That was the trouble. He'd known exactly what he was doing-had weighed the advantages and disadvantages of killing the woman who had saved his life. What kind of man did that? Not a good one. "I know you don't like people touching you, Rikki, but . . ." His fingers were already on her face, tracing every angle, stroking the softness of her skin, memorizing the details.

She held her breath, but she didn't pull away, as if sensing the deep need inside of him. He didn't understand his connection to her, and he doubted if she did either. Just for this moment, they declared a truce and just accepted that it was there. He had to know her face intimately, as intimately as he intended to know her body, but right now, this was enough. Mapping her face and imprinting it forever on his brain.

She suddenly smiled. He felt it through his fingers before he made out her expression. His body stirred in response. "You don't even know if you can fix my radio."

"No," he agreed, "I don't. But I can take apart a gun and put it back together again in seconds."

"I can see you'll be a big help on the farm."

As soon as the words slipped out, he could tell by the way she stiffened that her expectation of him staying with her had been entirely subconscious. Now that she'd spoken the thought aloud-given the idea life-she retreated back into her world, probably sorry she'd voiced the suggestion.

Satisfaction slid into his gut, a quiet happiness he rarely-if ever-had experienced. Just being in her presence made him feel different, more alive, more sensual, more of a man and less of a killer. Lying beside her should have set off every alarm in his body. He had sex, usually great sex, but it was a tool, and he was never comfortable afterward. He certainly didn't lie on a bed in a semi-vulnerable position and contemplate falling asleep with another living, breathing human being beside him. He knew it was completely alien to every survival instinct he had, yet he wanted her there. The thought of her sleeping outside, at a distance from him, bothered him on a primal level he couldn't explain, not to her and certainly not to himself.

He kept his eyes locked on hers. "I was thinking more like helping out on your boat."

He saw the shock, the instant rejection. She even shook her head. And that adorable frown was back, so that he couldn't help but smooth his fingers over the little lines between her eyes. He laughed softly. "I can see you're completely behind the idea."

"No one, and I mean no one, goes on my boat."

"I can understand that. But-" He put his finger over her pursed lips, imagining her kissing his fingers. The thought was fleeting, but vivid enough to cause heat to flood his body. He didn't seem to have control around her. "As reasonable as that would be, I've already been on your boat."

"You ripped out my radio."

"Which I intend to fix," he pointed out. "What's a tender?"

He felt her shock. "A what?" she repeated, but she'd heard him the first time.

He waited in silence, but she had gone stubborn on him. He sighed, and although he was taking a chance, he rubbed her chin in the dark with the pad of his thumb. Once, he stroked a caress across her lips. She was definitely frowning and that made him smile.

"It isn't any great secret, is it? You said your sister Blythe told you that you shouldn't dive alone. She said you needed a tender. What is that?"

"Someone that would drive me insane. They take care of the boat and equipment, sort of keep watch while a diver is under water. They need a permit and have to know what they're doing. I trained a couple but kicked them off after a couple of dives. They're annoying. They don't roll my hoses the right way. And there is a right way. You do it wrong and they're all tangled."

Now that she'd come out with her opinion on the subject, he could see she was extremely hostile about the idea. She hadn't let on to Blythe, but she had no intention of diving with someone watching over her. He had a vague idea that he might change that. "Blythe thinks it's necessary."

"You were eavesdropping on my conversation with Blythe."

"Of course. Would you expect less?"

She opened her mouth and then abruptly closed it. "I don't want anyone on my boat and that includes you. You'd touch my things."

"I'll learn not to."

Her frown deepened and she narrowed her eyes at him. "You will not. You'll do whatever you want to do. You're one of those men."

"If I don't know what kind of a man I am, how could you know?"

"Because so far, you've been on my boat, in my house, touched my things, slept in my bed, and you're probably going to want food. You're demanding."

Laughter spilled over, startling him. A real laugh. Out loud. He sounded rusty, but it didn't matter. He was shocked at the sound, at the feeling, at the freedom he felt with her to laugh. "I suppose you're right about that."

She stared into his gaze, her eyes so black, there in the night with the moon hidden behind the clouds, that she appeared mysterious and elusive, like the storm passing overhead.

"You're damned beautiful," he said, before he could stop himself. "I've never met a woman like you."

A slow smile curved her mouth. He realized, like him, she didn't smile often. "How would you know? You can't remember who you've met and who you haven't. But in any case, thanks. No one ever says things like that to me."

A shadow crossed her face and he remembered the fiance, the man who had died in a fire. "Tell me about him. His name. What he did. How you met him." How he died and why you're so afraid you started the fires.

She blinked, looked startled. "I heard that. What you were thinking. You are telepathic. And you've made me weird, just like you. Okay . . . maybe I was already a little weird, but now I'm way worse than I already was. Am I going to hear what everyone's thinking? Can you hear my thoughts?"

"You aren't projecting them to me. And that was an accident. I didn't mean to have you hear that, but I honestly am interested."

Rikki laid her head back on her pillow and stared up at the ceiling, her mouth set in stubborn lines. The sound of the rain hitting the roof and windows seemed to drain the tension from her. He could tell she was listening to it, and while she listened, her fingers began to react, tapping against her leg. She didn't seem to notice, caught in the spell of the rain falling.

Lev remained silent, realizing this was a part of Rikki's nature. Certain things-especially anything to do with water, he supposed-took her outside herself, and she focused completely on whatever captured her attention, tuning out everything else around her, tuning out him. His first thought was to bring her attention back to him, but before he could speak, her hand went up and she began to weave patterns in the air, just as he had done when directing healing energy, although her designs were more like those of a conductor with a large orchestra.

At once he detected a difference in the pattern of the rain. The beat changed and then the resonance, the sound, depending on where each drop landed and how fast or hard. He found himself holding his breath. Her control and power were extraordinary, and she didn't seem to notice she was directing the rain. His brain computed her patterns, recognized and spit out the data for him. She was drawing the layout of her farm in the air and directing the heaviest parts of the storm where she wanted it.

The rain over the grapevines was soft and gentle like the sounds of flutes and clarinets. The rain in the trees and along the creek banks where the ferns grew was much more dramatic. It pounded down to saturate the area and feed the voracious redwoods, the other evergreens and the flora growing in the forest throughout the farm. The garden was treated with a melody of patterns spread out over the various vegetables and herbs, in a symphony of violins and other instruments.

Rikki was so deep into her concentration and focus-obviously completely forgetting him, her surroundings and everything else-that he began to pick up images from her mind. Entire sections of the garden were dedicated to pharmaceutical plants, to plants for making various dyes, to all sorts of flowers, to vegetables of all kinds, and there was another section for herbs. There was an olive grove and an orchard with apples. It was amazing how clear the images in her head were-with exact coordinates, like a map. Just as the map in his head was laid out in grids, so was hers.

He closed his eyes and let the music of the rain soothe him. He could feel her breath, hear the soft variations in her breathing when she changed each chord, when she played one area differently than another. He began to sort the various sounds and rhythms. It was an orchestra of drops, a miracle performance. He would bet his last dollar-and he was fairly certain he had a great deal of money-that the farm was doing extremely well thanks to Rikki's ability to call the water and change how hard or soft it fell.

He turned his head again to watch her face. She was so caught up in the musical aspects of her orchestration, the actual sounds of the drops, he doubted if she was fully aware of what she was doing-if at all. And he doubted, even if anyone else observed her, that they would recognize what she was doing, the enormity or significance of it. Who would ever suspect she was manipulating the rain?

He turned the idea over and over in his mind. She "called" water to her. She couldn't manufacture the water-it had to be available-but she could control it. Rikki was so lost in the wonder of playing that she didn't notice when he got up and went to the window, shoving it open so he could see the silver sheets of rain falling from the sky. The sight was breathtaking. He turned back to look at her. She was breathtaking-extraordinary. She was such a rare phenomenon that he could barely believe he'd discovered her.

A gust of wind drove the rain into the house and dotted his chest, shoulder and arm. He knew he'd felt rain a thousand times, yet it felt like the first time. The wonder Rikki experienced when she touched water spilled over to him through their strange connection. The raindrops were sensual against his skin, velvet tongues lapping at him. The liquid was cool, his body hot. He could feel each individual drop.

More than the sensation on his skin was the way the liquid felt as if it seeped deeper. There was first a tingling along nerve endings, and then a rush, like a dam opening inside of him. He went very still and allowed the phenomenon to engulf him, to spread like a tidal wave inside of him. He felt renewed, happy, clean and balanced.

Lev turned back to the bed, leaving the window open. He loved the sound of the rain and knew he'd always associate the sound with Rikki. Her face showed signs of exhaustion. She'd worked hard beneath the water, hauled him out of the sea, given him CPR and been up most of the night. Even playing as she was, manipulating water took tremendous energy. He knew she hadn't eaten anything since she'd brought him to the farm. It was no wonder she was so thin.

He stretched out again, shaping his body around hers, careful not to touch her or disturb her, but he sent a "push" to get her to sleep. He used a very delicate, gentle touch, one designed to allow her to drift off slowly, unknowing. While he waited for his suggestion to work, he contemplated the tragedies in her life.

If someone had deliberately set those fires-and it was too much of a coincidence to think it wasn't intentional-was her ability to control water the reason? Had someone realized Rikki was an element with tremendous power, even when she was just a child? She hadn't said how old she was when the first fire had occurred, but she'd been in two foster homes and then was in a state-run facility. Someone had killed her fiance using fire, the opposite of water. Who wanted her dead? He was convinced someone did. And if so, why the long gaps between the attacks, and why fire?

Her hands dropped to her side and her lashes fluttered. He smiled down at her. "You've come back to me."

She looked around her. "You're still here."

Her voice was drowsy, her eyes slumberous. She'd definitely crawled inside of him and wrapped herself tightly around whatever was left of his soul. He wanted to look at her all night-the rest of his life, for that matter. He found peace in her.

"Yeah. I'm here. I don't think I'm going anywhere soon." If ever.

He should go. Whatever he was, he was violent and deadly, and definitely trouble for her, but . . . He looked around the room. She had a bed, a dresser and a night-stand. The bare minimum. It was that way in every room.

"How long have you lived here?"

She thought about it. "We closed the deal on the farm just before Lexi's nineteenth birthday and she just turned twenty-three, so just about five years. The orchards were already in, and part of the main vegetable gardens. The houses were on the property, but they were all in bad shape. We remodeled ourselves and extended the garden. Last year we put in two greenhouses, a fairly large one for vegetables and one much smaller for flowers. The farm has really done well and produced for us."

It was the most forthcoming she'd been about her life, and he heard the pride in her voice. She loved the farm.

"Who did the work on the houses?"

"We did. All of us. We started with Lexi's house. She needed to feel safe. It was important that she had a home, a place that was hers. Judith, she's our artist, is amazing with a hammer. Between Judith, Lissa and Airiana, we were able to do just about everything ourselves. And Judith helped each of us decorate."

He looked around Rikki's house. His first thought was that not much decorating had taken place, but then he realized he was wrong. Judith, whoever she was, knew Rikki's need for simplicity. The walls were done in cool water tones, producing a soothing atmosphere for her. And her bathroom had been a work of art. The few pictures in the house were watercolors, depicting rain over grass or rain in the trees. Judith "saw" Rikki and designed the interior to suit her needs. He had no doubt she would see right through him and made up his mind to avoid her.

"How did you all meet?"

Rikki's fingers continued to tap a beat along her thigh. He could hear the rain respond through the open window, drumming at the roof, following the beat of her fingers.

"We met through grief counseling. It was sort of my last-ditch effort to save myself. I was fairly certain I was a sociopath or something, at least in my sleep. I didn't really want to keep living. But then I heard Lexi's story, and Judith's, as well as the others', and they didn't make me feel so alone. They believed in me when I couldn't believe in myself."

He was silent, digesting what she told him. "Rikki. Is that why you took me in? I'm not like you, honey. You didn't start those fires. I've killed men. I see the images in my head. I don't know why, but I'm not the nice man you've got in your head."

"I don't think you're a nice man," she protested.

Her vehemence made him smile all over again. "Good. I don't want you to be disappointed when we find out who I am."

"You really don't know?"

"Don't feel sorry for me, Rikki," he cautioned. "I'm glad I don't know. Spending time with you has been cleansing. I feel free. I know that probably sounds crazy, but I don't want to look at who I was, not with the things I'm seeing. How could I have ten names? I don't know what's real and what's made up. But I do know that every memory contains violence. Staying right here with you, lying here listening to the rain with you, I feel at peace. I shouldn't but I do, and I'm going to enjoy it while I have the chance. Who knows? Tomorrow a cop or someone wanting me dead might show up at your door."

"They won't, you know," she offered, turning her body slightly toward his.

She should have turned away from him. If she had any sense, his honesty should have shaken her, but Rikki didn't react like most people. Her eyes were steady on his.

"If anyone is looking for you, Lev, they'll think you died in the ocean. Everyone was gone yesterday morning. The harbor was deserted when I went out. Only Ralph was there when I came back. Ralph noticed you, but he never saw your face."

At the mention of Ralph noticing him, Lev's mind kicked into overdrive, rapidly calculating the benefits of finding Ralph and disposing of him before he could reveal Rikki hadn't been alone. It was an automatic reaction more than a conscious one, and that told him a lot about himself. Killing was a way of life. Killing was an option for removing obstacles in his path. What kind of man thought that way? Rikki had thought of herself as a sociopath because she didn't know whether or not she started fires, but she played in the rain, made water dance and composed symphonies with it. He contemplated killing.

To avoid her eyes, he covered his own with his arm. She saw into him and the last thing he wanted was for her to see him as he really was.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Go to sleep, Rikki. I'll know if someone tries to come near the house."

Her fingers brushed his mouth. He felt the jolt of her touch like a lightning bolt slamming through his body. There was no gentle stirring of his body. His hard-on was immediate and painful, an aching need that encompassed body and mind. He let himself enjoy the sensation. He'd thought he was incapable of a natural erection, one not planned out, one where he hadn't set up the seduction and controlled every aspect of the scene. Rikki made him feel alive. Real. A human being.

"First tell me what's wrong."

"Damn it, can't you just go to sleep? I don't want to tell you."

"I don't want you in my bed or my house. I don't want you near my boat. That didn't stop it from happening."

"What do you want me to say? That the moment you told me Ralph saw me, I thought about killing him?" He pulled his arm away so his gaze could lock with hers-so he could see her reaction, the revulsion, the horror. He waited for her to order him to go.

Her eyes softened, and God help him, she was looking at him with compassion. "Lev, you believe someone is trying to kill you. You didn't rush off to actually do anything to Ralph." She smiled at him, her eyes as soft and as liquid as ever. "I thought about killing you numerous times, but I didn't. The jury's still out on whether I will or not."

There was a slight teasing edge to her tone. Her voice and the pad of her finger rubbing back and forth over his lips in an effort to erase his frown didn't do much for his peace of mind or his heavy erection. She put a lump in his throat the size of a golf ball, and he felt like he might be choking. He couldn't find a way to believe in himself, yet she did-this strange woman who had pulled him out of the sea.

"Do me a favor, honey," he said softly. "Go to sleep and let me watch over you with the rain. You've done so much for me, let me do this for you."

She studied his face for a long time before she nodded and turned on her side, facing away from him. When she'd removed her finger, he found he could breathe again, but his body didn't relax until long after her breathing became even. He waited even longer, until he was positive she was in a deep enough sleep, before he wrapped his arm around her waist and laid his head near her shoulder so he could breathe her in along with the scent of the rain.

6.

RIKKI took her responsibilities seriously and Lev was a huge responsibility. He wasn't like owning a cat or a goldfish. She actually had to take care of him. She spent a great deal of her time muttering to herself over the next week and a half. He was unable to get up for more than fifteen minutes at a time. His headaches were horrendous and he'd discovered more aches from his battering against the rocks.

She resumed her normal routine, circling the house morning and night looking for signs of an intruder. She used every can of broth and soup Blythe had bought for her to feed the man. The first few days he ate little and slept most of the time. She worried that she needed to take him to a hospital, but each time she brought the subject up, he was adamantly against it, assuring her he would be fine.

There was one day of beautiful weather, and she thought about going to work but instead spent the day glaring at him. He seemed oblivious. Two days of high surf made it easier to bear, but by the twelfth day she couldn't stop pacing. She felt restless and out of sorts. She decided she had to leave him long enough to sit on the bluffs for a while and just breathe. At least Lev didn't want to talk. He often woke up with a gun in his hand and his eyes cold as ice as he tracked around the room. She was careful never to startle him.

He didn't seem to mind her helping him to the bathroom, and she gave him a massage twice a day. He rarely talked even then and she could tell noise hurt. She didn't mind silence, because noises often hurt her head as well. She knew she would have to find a way to get him clothes-that meant going into a store-and she wasn't ready for that kind of commitment yet. She just wanted to get him on his feet and out of her house.

She hadn't slept very well after that first night. Mostly she stayed in the hammock swing off the kitchen, or, if it was too cold, on her couch. She often paced, worried that Lev wouldn't wake up and then afraid that he would. She was so used to being alone that she was very aware of his breathing, the way he took up her air and her space. She kept the blinds down in her house, and each of her sisters called twice but they didn't ask questions.

The huge news was that a yacht had sunk off the coast in a freak accident. The yacht was owned by a Greek businessman, a billionaire, and everyone on board was lost. Naturally Rikki's sisters didn't want her going out into the ocean until it was pronounced safe, which made her want to laugh. How could going out to sea ever be considered safe?

She knew they assumed she wasn't working because of the yacht sinking. She didn't consider it lying that she didn't give them facts they didn't ask about. But she couldn't breathe anymore, and she had to get out of the house and go where she could see the ocean and just absorb it. That meant leaving Lev alone and unprotected. Her main worry was always fire.

She sat on the edge of the bed and pushed back his hair. The shadow on his jaw had grown into the beginnings of a real beard. "I have to leave for a little while." She knew he was awake. She'd never go near him while he was asleep, but his eyes were closed.

He didn't open them, but he caught her wrist, his fingers a shackle, preventing movement. It amazed her how he could do that, know exactly where her arm was when he had his eyes closed. And she always watched his face, not even blinking. He never so much as peeked, yet he never missed.

"Don't."

"I have to go, just for a little while. I've checked outside and no one's around. I think it's safe. I'll lock the door when I go out."

She could tell it was a struggle for him to open his eyes enough to look at her. The impact of that blue stare gave her a jolt in the vicinity of her stomach.

"You'll come back?"

"I live here." She was ashamed instantly. He seemed to need reassurance. Why was that so difficult for her? "Soon. Don't shoot anyone while I'm gone."

"Take one of my guns."