Obsidian Prey (22 page)

“Hmm. What’s in it for me?”

THEY WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR OF LYRA’S APARTMENT an hour later. Vincent scurried into the kitchen, tumbled up onto the counter, and gazed worshipfully at the cookie jar.

“We’ve got a deal, then?” Lyra asked. She went into the kitchen and raised the lid of the jar. “If I go with you to your grandfather’s birthday celebration, you promise to let me keep the pyramids until I can figure out how to de-rez them?”

There had been little chance to discuss the terms of the bargain since they had left the antechamber. As soon as they had reached the surface, Cruz was on his phone issuing a string of terse orders to Garrett Flagg, setting up the twenty-four-hour surveillance of the Fairstead Gallery. He hadn’t finished making the arrangements until they had arrived at her apartment building.

“You have my word that I’ll let you decide what to do with them.” He went around the counter and took down the bottle of Amber Dew. “Meanwhile, I won’t tell anyone else about those stones.”

“Okay, I guess,” she said.

“Your enthusiasm is heartwarming,” Cruz said.

Vincent chose a cookie with the air of a connoisseur selecting a fine wine. When he had picked out the perfect treat, he bounced up to the top of the refrigerator to eat it.

Lyra replaced the lid. “I still don’t get it, though. Why are you suddenly so willing to leave me in possession of the pyramids?”

He poured a measure of the liqueur into two balloon glasses. “Think about it.”

After a moment, it clicked.

“Of course. You’ve concluded that, at least for the time being, those stones are safer down there in my personal safe-deposit box than they would be in your company’s lab,” she said.

“One man is dead, and one relic has been stolen. Obviously the lab’s security isn’t as good as yours.”

“In other words, you were planning to leave the pyramids down there, regardless of whether I agreed to go with you to Big Jake’s party tomorrow night.” She made a face. “I should have known better than to bargain with a Sweetwater.”

“Well, sure. Sweetwater luck and all that. But that doesn’t change one fact.”

She took the glass of Amber Dew he held out to her.

“And what fact is that?” she asked.

“You really did break my heart, and everyone in my family knows it.” He swallowed some of his drink. His eyes were as dark as midnight in the Quarter, green flames burning in the obsidian depths, just like the fire in his ring.

Her pulse skidded, and her senses fluttered. She could almost believe him. She desperately wanted to believe him. She sipped the heady liqueur and lowered the glass, trying to look cool and just a tad amused.

“You’re good,” she said. “You’re really good.”

“It’s the truth.” He turned and walked back out into the living area. “Heartbreak is bad enough. Knowing that your entire family is worrying about you and feeling nothing but pity for you doesn’t help.”

“Ah, the pride factor.”

“It’s the only thing you left me.”

She grinned and held up one hand. “Stop. Now you’re the one who’s guilty of going way over the top.”

“I thought I told you, in my family we don’t have a problem with going over the top. Not when it comes to love.” He stopped at the coffee table and looked at the vase of purple orchids. “Are those new? They don’t look like the ones I saw here yesterday.”

“Those were delivered this morning.”

“Same damned note?”

“Same note,” she agreed. “But I wouldn’t necessarily use the word
damned
to describe it.”

“Mind if I take a look?” He already had the envelope in hand and was extracting the card.

“Help yourself,” she said dryly.

Vincent had finished his cookie. He tumbled down from the refrigerator and fluttered across the room to the corner where his current canvas lay atop the stack of newspapers. He hopped up onto the wooden chest that contained his painting supplies and made enthusiastic noises.

“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 assumed 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 hell 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.”

“Damn 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 pass?”

“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 shivered 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 passion flared in the atmosphere. Her fingers trembled. Afraid that she might drop her glass, 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 sexual attraction,” she reminded him.

“Sex is involved.” He stopped in front of her. “And sex is good. It certainly works for me. But when it comes to this kind of energy, you’re talking about a lot more than sex. Sweetwaters 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 passion. 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 shirt.

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 anticipation. 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, sexy growl.

He freed himself, tumbled her onto her back, and came down between her legs.