If he had to hole up here for weeks, he would get the truth out of her. It would be no hards.h.i.+p. And the Agency had given him no deadline for his return.

He felt himself relax for the first time in months.

Jesse was spittin' mad.

The only way out of here was in his skimmer and she needed a number code to activate it. When she found it in the garage she expected it to be triggered by his touch or a laser scan of his iris. If that were the case, she could have simply knocked him out, dragged him into it, started the d.a.m.ned thing, and then dumped him. The prairie had to lead somewhere. The earth was still round.

But she found it was activated with an old fas.h.i.+oned number pad. She'd have to torture him to get the code out of him.

She wanted to kick and maim something, badly.

This place was useless. More like a vacation spa. No means of communication to the outside world and no weapons of any kind. At least none that she could find.

Not that she'd really kill him. But he wouldn't know that.

After she had fully explored the compound, she settled on the only means of torture left in order for her to get the code out of him. With her plan in mind and the few tools necessary for the job, she followed the delicate smells coming from the west wing.

When she peeked into the kitchen, he was completely absorbed in pouring what looked like olive oil into a saute pan. His sleeves were rolled up his muscled forearms and his big body towered over the stove, reinforcing her conviction that she couldn't physically overpower him despite her many defensive skills. He leaned closer, studied the oil, and then poured a drop more. He opened his black s.h.i.+rt at the neck and a few b.u.t.tons down his chest. A light sheen of sweat dampened his wide forehead.

The same dark hair that covered his arms peppered his chest. She could almost smell him from where she stood. She blocked out the memory and watched as he adjusted the heat under the skillet several times before he looked satisfied.

A perfectionist.

He tossed in a small heap of vegetables and frowned. Then he adjusted the heat again and stirred with great concentration.

A control freak, too.

But, freak or not, the smells coming from the room were making her mouth water.

She took a quick scan of the inside and saw nothing untoward. Apparently his only immediate plans were to eat and she was starved. Her own plans could wait. She dropped her small bag of tools outside the door.

When she pushed through the swinging doors, he glanced up as though expecting her and let his heated gaze travel over her body. She had had enough sense to throw on some clothes. She would have preferred a pair of pants, but the only ones she found were far too large, so she settled for one of the less seductive sundresses she found in one of the closets.

His lips tipped up at one corner and without saying a word, he turned his attention back to his cooking.

It more than irritated her that the possibility she might attack him caused him no worry.

He glanced up from his stirring. "Hungry?"

Her eyes snapped to his. "You mean in addition to being furious, drugged, and held captive?"

He lifted a shoulder. "No, I was just wondering about your appet.i.te."

Her mouth twisted. And a comedian, too.

She stormed in. But she didn't approach him. Not that she was afraid exactly, although she sensed danger being near him. It was just wise to keep her distance.

She took in the contents of the room. While the small sitting room was graced with comfortable chairs, the kitchen was all sleek lines of chrome and stainless steel. Marbled countertop, granite floor. No expense spared.

Whoever he was, he was important. And she was in trouble. She had no doubt now that he worked for the PSI Agency and that he suspected her ident.i.ty.

But she had covered her tracks expertly. And there was no way he could force the truth out of her. Besides, she would have that code from him and be long gone before he could try.

First, she was going to eat.

"Care to join me?"

He carried two steaming dishes and laid them on the dining table that was set for two.

She regarded him suspiciously, taking her plate and moving clear down to the other end.

His eyes lit with amus.e.m.e.nt as she settled herself. What did he expect? That in between his kidnapping her and her torturing him they'd share a pleasant meal?

She glared at him.

He raised a long necked bottle. "Wine?"

"Are we celebrating something?" she spat.

He gave a husky laugh that made her b.r.e.a.s.t.s tingle.

"That would certainly be my wish." His lids lowered. "But I'm afraid I'm merely offering refreshment."

She ignored him and stabbed into her food. The fish flaked into tender pieces. When she took a bite, she couldn't suppress a groan of delight. It was seasoned to perfection. Even the feel of it sliding down her throat was irresistible. It seemed that within minutes her plate was half empty and her pangs of hunger replaced with delicious satisfaction.

When she looked up he was studying her with naked hunger.

She startled and the look vanished, replaced by a relaxed gaze. But the blood pumping to her s.e.x told her she hadn't imagined it.

She took a little breath and finished quickly, anxious to get out of there.

"You're Tyre Leyton's great-granddaughter."

Her hand stopped mid-air. She looked up, determined to weather this. She couldn't deny knowing of him. Any history student would know he had been the leader of the last group of psychic overlords. They had used their paranormal ability to dominate the globe and control resources for their own greedy use.

Leyton himself, as the head, had centralized the world government, basing its headquarters in North America, and lived in splendor while the rest of the world's nations had to use profits from their GNP's to pay for such necessities as water. When he knew he and his army were about to lose to the rebels, he had ordered that the infrastructure of the entire North American continent be systematically destroyed. What had once been a prosperous unified global economy was brought to ruin during Tyre Leyton's reign.

No one hated him more than Jesse.

"So." She placed her fork down with care. "That's why you kidnapped me." She leaned back in the chair and folded her hands in her lap. "Well, I'm relieved. I thought perhaps you might be some renegade psychic trying to overthrow our small, soon to be prosperous, town. It 's no secret that the pipeline will make Chinook valuable. A psychic gaining control of a small territory such as ours could lead to controlling the natural resources for which Alaska is noted." She pierced him with her gaze. "You are psychic, are you not?"

"Yes."

She was surprised by his quick admission.

"You haven't answered my question," he said.

She leaned in. "I didn't hear a question. It sounded like a statement." She flattened her palms on the table. "A false statement."

His eyes blazed into hers, trying to read her thoughts. She blocked them, an automatic response over which she had little control. It was one gift for which she was grateful.

His eyes narrowed. "There is no point denying it. What I need to determine is what you plan to do about it. Your inherited powers over the wind in such a vast, open, un.o.bstructed country as Alaska could be enormous. You seem to have an expert understanding of what a powerful psychic could do by getting control of Chinook."

"So do you. Which means you must work for the PSI Agency."

"Right again."

His forthrightness puzzled her. "Well, you're wasting your time. While I'm sure your mission is worthy, you've got the wrong person."

"We've been looking for all three of you. For some time now."

Her throat constricted at the mention of her sisters. She blinked over at him, willing her heart to steady its beat. "Who?"

"Your sisters were located in Ohio and California."

She wanted to leap across the table and choke him. It was only knowing that by doing so she would confirm what he knew, that kept her seated. She could not let him know who she was.

"Three of them. Well, good for you. I hope you find them, because no more despicable a creature existed than Tyre Leyton. Course," she gave a shrug, "I'm not sure they should pay for the sins of the father and all that, but I'm sure the Agency knows what it's doing."

"That's what we intend to determine. There is little doubt that you are all level five psychics-"

She blew out a breath. "And how would you know that?"

"It would make sense, wouldn't it?"

"Not necessarily. If I remember my history, Tyre Leyton himself prohibited two psychics of equal power mating for fear they might procreate one more powerful than himself. And each generation after Leyton showed no psychic abilities whatsoever."

"Or, they chose not to exercise their abilities."

She balled up her napkin and threw it down. "That's the trouble with you psychics. You know everything." She shot up from the table. "If you were really smart, you'd make sure you didn't mate with another psychic, and then we wouldn't have to worry about any of you producing another Tyre Leyton."

He rose slowly from his chair. "Does that worry you?"

"What?"

He came at her with slow deliberate steps.

She backed up. "Why should it worry me? I'm no psychic." She licked her lips and glanced around for some escape. She had no reason to think he was going to kiss her, but she knew that he would.

His eyes dropped to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "You're trembling. Terrified that you'll produce the seed of your great-grandfather."

"Shut up!" she screamed. "He is not my great-grandfather." Her back thumped the wall. Before she could take a breath, he braced his hands beside her head, trapping her.

He leaned down, a whisper away, and murmured against her lips. "You don't know what would happen if two powerful psychics mated, but I have an idea." He tipped her chin up. "Pure pleasure."

She had no will to fight him. Too late she realized that she had let his low melodic voice hypnotize her. But when his lips settled over hers, rational thought fled. Only the hot burn in her belly mattered. And his lips were pure pleasure. Hot and smooth and wet.

He clamped her waist, pulling her against him as his tongue slid over her lips, teasing her mouth open. His erection, thick and hot between her thighs and pus.h.i.+ng against her, made her gasp. Hot sensation sluiced through her belly, clear down to her toes. His tongue gained entrance, slipping along hers as he slid his arousal against her softness. A small helpless cry escaped her as need exploded in her s.e.x and throbbed.

She was so pathetically weak. How could she do this? While her mind fought him, her body pressed forward, seeking him. Before she knew what was happening his hands slipped under her sundress and palmed her thighs, spreading her. Her breath caught. When she squirmed, his fingers slipped beneath her panties and explored. She strangled a moan when he slipped a finger up into her heat.

"You're soaked," he groaned. "You feel so silky, Jez." His thumb teased her c.l.i.t, sending lightning licks of fire everywhere.

But the sweep of pleasure that shook her was not enough to block out him calling her by her grandmother's pet name.

She thrashed wildly, punching at him and fighting with all she had, worried that they'd gotten to her grandmother, too.

He stumbled back.

"That's what this is about," she railed. She looked around for anything that would serve as a weapon as she sidestepped him.

He was breathing heavily and his arousal filled his pants. She dragged her eyes away. He was so large in every way that she'd have to keep her wits about her if she was to escape him.

"You don't work for the Agency."

"I don't?" He blinked.

It all became clear. She was more worried now than ever. And what about her sisters? Had they fallen victim to handsome renegade psychics, too?

He dropped himself into a chair and raked both hands through his hair. "Look, it's hard to explain exactly what comes over me when I'm near you but..." His voice trailed off and he gave a laugh.

"I have to say," she began, stalling for time, "you may have been a good choice as far as looks go, but you're kind of stupid." She spotted a heavy bra.s.s lamp in the sitting room and inched her way toward it.

He frowned. "How's that?"

"If you wanted to seduce me, you didn't have to kidnap me, you could-"

"Seduce you?" he growled. Then he stood. "Look, while I admit I find you distracting, my primary mission-"

"'Course, there is no way of knowing if your people's theory is even true, is there?"

"My people?"

She was within grabbing range of the lamp. All she'd need was for him to turn away from her, or to find a way to distract him. d.a.m.n, she was stupid. Of course she could distract him. He had just admitted as much.

"I mean, while I find you attractive," she continued in a husky purr, "there really is no guarantee that my mating with a powerful psychic would produce offspring of an even higher level."

He tipped his head. "That's what you think my mission is?" He got up from his chair and started toward her. "You think I'm a renegade psychic who planned to rape you?"

"I think it's pretty clear that you'd hardly need to force me." She unb.u.t.toned her dress and let if fall to the floor.

Like a bug trapped in a light beam he stopped, still as stone, except for his eyes that roved over her body. She definitely had his attention.

"While your theory is flawed, I'm relieved you're not from the Agency. I'm sure they are hunting you, too. And while the idea of you f.u.c.king me is more than appealing," she said, lifting her T-s.h.i.+rt over her head and tossing it behind her, "I'm not likely to produce any offspring since you should have figured I'd be using birth control."

His mouth dropped and his eyes riveted on her nipples. They swelled and tightened to hard points. She groaned inwardly. The hot flush that crept up his neck made her s.h.i.+ver.