"I see Vincent is still painting," Cruz said from the other side of the screen.

Oh, d.a.m.n, the painting. She had been so focused on the bra that she had forgotten about the artwork. Well, there was nothing for it but to brave it out. The odds were seriously against Cruz ever discovering the truth.

She went back out into the main room, deftly sliding the screen closed behind her to conceal the bed. There was something about having a bed clearly visible when you were alone with a man who could heat your blood and excite all your senses with just a look; something dangerous.

Cruz was standing over Vincent's latest work of art. The canvas lay flat on the floor atop a protective layer of newspapers. The one attempt at setting up an easel had ended in disaster when Vincent had tried to climb it to get to the top of the painting. He'd had a blue rez-brush in one paw at the time. The easel had toppled over. Vincent had landed with his usual adroitness, but the rez-brush had shattered when it hit the floor. The little tube of paint attached to the brush had broken off, splattering blue paint on everything within range, including the artist. It had required a great deal of paint remover and repeated baths to restore Vincent's fur to its customary shade of nondescript gray.

"Painting is just a game to him," she said. "I keep thinking he'll grow tired of it. But so far he hasn't. I still have to lock up the rez-brushes whenever I'm not around to supervise, though. Three weeks ago, I went downstairs to take out the trash while he was playing with his paints. I was gone for only five minutes, but by the time I got back, the lower portion of the refrigerator was green."

Cruz studied the bright, chaotic swipes and blobs of color that covered a third of the canvas. "Looks like he's heavily into magenta. When I left he was still in his blue period."

She thought about what had happened to the three blue paintings and cleared her throat. "He's gone through several colors since we last saw you," she said.

Cruz looked at her across the room. He had removed his jacket and tossed it over the reading chair, just as he had done so often during the time they had dated. His black tie was unknotted, and he had opened the top three or four b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt. Making himself at home, she thought wistfully. Just as if nothing had happened.

The coffee table, with its vase of amethyst orchids and the little stack of cards, stood between them. He must know that she had gotten the message of the unsigned cards. A woman would not keep flowers from a man unless she was prepared to forgive him. The antic.i.p.ation was almost unbearable.

"Things got very complicated three months ago," he said.

"Yes, they did." She went around behind the kitchen counter. "Would you like a drink? I still have the Amber Dew you bought before the complications set in."

"Sounds good." He lowered himself onto one of the counter stools and hooked a foot over the bottom rung. "I'm surprised you didn't throw out the bottle."

"I considered it a few times, but it seemed like a waste of good liqueur."

"Smart thinking." He watched her take the two-thirds-empty bottle down from the cupboard. "Looks like you've been enjoying it. We only had one drink each out of that bottle."

"Well, it has been three months, and I must admit it is rather nice to be able to serve a fancy liqueur like Amber Dew when I have guests."

"Guests?" he repeated very deliberately.

"Mmm. They're always very impressed."

She gave him a warm smile and set one of the filled gla.s.ses on the counter within reach of his hand. Let him think that she'd been dating madly since he had shattered her world. She was not about to tell him that the only person she had invited to dinner in the past three months had been Nancy, and that every time they had shared a gla.s.s of the fabulously expensive Amber Dew they had chanted, "To the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, may he rot."

He picked up the gla.s.s. "Thanks for trusting me enough to let me come back here with you tonight. I know that must have been hard for you."

She took a small sip of the potent Amber Dew, lowered the gla.s.s, and went for sultry. "I've had a lot of time to think in the past three months, Cruz."

"And you finally realized that I had no choice but to do what I did?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "I still think Amber Inc. had no right whatsoever to confiscate my find. But I understand that you sincerely believe that you did what you had to do. I can respect that."

"The ruin you discovered down there in the jungle was potentially dangerous, Lyra. By law you should have reported it immediately to the authorities."

"Oh, wow. A lecture."

His mouth tightened at the corners. "You know as well as I do that under the Alien Antiquities Act, any find that poses a potential hazard or generates unknown power of any kind must be a.n.a.lyzed and cla.s.sified by the appropriate authorities."

"Who will then confiscate it. If said antiquity happens to be made of amber, especially an extremely rare form, the appropriate authorities will naturally hand it over to Amber Inc., which has a contract with the federal government." She widened her eyes with mock astonishment. "Gosh, I wonder why so many small, independent prospectors like me don't routinely tell the appropriate authorities about their little finds."

"The amethyst ruin was no small find. You knew that better than anyone. And it wasn't stolen from you. Amber Inc. offered generous compensation."

"Hah. There was no way your company could possibly compensate me for what you s.n.a.t.c.hed from me. That ruin was priceless."

"This isn't about the legalities, is it?" he said quietly. "It's about us. You and me."

That was another thing about Cruz Sweet.w.a.ter. He always went straight to the bottom line. She exhaled slowly, leaned against the counter, gla.s.s in hand, and looked at the coffee table with its vase of exotic flowers.

"Yes," she said. "It's about us and the fact that you lied to me."

"I had no choice."

"I understand that now. I don't have to like it, but I'm okay with it. I've moved on with my life."

"That's why you dropped the lawsuit?"

"Well, that and the fact that I finally came to my senses and realized that I could not afford to go up against Amber Inc. for even another week."

There was a silence while they drank the quartz-green liqueur. The champagne had not done diddly-squat, but the Dew was succeeding where the lightweight stuff had failed. Her nerves were settling down nicely.

"I got the orchids," she said after a while.

He regarded the flowers, eyes narrowing faintly. "I noticed them when we came in."

"They're very beautiful."

He did not take his attention off the orchids. "Expensive."

"Mmm." She ran the tip of her finger around the rim of her gla.s.s. "Amethyst orchids are very pricey. Especially when you send that many of them twice a week for six weeks."

"Someone has been sending you orchids twice a week for six weeks?"

She froze. Okay, this was not another waking nightmare episode, but in some ways it was a whole lot worse than one of the hallucinations.

Dread in her heart, she made herself look at Cruz. His hard face was set in implacable lines. She did not say a word, but words were unnecessary. She saw sudden comprehension burn in his eyes.

"You thought I was the one who was sending the flowers," he said softly. It was not a question.

She could feel herself turning as bright as the magenta paint on Vincent's latest canvas. She set the half-finished Amber Dew on the counter with great care and cleared her throat.

"Well," she said. "This is certainly embarra.s.sing. Now that we've cleared up that little misunderstanding, why don't you tell me exactly why you decided to walk back into my life tonight?"

Chapter 3.

HE KNEW AT ONCE THAT HE'D MADE A MISCALCULATION of monumental proportions. But the d.a.m.ned orchids had annoyed him more than he wanted to admit. Should have kept my mouth shut, Cruz thought. Then again, it wasn't as if he'd had a lot of options. It would have been a little awkward to take credit for the flowers when the guy who'd actually sent them eventually showed up. The SOB would be able to produce receipts.

Vincent, evidently sensing the change in the atmosphere, popped up onto a stool and then onto the counter. He fluttered across the surface toward Lyra. When he reached her, he hopped up onto her shoulder and made small, soothing noises in her ear. She patted him gently, clearly taking comfort from his presence.

She looked even better tonight than she had in the very private, very hot fantasies that had been keeping him awake for the past three months, Cruz thought. The little black number she was wearing was no couture gown, but the flirty neckline, tiny sleeves, and narrow skirt discreetly emphasized her gentle curves. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a sleek knot that emphasized her incredible hazel eyes.

Simple amber hoops decorated her ears. She had worn them on several occasions three months ago. There was a charm bracelet on her wrist. He remembered it, too. He'd heard its light, musical clash in his dreams. It was composed of interlocking gold-toned links. Myriad small charms dangled from the links. Each was set with a tiny chip of amethyst amber. She had told him that her grandfather had given the bracelet to her.

Like the dress, the earrings and the bracelet were attractive but not expensive. Lyra made her living as an amber tuner and did a little independent prospecting on the side. Amber tuning was a notoriously low-paying business, due to the compet.i.tion. The ability to tune standard resonating amber was a common talent. There was a tuning shop on every street corner and in every mall in the city.

As for independent prospecting, that was a fool's en deavor. Very few indies ever struck good amber or discovered truly valuable ruins. When they did, the big companies were always poised to move in and take over the claim, just as Amber Inc. had moved in on Lyra three months ago. The best an indie could do in a situation like that was make a deal. Lyra had refused to bargain.

Typical Dore, Cruz thought. His grandfather was right; they were too proud and too stubborn for their own good.

He briefly contemplated the sizzling midnight fantasies that had haunted him since his house-of-cards relations.h.i.+p with Lyra had come tumbling down. The dreams had all begun the same way, with Lyra rus.h.i.+ng into his arms the moment she saw him across a crowded room. Said fantasies had progressed from there to a variety of interesting and very hot scenarios.

But when he had walked into the Swan Gallery tonight, he was the one who had wanted to run to her, sweep her up in his arms, and carry her off into the night.

He could see that there was no point trying to explain any of that to her now. She wouldn't believe him if he tried. He forced himself to stay focused. His responsibilities came first.

"We've got a problem with the ruin," he said, keeping his tone as businesslike and nonconfrontational as possible.

"Would that be the royal we?" she asked politely.

"That would be the research team from the lab."

"Oh," she said. "You mean the cretins from Amber Inc. Research and Development."

"I'm told that the members of the research team prefer to describe themselves as scientists, archaeologists, and technicians."

She nodded. "Job t.i.tles like that probably pay more than cretin. Okay, so what went wrong at the ruin?"

"The doorway to the chamber closed."

She blinked, obviously startled. An instant later a slow, wicked smile curved her mouth. Laughter gleamed in her eyes. For a heartbeat he allowed himself a few more memories from three months back. He saw Lyra smiling as she demonstrated the full potential of the incredible artifact of amethyst amber that she had tuned especially for him. He had kept the relic close all these months. He'd lost track of how many times he had taken it out of its leather case and held it, savoring the strange beauty of the alien artwork.

"Define closed," Lyra said.

"There's a small energy storm filling the opening. No one can get in or out."

"Interesting," she said.

"Any idea how it was closed?" he asked.

She raised one shoulder in a tiny shrug. "There are a couple of possibilities. There may have been some stray currents from a ghost river or even a storm in the vicinity."

"None were detected."

"Then it was probably triggered accidentally by someone who can work one of the exotic ambers like silver or diamond."

"Or amethyst?" he asked quietly.

She stilled.

"Or someone who can work amethyst," she agreed without inflection.

"The ruin was open when the AI lab team began work at the site," he said.

She raised a finger. "Point of semantics here. The ruin was open when it was stolen from me in the course of a hostile takeover, the legality of which is highly questionable."

"I think we'll leave semantics out of this for now."

She looked at him with wide-eyed innocence. "Why would we want to do that?"

"Because there's too much at stake," he said.

"Not for me." She smiled. "To quote Nancy, I don't have a dust bunny in this fight."

He ignored that. "The ruin was closed when you discovered the amethyst chamber, wasn't it?"

She grinned. "Yep."

"You opened it."

"Sure did. I take it none of your cretins can get the job done now that it's closed again?"

"No," he said. "The lab guys have tried everything. So have I, for that matter, and I'm pretty good when it comes to tuned amber. The energy in that amethyst is unlike anything anyone in the lab has ever dealt with before. We haven't even been able to rez or activate any of the artifacts that have been recovered so far. All the pieces are just sitting in the lab vault like so much purple rock."

"I did get that impression," she said lightly. "I've had a number of phone calls from your head cretin demanding my help. Someone named Webber."

"Dr. Felix Webber. He's in charge of the lab."

"I haven't returned any of his calls, naturally."

"He mentioned that you had been less than cooperative," Cruz said dryly.

"Call me petty, but it gives me so much pleasure to decline to a.s.sist Amber Inc. in every possible way, shape, and form." She tilted her head slightly. "So that's why you're here. You want me to open up the ruin for you."

This was not going well, he thought.

"Yes," he said.

"I a.s.sume you intend to offer me lots and lots of money?"

"Name your price."

"Forget it," she said softly. She put down the gla.s.s and folded her arms on the counter. "You can't afford me, Sweet.w.a.ter."