by Jayne Castle
She exhaled slowly. “What you’re saying is that occasionally you still get called back into the old family business.”
“Occasionally.” He watched her. “But I swear to you we no longer take money for those jobs. I know it’s a fine line, but to the family it’s an important one.”
“I see.”
“You don’t look all that shocked.”
“You forget,” she said quietly. “I’ve had some experience with the Sweetwater family, namely you and Jeff. I’ve tuned amber for both of you. You’re arrogant, stubborn, and inclined to be annoyingly dictatorial, but you were obviously born with a psychic predisposition to serve and protect. You’re the good guys. Like we in the tuning business say, it’s in the psi.”
“That’s not what you were saying three months ago.”
“I told you, I understand that you did what you thought you had to do three months ago.”
“And I came back because there’s something else I need to do now.”
“What?”
“Make love to you.”
He leaned over her and kissed her, a long, deep, aching kiss. Passion, heat, and energy swirled in the atmosphere. She felt the rush across all her senses and throughout her body. The sense of rightness shimmered through her.
Maybe she couldn’t trust the Dore luck when it came to love, but the energy of desire between her and Cruz was real. The bond between them was real. It might not last forever, but she knew in her bones that she would never find another man like Cruz Sweetwater again. Dores might not be the luckiest people on the planet, but they weren’t stupid. What was it Nancy had said? Time to go for the amber ring.
She put her arms around Cruz and kissed him back. He crushed her lightly down onto the cushions and started to move over her. A soft skittering sound from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen made her freeze, her fingers buried in Cruz’s hair.
“What?” he said, his lips on her throat.
“Vincent. We can’t do this in front of him. He’ll be embarrassed.”
“He’s a dust bunny. I doubt if he knows the meaning of embarrassed.”
“Okay, I’ll be embarrassed.”
There was a few seconds of stillness before Cruz finally moved.
“Right,” he said.
He rolled to his feet, picked her up, and carried her into the screened bedroom. In the shadows he undressed her slowly, sliding the black gown down over her hips. The dark fabric pooled on the floor around her bare feet. He unhooked the lacy black bra next and tossed it onto the dresser.
When he put his powerful hands on her breasts, a tremor of exquisite delight surged through her. She undid his shirt with shaking fingers and slipped her hands beneath the fabric. His skin was warm, the muscles of his chest sleek and hard.
He went down on one knee in front of her and kissed her stomach. She felt him hook his thumbs in the waistband of her black panties and draw them down to her ankles. And then his hand was between her legs, urging her thighs apart. She could feel her own liquid heat and knew that his fingers were already slick with it. The flare of urgent tension inside her made her dig her nails into his shoulders.
“Cruz.” She closed her eyes against the surging energy. She could barely stand.
He rose, picked her up, and settled her on the bed. She opened her eyes and watched, enthralled, as he unbuckled his belt and stripped off his clothing and the knife sheath with a resolute efficiency and speed that spoke volumes about his own level of arousal.
And then he was on the bed with her, his rigid erection pressed against her hip, his lips on her breast.
“Trust me,” he whispered against her throat. “We’re meant for each other.”
At least for tonight, she thought. And maybe tomorrow night, maybe for a week, a month. Who knew? She refused to look any further into the future.
She moved her hand down his hard, lean body, savoring the tautness of muscle and skin. He shuddered when she wrapped her fingers around him and stroked gently. She sensed his aura flaring, hot and dark with desire. For me, she thought. Of that much she could be certain. Tonight Cruz wanted her as badly as she wanted him.
The heat flaring between them was so intense that it left a sheen of perspiration on their bodies and dampened the sheets. When Cruz finally moved on top of her, looming over her in the darkness, gathering her close, all of her senses were thrilled. And then he was pushing slowly, heavily into her, stretching her, filling her, joining with her in ways that swept far beyond the physical.
This was so much more than sex. The shatteringly intense intimacy stole her breath. Nothing had changed since he had left three months ago. She loved this man. She would love him all of her life, regardless of what happened between them tomorrow or next week.
“Tell me that you know that what we have together is real,” he whispered against her throat. “Give me that much tonight.”
“This is real,” she said.
It was the truth. She knew he must have sensed it in her aura. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of his ring. Green fire glowed in the depths of the black amber.
Moments later her release flashed through her in small shock waves. Her climax triggered his own. He followed her into the glorious aurora.
Chapter 38
LYRA CAME AWAKE TO THE SOUND OF CHIMES. IT TOOK her a moment to identify the source of the irritating noise.
“I think someone’s at the door,” she mumbled into the pillow.
“Good guess,” Cruz said.
His voice came from across the bedroom, not the other pillow. She opened her eyes and saw him standing at the foot of the bed. He had his trousers on and was in the process of buckling his belt. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table.
“It’s not even seven o’clock,” she said. “Who in the world can it be at this hour?”
The doorbell chimed again and again.
“Whoever he is, he isn’t going to go away quietly,” Cruz said. He shrugged into his shirt. “I’ll take care of it.”
He went out into the main room. Alarm jolted through her. She leaped from the bed, grabbed her robe, and hurried after him.
“Wait,” she hissed. “It could be some bill collector’s goon. Did I mention I’m a little behind on the rent and a few other things?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Cruz did not slow down. He kept going toward the door. Vincent was already there doing his happy dance and chortling a greeting. Lyra relaxed. Whoever was out in the hall was a friend.
Cruz opened the door. It took Lyra a few seconds to recognize the woman on the other side. Nancy’s eyes were concealed behind oversized dark glasses. It promised to be another warm day, but she was wearing a heavy winter coat. The hood was pulled up around her face. She clutched a newspaper in one hand.
“About time,” Nancy muttered. She glanced anxiously back down the stairs and rushed into the loft. “Close the door. Quick. I parked in the alley. I don’t think anyone saw me on the street, but sooner or later they’ll find this place.”
“What’s wrong?” Lyra asked. “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not all right. I’m freaked out of my mind. You should be, too. We’ve got to get out of town. Throw some things into a suitcase, grab Vincent, and let’s go. We can hide out at my parents’ house on the lake.”
“Take it easy,” Cruz said. He closed the door with an air of great calm and went toward the kitchen. “How about some coffee first?”
“We don’t have time for coffee,” Nancy said. She jerked off her sunglasses and pushed back her hood. “Haven’t you two seen the morning papers?”
“Not yet,” Lyra said. “Why?”
“This is why.” Nancy held up the copy of the Herald, displaying the front page.
Lyra stared with mounting horror at the photographs positioned just below the fold. The first was a picture of Vincent, clearly identifiable by his red beret. He was sitting on the kitchen counter, a cookie in one hand, a paintbrus
h in the other. The second photo was of one of the three paintings that had been auctioned off the night before.
The headline read, “Art Scam at Local Gallery?”
“Oh, my Lord,” Lyra whispered. She yanked the newspaper out of Nancy’s hands. “The plumber. I knew there was something off with that guy. The son of a bitch was a spy. That critic at the Frequency Herald must have hired him to watch your gallery. He probably saw me bringing Vincent’s paintings in through the back door. Later he hired someone to pose as a plumber to get into my loft.”
“I knew that critic was determined to find out the identity of Chimera,” Nancy said, “but who would think that he would stoop to this? And how did he figure out that Vincent was the artist and not you?”
Lyra sighed. “Vincent was playing with his paints the day the plumber arrived. In fact, he was working on one of the paintings we sold last night.”
“We’re doomed,” Nancy said darkly. “Get your things.”
“I keep a pack ready,” Lyra said. “Give me a few minutes to shower and get into some clothes.”
“I strongly suggest coffee and breakfast before you two hightail it out of town,” Cruz said from the kitchen. “You’ll need the energy.”
Nancy glared at him. “You don’t understand. When Mr. Anonymous picks up the morning paper and finds out he bought six paintings that were done by a dust bunny, he’s going to raise holy heck. We can’t even refund all of his money. We spent what we got for the first three. Whatever happens, the reputation of the Halifax Gallery will be in ruins.”
Lyra paused in the bedroom entrance. “And so will the reputation of Dore Tuning & Consulting. You know what people say about small-time tuners like me. A lot of folks think we’re low level scam artists even on a good day. When it gets out that I was involved in this fiasco, I might as well close my doors for good.”
Cruz set a large frying pan on the stove. “Wait until you taste my scrambled eggs. I don’t do a lot of things in the kitchen, but I’m good with scrambled eggs.”
Lyra narrowed her eyes. “You don’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation, Cruz.”
“Probably because the situation is not grave.” Cruz opened the refrigerator door. “Mr. Anonymous is satisfied with his paintings. He won’t be suing the Halifax Gallery or anyone else.”
“How do you know that?” Nancy demanded.
Understanding slammed through Lyra. She watched Cruz take a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator.
“Oh, geez,” she whispered. “You’re Mr. Anonymous, aren’t you? You bought the first three paintings, too.”
Cruz smiled. “They’re all hanging in my office as we speak. I don’t think the three I picked up last night will fit in that space, though. I’ll probably put them up in my house, instead. The walls are pretty bare. The place could use some color.”
“Wait a second,” Lyra said. “You were at the auction last night. You stopped bidding early on. The winning bid came in by phone.”
“It was placed by the same person who bought the first three paintings,” Nancy said. “I recognized the voice.”
“That would be because I used the same person to bid last night that I did to pick up the other paintings.”
“Who?” Lyra demanded.
“A friend who owns a gallery in my section of the Quarter. He owed me a favor.”
“Holy dust bunny,” Nancy breathed. “Give me a minute here. I need time to wrap my brain around this thing.”
“Good grief.” Lyra stared at Cruz. “How did you find out that we were selling Vincent’s paintings?”
“I knew Nancy was your best friend. I subscribed to the Halifax Gallery’s e-mail newsletter. When the first pictures went up for sale, I recognized Vincent’s work immediately. They were all from his blue period, remember? He was just getting started with that color when you kicked me out. I figured, hey, what are the odds?”
“So you bought all three paintings?” Nancy said, still looking stunned. “Even though you knew they were done by a dust bunny?”
He cracked an egg into a bowl. “Art either hits you on a personal level, or it doesn’t. Vincent’s pictures were like little slices of Lyra’s life. Whenever I looked at them, I thought about being here with her in her loft. Talk about personal. The paintings gave me something to cling to while I waited for her to forgive me.”
“That is so romantic,” Nancy said in a breathy voice.
Cruz cracked another egg. “Sweetwaters are good at romantic.”
Lyra gave him a warning look. “We are not going there.”
“Okay, you two can deal with your personal issues some other time,” Nancy interrupted briskly. “We’ve got a major crisis here. Evidently Mr. Anonymous, aka Cruz Sweetwater, will not be suing the Halifax Gallery for fraud. That is one thing we no longer have to worry about. But that still leaves Lyra and me with some problems. The critic at the Herald has smeared us all over the front page of the paper.”
“To say nothing of Vincent,” Lyra said indignantly. “The guy at the Herald was the first to applaud his pictures when you put them up in your gallery. He’s pissed off now only because he discovered that they were painted by a dust bunny. We made him look stupid.”
“So now you make him look sharp and insightful,” Cruz said. He cracked another egg into the bowl.
Lyra and Nancy looked at him.
“How do we do that?” Lyra asked.
“You and Lyra will give an interview to the Herald critic congratulating him for spotting the little art joke that the Halifax Gallery perpetrated on the art world. Then you will invite him and everyone else in the art and antiquities field to the first public exhibition of rare amber artifacts from the vaults of Amber Inc. Said exhibition to be held at the Halifax Gallery.”
“Good grief.” Lyra could not believe her ears. “It’s brilliant.”
“Are you serious?” Nancy’s eyes widened. “You’d really let me do an exhibition of objects from the Sweetwater family’s personal collection?”
“Hell, I’ll pay you to clean out that vault.” Cruz opened a drawer and found a whisk. “It’s about time we got rid of some of the junk and took a decent inventory.”
Lyra laughed. “In the antiquities world, one man’s junk is another man’s priceless artifact.”
Cruz began to beat the eggs. “There is one small favor I’d like to ask in return, Nancy.”
Lyra stopped laughing. “Here it comes. I told you, Nancy. Doing a deal with a Sweetwater is like dining with the devil. You want to bring a really, really long spoon.”
“Are you kidding?” Nancy rubbed her palms briskly together. “For a chance to clean out the Sweetwater vault, I’ll gladly sit down to dinner with old Lucifer, himself.” She looked at Cruz. “What’s the catch?”
“The catch is that I think that you should attend my grandfather’s birthday party on Saturday evening. You’ll go as Jeff’s date, since I’ve already got one of my own.”
Nancy stared at him, dumbfounded. “Well, sure. No problem. But, uh, why?”
“Because the news that you were invited to attend the event will be leaked to the media which, in turn, will ripple through the art world and start an early buzz for the exhibition,” Cruz explained.
Lyra blinked. “Talk about strategic thinking.”
“Thanks.” Cruz put the whisk aside. “I can’t help it. Goes with the talent.”
Nancy looked at Lyra. “We’ve got to go shopping. We need dresses. The most fabulous dresses we can find.”
“I thought you were afraid of being recognized on the street,” Lyra said.
Nancy waved that off. “Cruz is going to make that problem go away, aren’t you, Cruz?”
“That’s what I do.” Cruz opened a package of coffee. “Make problems go away.”
“See?” Nancy said. “We’ve got Sweetwater muscle now. It’s safe to go shopping.”
Cruz spooned ground coffee into the pot. “But you’ve got time to eat breakfast first.”
ON SATURDAY NIGHT LYRA STOOD ON THE SWIMMING pool terrace of the Big House on Amber Island, looking out over a moonlit sea. One of the two boats that was running a shuttle service for the Sweetwater guests had just left the dock and was headed back toward the mainland. Its lights bobbed as the vessel caught the waves. The churning wake phosphoresced a brilliant white.
Cruz lounged beside her, one foot propped on the low railing, his forearm resting on his thigh. Nancy and Jeff were to her right. She and Nancy had champagne glasses in their hands. The men were drinking beer.
The night was warm. The scents of the garden perfumed the air. Music from a live band spilled out of the great room of the Big House and across the shadowed terrace. The voices and laughter of nearly two hundred guests fluttered and buzzed in the night. It was a perfect evening.
Lyra was fuming.
“I swear,” she muttered, “if just one more person comes up to me and says, ‘Oh, so you’re the woman who broke Cruz Sweetwater’s heart,’ I’m not going to be responsible for my actions.”
She had been introduced to innumerable wealthy, powerful people, including the bosses of the Crystal City and Aurora Springs Guilds and their wives. She had also met some “friends of the family” who were not particularly wealthy or powerful but who seemed to have ties to the Sweetwaters. One of them was a private investigator named Davis Oakes. His wife, Celinda, proved to be the author of Ten Steps to a Covenant Marriage: Secrets of a Professional Matchmaker. Lyra had nobly refrained from informing her that she had hurled the book off her balcony after Cruz had left.
Another interesting couple, Emmett and Lydia London, who appeared to have mysterious connections to the head of the Cadence Guild, were also present. In addition she had met a variety of movers and shakers, including the mayor of Frequency and her husband and the governor of the city-state.
But it was the members of the Sweetwater family that had gradually elevated her temper. Time after time the first words out of every Sweetwater mouth after introductions had been made were, “So you’re the woman who broke Cruz’s heart.” Granted, Cruz’s two brothers had looked amused when they said it, but still. She could tell they were serious.