After some deliberation, he chose a magenta one and bounced back down to the floor. He used two paws to remove the top of the paint tube, exposing the attached brush.

"Remember, we only paint on the canvas," Lyra said firmly. "Not the walls or the floor or the refrigerator."

Vincent chortled and began smearing paint on the canvas. She closed the lid of the chest and looked at Cruz.

"I don't think you can read too much into the color of the orchids," she said. "Not after the storm in the media during the lawsuit. The only way you could not connect me with amethyst would be if you were living in a cave."

"Maybe it's a stalker who fixated on you after the media frenzy."

A chill drifted through her. She winced. "Thanks. Take all the romance out of it for me, why don't you?"

"Who the h.e.l.l is he, Lyra?"

She sighed. "I don't know. Since I found out you weren't the one sending them, I've been making a list of the men in my life. It's sort of a short list."

He drank some of the Amber Dew. "Good to know."

"I started with the deliveryman. He has been known to flirt with me from time to time. But somehow, I just can't see Dave sending such expensive flowers. I also considered Mr. Martinson."

"Who's Martinson?"

"He owns the bookstore next door to my tuning shop. But he must be eighty, if he's a day."

"Age doesn't have a thing to do with it," Cruz said. "Trust me."

"I suppose that's true. But, again, we come back to the cost of the flowers. I doubt that Mr. Martinson could afford twice-weekly deliveries of rare orchids, either." She paused. "I've got a few male clients who might be possibilities, I suppose. You know how some guys are about tuners."

"I'll need a list."

"Forget it." She laughed. "I'm not ready to turn you loose on any of my customers. Got a feeling that would be real bad for business."

"d.a.m.n it, Lyra-"

She held up a hand, palm out. "To tell you the truth, I'm starting to wonder about the plumber."

"What plumber?"

"The one the landlord sent to check out my bathroom sink last month. Something about a problem with a leak in the empty apartment next door. He told me that he thought the trouble was here."

"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 pa.s.s?"

"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 s.h.i.+vered 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 pa.s.sion flared in the atmosphere. Her fingers trembled. Afraid that she might drop her gla.s.s, 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 s.e.xual attraction," she reminded him.

"s.e.x is involved." He stopped in front of her. "And s.e.x is good. It certainly works for me. But when it comes to this kind of energy, you're talking about a lot more than s.e.x. Sweet.w.a.ters 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 pa.s.sion. 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 s.h.i.+rt.

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 antic.i.p.ation. 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, s.e.xy 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 s.h.i.+very currents that flooded through her and through her aura.

He followed her over the edge with a hoa.r.s.e 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 refinis.h.i.+ng 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. Sweet.w.a.ter 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.

"We talked about this," Lyra said. "You can't just paint everything in sight."

Vincent bounced up and down and made cheerful chittering noises, evidently unconcerned.

Lyra sighed. "I know, it's my fault. I should have locked up the brushes."

Cruz grinned. "Need some help cleaning up the new masterpiece?"

He was halfway across the room when he felt the dark energy whisper through him. He jacked up his senses. At the same instant Vincent sleeked out. His hunting eyes appeared.

"Hit the lights," Cruz said quietly.

Lyra did not question the order.

Faint noises sounded from the balcony of the adjoining loft.

Cruz reached the kitchen in two strides. He put his mouth very close to Lyra's ear. "You said the apartment next door was empty."

"Yes," she said, speaking just as quietly.