High Energy (23 page)

"Is that why you invited him next weekend?"

"Yes. We need more time with him. Seeing him at seminars occasionally over the

winter isn't going to cut it. We need to develop a more intimate relationship

with him. Don't forget, we don't know what we're going after to entrap him."

"Smart. But what if he had taken the check anyway? That was an awfully large

check, Tyber."

He shrugged unconcerned. "As I said—a calculated risk."

"So… what did we see?"

Tyber exhaled a long breath. "I'm not sure yet. But I promise you—I will figure

out exactly what scam he's pulling."

"You don't think he has some genuine ability and is using it to manipulate

people, do you?" Silly as it seemed, she was almost afraid to ask this question.

"Absolutely not. What we saw in there was impressive, but it was showmanship. He

did something…."

"But how? You saw yourself—his shirt was rolled up way above his elbows. He

wasn't concealing anything in his sleeves. I watched his hands closely—he didn't

palm anything. Everyone was surrounding him. There was no sleight of hand."

"I know. I observed that as well…." His words trailed off. Deep in thought, brow

furrowed, Tyber drove the rest of the way to the inn in silence.

True to his word, when Zanita came out of the tub dressed in one of the

terrycloth robes the inn provided, she spotted Tyber sitting in the large chair

in front of the fireplace, sipping a hot mulled cider.

He was wrapped in the other robe, his bare feet resting on the mantel, toes

wiggling as he tried to warm his feet. He gestured to the other mug on the tray,

then patted his lap.

Zanita gratefully took a sip of the hot drink as she curled up on his lap. "Mmm,

this is good. I wondered why you left the tub so fast."

He ran his hand lazily down her back. "Someone had to wait for the drinks. I

think I'm actually starting to feel my toes again."

"It was horrid, wasn't it? I hope my next investigation leads me someplace

warm—like the Caribbean."

Tyber gave her an indulgent look. "Uh-huh. You ought to put that imagination of

yours to work writing fiction. The Caribbean!"

Zanita sighed. "I know; more than likely my next piece will take me back into

the wet bogs of cranberry country, sloshing through a quagmire of mud in search

of beer-swilling aliens."

Not if I have anything to say about it. There was no way he was slogging through

swamps with her In Search Of. He rubbed his freshly shaven jaw. "You know, baby,

I'm serious. Why don't you think about it?"

"Maybe." She snuggled into him, yawning.

He smiled above her curly head. Here we have three factors in the Zanita

Equation: a warm drink, a warm lap, and a toasty fire. These three factors

combined could only add up to…

His blue eyes twinkled as he looked down at the woman fast asleep in his arms.

A sharp knock on the door to their room woke Zanita up the next morning. She

heard Tyber mumble something incoherent next to her ear while she tried

unsuccessfully to untangle their naked limbs.

The knock came again.

"Just a minute," she called out. "Tyber, move your leg!"

Tyber sleepily raised his head off the pillow. "Huh? Oh, the door—I'll get it."

His head flopped back down onto the pillow. "Just give me a minute." He burrowed

his arms back under the pillow, closing his eyes.

A disembodied chipper voice called through the door, "Room service!"

"Did you order room service?" She shook his shoulder. He blearily opened his

eyes. Glass-blue orbs tried to focus on her.

"What?" His vision cleared. He smiled. "Oh, yeah! I ordered breakfast in bed for

us last night." He threw back the covers, grabbing the terry robe on his way to

the door.

Zanita eyed his backside appreciatively from the bed. Pity he had to cover those

gorgeous buns, she thought.

Round. Smooth. Tight. Hard.

Just the way she liked them.

A real handful.

Tyber returned to the bed carrying a large wicker tray. His hair, as usual in

the morning, was in sexy disarray around his shoulders.

"What d'ya got?" she asked, eyeing the tray with interest and thinking it was a

very nice gesture on his part.

He placed the tray carefully on the bed, shucked his robe, and crawled back

inside beside her. His body was still sleep-warmed. "Let's see…" He brought the

tray across his lap.

"A little bottle of champagne, apple pancakes and maple syrup, some orange

juice"—he took a sip—"fresh-squeezed, a basket of cinnamon rolls, and what

appears to be homemade jam."

"Champagne for breakfast?"

"Of course." He uncorked the bottle with a pop. "Try it; it will do wonderful

things for you in the morning." He poured her out a flute.

She tasted it appreciatively. "It does! I think the bubbles are actually

invigorating!" She took another sip. "I think this could replace caffeine."

Tyber put a finger to his lips. "Shh. It'll be our secret." Zanita giggled.

Smiling, he leaned over to place a quick kiss on her lips.

"Here you go." He handed her a plate of pancakes.

"Thanks; they look delicious."

"Mmm." His long lashes lifted slowly, revealing a devilish twinkle in his eyes.

"Syrup?" The corner of his mouth quirked ever so slightly.

Tyber was teasing her with his "tunnel" allusion, reminding her of his "syrupy"

quivering walls. Zanita blushed to the roots of her hair.

"You are outrageous!"

A dimple curved his cheek. When he spoke, his voice was a husky drawl. "I do my

best for you, baby." He poured some syrup on her pancakes, ignoring her

gape-mouthed expression.

Zanita decided it was wise to ignore Tyber when he got into one of these moods

of his. She dug into her pancakes.

They were delicious, light and fluffy with chunks of fresh native apples. There

were worse things in this world than having a champagne breakfast in bed, she

decided. She leaned back against the pillows, closed her eyes, stretched her

toes under the blanket, and sighed.

"More?"

"I don't think I could." She patted her stomach.

"I'm not talking about the breakfast." The sultry purr came from somewhere to

her left. Her eyes snapped open.

He had removed the tray, placing it on the bedside table. And those ice eyes of

his were regarding her with a sharp heat, focusing strictly on her mouth.

Under his intense scrutiny, her lips tingled, parting slightly. His pupils

darkened and dilated.

It was difficult to form a cogent thought with him watching her like that. Her

breath caught in her throat. The man was sizzling! Without a doubt, he was the

sexiest male she had ever seen.

She attempted speech. "You're—you're not?"

"Well, I could be."

It took Zanita a moment to realize that he wasn't agreeing with her steamy

assessment of him, but answering her question. In any case, she didn't have time

to wonder about it because he lifted his hand, threading his fingers slowly

through the curls on the side of her face, immediately capturing her attention.

With his other hand, he idly reached over to the tray to dip his index finger in

a little pool of syrup left on one of the plates. His eyes never leaving her

full mouth, he diligently traced her lips with the syrupy finger, leaving the

sticky residue behind.

"Wh—what are you doing?"

This time he didn't answer her.

He just lowered his head to carefully lick the sticky syrup off her parted lips

with the tip of his swirling tongue. It was a sultry dalliance of playfulness

and demand.

"Tyber…" Zanita whispered his name against the brush of his velvet lips as they

feathered across hers.

Very lightly, in the barest of caresses, he skimmed the backs of his fingers

down the sides of her breasts, her waist, her hips. His flitting touch ignited

sparks of yearning as he seemed to barely dance over her satiny skin.

All the while, his fluid tongue teased at the corners of her mouth. He gently

probed her lower lip, laving across the seam.

Zanita lifted her mouth for his kiss, for the savory press of his mouth. When it

came, she nimbly caught the tip of his tongue between her lips and gently

suckled on him. He tasted deliciously of syrup and Tyber.

A thick sound issued low in his throat.

His uninhibited moan of desire resonated through her. There was a physics term

he had taught her… what had Tyber called it?

Synchronous vibration.

Yes, now she understood it very well as a matching pulse of longing throbbed

through her.

Tyber's beautiful mouth moved across her face, slowly, languorously.

Passionately. His hot kisses swept across her in a fiery burst of controlled

heat. A chaotic contradiction of the senses, he was somewhere between ambling

and deliberate.

He took her breath away.

He reached for the syrup dispenser.

While Zanita watched him, eyes passion-glazed, his thumb pressed back on the

spring mechanism, releasing a thin stream of the amber syrup. It slowly cascaded

down the center of her breasts in a meandering pattern, pooling in her navel

and, following the course of Tyber's direction, flowed down thick into the nest

of curls between her legs.

Before she had the presence of mind to wonder what he was doing, he came over

her.

His open mouth leisurely followed the trail of rich sap, consuming as he went

with sensual sweeps of his tongue.

Zanita lay back against the pillows and gave herself over to this mind-drugging

experience.

He scraped his tongue across the peak of one breast, letting her feel every tiny

bump on its syrup-coated surface as he slid across her extended nipple. Then he

caught just the tip between his teeth and tugged. She clutched his shoulders,

moaning at the sheer erotic pleasure of it.

Strong, well-shaped hands came up to cup her breasts as he went about licking

and sucking the syrup from her chest. The flat plane of her stomach. The little

pool in her navel. And lower still…

Was he going to… ?

Zanita clamped her legs shut. She wasn't altogether sure about this.

Tyber hesitated, looking up at her. "What is it, baby?"

"I—I'm not sure…"

But I am. He rubbed his chin against the delicate skin of her lower belly. The

faint stubble of his morning beard rasped against her, eliciting an acute

response from myriad nerve endings. She shivered.

Tyber noted her response, felt her response. He softly blew against the nest of

curls, watching the slick, glistening thatch part under his breath.

Zanita stopped breathing.

He lowered his head.

"Tyber—" She could feel his lips almost against her; his breath warm against

her.

"Shh. I want to see if I can tell the difference between maple syrup and honey."

His raw words, so quietly yet so inexorably spoken, made her heart stop.

Then he was there.

Tasting her. Kissing her. Parting her and licking her in long, hot, relishing

strokes of his tongue.

Zanita threw back her head, shuddering under the onslaught, her fingers

clenching in the pillow above her. The pleasure so exquisite that it was almost

painful. So intense that it was almost unbearable. When he found her hidden, now

ultrasensitive, throbbing nub, she bucked off the bed calling out his name in a

choked sob.

Tyber smiled against her, loving her feel, her taste. Especially her taste…

His hands slid under her, cupping her bottom, imprisoning her right against his

face. He inserted his tongue inside her.

She came instantly against his mouth in powerful spasms, her body convulsing in

great wracking tremors. And he felt every one of them.

When her body stopped shaking and had subsided into small quivers of sensation,

he still stayed with her, reluctant to stop the tongue-loving he was giving her.

"I think I'm dead," she squeaked.

His low laugh carried up to her. Kissing her one last time, he raised himself

above her, hugging her tight to him. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth,

then covered her mouth with his own. He tasted of her and maple syrup. And

Tyber.

She felt the hard, pulsing length of him pressed to her thigh. Hot for her. He

was always hot for her.

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, cuddling his cheek against her.

"Did you?" she mouthed against his ear.

Husky breath feathered the side of her face. "Did I what?"

"Tell the difference?"

"Yes. I like the honey better, baby." His teeth pulled on her earlobe as he

thrust sharply into her.

Chapter Eleven

« ^ »

On the drive back to My Father's Mansion, Zanita could not keep her sights from

straying again and again in Tyber's direction.

She stared at his beautiful hands on the steering wheel, so competent and in

control, and she couldn't help but recall how they had felt stroking her body

just a few short hours ago.

She watched the quirk of his lips in a smile, the way he bit his bottom lip when

she asked him a question he needed to think about, and she could not stop

herself from remembering the way those velvet-soft lips had taken such firm

control of her, had her begging for more. Another touch, another tender press,