Zinnia by Jayne Ann Krentz
“Really? Did you make a big announcement to all parties concerned on the occasion of your first time?”
He groaned. “If you make me laugh again, we’ll both regret it.”
“I think I’m okay now.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Sort of. What about you?”
“Me? I’m feeling a bit faint,” he muttered. “I may swoon before this is over.”
“The psychic vampire heroes in Orchid Adams’s novels never collapse in a faint at the crucial moment.”
“Sure, go ahead. Put a little more pressure on me.” He began to move carefully within her.
She was still very tight but her body was rapidly adjusting to his. Nick allowed himself to breathe again. He reached down with one hand and trapped the small nub between his thumb and forefinger. He tugged gently.
“Oh, my God.” Zinnia clutched at him. Her legs tightened with unmistakable urgency. “Oh, yes. Nick. Oh, yes, please. Nick.”
Somehow he found the strength to hold back until he felt the first stirrings of her impending climax. The delicate tremors reached him on the physical plane first, and without conscious thought he sought their echo in the metaphysical realm. He sent out a probe of talent, searching for her, thirsting for her.
And she was there, waiting for him. She touched him with her psychic energy even as she clung to him there on the floor. The prism appeared, clear and dazzling.
He sent energy crashing through the brilliant lens created by Zinnia’s mind even as he thrust deeply into her body. He felt her convulse beneath him and he knew he was lost.
So why did he feel as if he had just been found, he wondered as he hurtled headlong into his climax.
Zinnia opened her eyes a long while later. She gazed up at the dark coved ceiling. Nick had his arm around her, cradling her against his side. Moonlight streamed through the undraped windows. Yakima’s and Chelan’s twin beams accented the sleek planes and angles of Nick’s hard lean body and cast his forbidding features into deep shadow.
She felt good, she realized. Lighthearted. Full of hope. Happy. The aftereffects of lovemaking, she warned herself. They wouldn’t last. And neither would this strange unsettling sense of an intimate connection to the man beside her. Surely it would vanish now that both the focus and sexual links had been broken.
Gradually she became aware of the deep silence in the great room. Nick had said nothing since he had shuddered and muttered something unintelligible in the throes of his release. In all fairness, she thought, she had not been exactly chatty, herself, there at the end. She had been consumed by the overwhelming experience of lovemaking.
She tried to think of a conversational gambit that would be suitable for a moment like this.
“Does it strike you that this floor is getting hard?” she asked.
“Why?”
“Probably because it’s made out of rainstone. The blanket doesn’t offer much in the way of cushioning.”
Nick turned his head. His eyes were stark in the flickering shadows. “I wasn’t talking about the floor.”
“In that case, I’ve lost the thread of the conversation.”
“Why did you wait this long to have an affair?”
She felt her cheeks grow warm. “I thought it was only women who were supposed to ask lots of unnecessary questions at times like this.”
“It’s not an unnecessary question,” he said very evenly.
“No one particular reason. Just a lot of little ones. Are you sure you really want to hear them?”
“Yes. Every single one of them.”
“I see.” A flicker of wariness made her suddenly cautious. “Well, timing was part of it, I suppose. Four years ago I was involved with a man. His name was Sterling Dean. Vice-president in my family’s company. All-around great kisser.”
“Great kisser?”
She cleared her throat. “Yes, well, we had a lot in common. We talked about marriage.” She paused. “But things didn’t work out.”
“Because you were declared unmatchable by the marriage agency?”
“That kind of verdict tends to make a man think twice,” she said. “And it gave me a lot to think about, too. After all, being unmatchable works both ways. If I’m not a good match for someone else, it means no one is a good match for me.”
He was silent for a moment. “I see what you mean.”
“At any rate, shortly after that, my parents were lost at sea. Spring Industries went into bankruptcy. Then I was very busy getting my own business up and running and making sure Leo could stay in school. I was just starting to get on top of things when the Eaton scandal hit.”
“And there went your business.”
“It fell off drastically and I’ve been devoting myself to rebuilding it ever since. So, what with one thing and another, I was just too busy to worry about my personal life.”
There was more to it than that, she thought, a lot more, but she did not know how to put it into words. It was just beginning to dawn on her that her decision to wait had been influenced to some extent by the nature of her psychic energy. She might never know for certain but she had a suspicion that some part of her had been holding out for the right man, at least the right man on the metaphysical plane.
It was a scary thought because whatever else he was, Nick was not the right man.
“Too busy.” He did not sound convinced. There was a distinctly brooding quality in the depths of his voice.
“You seem to be awfully concerned about this.” She propped herself up on one elbow. “Do you always grill your dates after the big event?”
“No.” His eyes glittered beneath his long black lashes. “I just want to know why you waited, that’s all.”
She swept her hand out in a wide all-encompassing gesture. “What can I say? Life happened. Sex didn’t.”
“The Eaton scandal,” he said quietly.
“What about it?”
“I always knew there was something about the story in the tabloids that didn’t ring true.”
“No offense, Nick, but it doesn’t take a matrix-talent to figure out that there’s something about most of the stories in the tabloids that doesn’t ring true.”
“Why me?”
She knew what he meant. She looked out the window into the moonlight. “Things felt right tonight.” That was truer than he would ever know.
He still did not appear content with her answer. But he picked up her hand, turned it, and kissed the inside of her wrist. His lips were warm on her skin. “I’m glad.” His eyes burned beneath the fringe of his lashes.
She could not think of anything to say.
Nick released her hand to glance at his watch. “It’s nearly midnight.”
“The night is young for a casino owner.”
“But not for a lady who has to go to work in the morning. I’d better get you home.”
She did not need to be a high-class talent to feel him trying to pull back from the invisible brink. Now that sexual desire had been sated, his super-cautious matrix-instincts were coming to the fore. He was retreating into that more detached, remote sphere where he did not have to cope with the confusion of strong emotions.
Two could play that game.
She summoned up what she hoped was a breezy smile. “You’re right. It’s late.” She started to rebutton her dress. “Speaking of business, any leads on Polly and Omar?”
“No.” He gave her an assessing glance as he fastened his shirt. “My people will find them eventually, but I doubt we’ll learn anything when we do.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The forgery of the journal was a sophisticated, expensive operation. Feather hasn’t turned up anything to indicate that either Polly or Omar had the kind of money or contacts it takes to plan such a scam, let alone finance it.” Nick ran his fingers through his hair, shoving it straight back from his forehead. “I’m much more interested in getting hold of the forger.”
“No word yet from tha
“Stonebraker? No.” Nick got to his feet and pulled on his pants. “But Rafe works nights. With luck he’ll turn up a name by morning.”
She watched as he buckled his belt, fascinated by his powerful graceful hands. There was something quintessentially male about the way he went about the simple routine task. Every movement was efficient, economical, sure.
He saw her looking at him and raised his brows. “Something wrong?”
“No.” She started to get to her feet and discovered that her legs were not quite steady. She could feel twinges in small muscles which until now had been unaccustomed to serious exercise.
“Are you all right?” Nick caught her arm.
“Yes, of course.” She bent down to refold the blanket so that she would not have to meet his eyes. “Just a little stiff.”
“The damn floor,” he muttered. “Next time we’ll use a bed.”
She let a couple of heartbeats go by. Then she straightened and turned slowly to face him. “Next time?”
Uncertainty flashed briefly in his eyes. It vanished almost instantly, but Zinnia was curiously reassured by the glimpse of vulnerability.
“You said you weren’t into one-night stands,” he reminded her gruffly.
“That’s true.” She felt a little lighter now, more buoyant.
“Neither am I.” He picked up the hamper. “And as long as we’re working on Fenwick’s murder together, I figure we’ll be spending a lot of time in each other’s company. We’re both single. It’s obvious there’s a physical attraction between us. Why fight it?”
She widened her eyes. “Golly. Are all matrix-talents this romantic when they propose an affair?”
He stopped and turned so quickly to pin her with his intent gaze that she nearly collided with him.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asked.
She smiled. “Yes If you aren’t careful you’ll ruin the image of mythical psychic vampire lovers everywhere. You’ve been doing swell up until this point. Candlelight picnic. View of the city. Wine. Great sex. Don’t mess it up now.”
“Was it?”
“Was it what?”
“Great sex?”
“Trust me, you met all of my expectations, and as I told you at the start, they were extremely high due to my devoted study of Orchid Adams’s novels,” she said cheerfully.
He touched her cheek. “You’re sure?”
“Well, I’ll admit I’m not in a position to make comparisons.”
“Keep it that way.” He went down on one knee to repack the hamper.
She gave him a few seconds. When he did not say anything more, she cleared her throat meaningfully, planted her hands on her hips, and tapped her toe. “So how was it for you, Mr. Chastain?”
“What?” He looked up, clearly startled.
“You heard me.”
“Couldn’t you tell?” His eyes darkened to the color of green that was at the heart of the jungle. He got to his feet and brushed his mouth across hers. “I’m still in shock.”
“Okay.” She mulled that over for a few seconds. “Shock is good. I think.”
“Zinnia—”
“You’re right,” she said brightly, “it really is getting late.” She swung around and led the way back through the darkened circular hall.
Nick followed with the hamper. “Zinnia, I’m not good with this kind of thing.”
“You know, you really do have an incredible house here.” She threw open the front door with a flourish and stepped out onto the colonnaded portico. “It will take a lot of work, but when it’s finished—”
“Shut the door,” Nick ordered sharply. He was gazing past her into the gardens. “Hurry.”
But it was too late. Blinding light flashed in the nearby bushes.
Zinnia blinked. “What in the world?”
“A camera. Damned photographer must have followed us. Wait here.” Nick dropped the hamper. He moved so quickly through the doorway that he seemed to flow, rather than run.
“What are you going to do?” Zinnia called after him.
“I’m going to get that film. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay inside.”
“But, Nick, you can’t just grab a photographer and take his film,” she shouted. “He’ll sue or something.”
Nick ignored her. He went down the steps and vanished almost instantly into the darkness.
“Just like a PV.” Zinnia propped herself against the doorjamb and folded her arms. “One night of good sex and then he disappears.” Or maybe it was just like a matrix, she corrected silently.
There was a violent commotion from the vicinity of the gardens where she had seen the flash. She realized that the photographer was running through the foliage back toward the front gates. There was no sign of Nick.
A moment later she saw a figure dart out of the trees that lined the drive. There was just enough moonlight to see the array of camera accoutrements flapping around his torso as he dashed toward the entrance of the estate.
Still no sign of Nick.
Zinnia wondered if he’d gone the wrong way. He would not be pleased when he realized he had missed the intruder, she thought. But it would be better for all concerned if he failed to stop the photographer.
The running man vanished around the bend in the drive. Zinnia listened for the sound of a distant car engine signaling that the intruder had made his getaway. She heard nothing.
Another minute ticked past. Two. Three.
She did not care for the growing silence.
“Nick?”
More silence.
“Where are you?” She unfolded her arms and went down the front steps. “Nick, answer me.”
A shadow detached itself from one of the fern-trees at the edge of the courtyard and came toward her.
“I got the film,” Nick said.
She frowned. “I do hope you didn’t do anything violent to that man. He could cause you a great deal of trouble.”
“I don’t think he’ll be a problem.” Moonlight gleamed on Nick’s hair as he walked toward her. “He turned over the film without a single argument.”
Zinnia sighed. “You can’t just go around intimidating people, Nick. Not if you want to be respectable.”
His teeth flashed briefly in the shadows. “Shows how much you know.”
“What do you mean, there’s a photo of me in today’s issue of Synsation?” Zinnia slammed the door of Psynergy, Inc. and hurried toward the front desk. “That’s impossible.”
“It’s definitely you, Zin.” Byron wore an expression of deep awe as he gazed at the photo on the cover of the tabloid. “A whole new you, though. What happened? Did you and Chastain get into a wrestling match or something?”
Clementine stormed out of her office to peer over his shoulder. “Or something.” She raised grim worried eyes to Zinnia’s face. “So much for my good advice. Don’t know why I bother.”
Zinnia donned a cloak of aloof dignity. “I told you, Mr. Chastain hired me to do the interiors of the old Garrett estate.”
Clementine’s steel rings flashed as she pointed at the photo. “Looks to me like he was doing you.”
“Don’t be crude.” Zinnia forgot about her dignity. She snatched up the tabloid and stared at the front-page photo. “Oh, dear.”
The picture was excruciatingly clear. It showed her standing in the doorway of the mansion. Nick was directly behind her. She was annoyed to see that in the shot he appeared as darkly enigmatic, and mysterious as always.
Unfortunately, she looked like a woman who had just made wild uninhibited love on the floor. Her sunrise-hued dress was buttoned askew, revealing enough cleavage to send Aunt Wilhelmina into hysterics. Her hair was tousled around her face and her expression could only be described as sultry. The caption under the photo said it all.
Does local casino owner Nick Chastain have designs on his new interior designer, the Scarlet Lady?
Zinnia glanced at the photo credit and saw that the photographer’
“Photographers who work for Synsation are real resourceful,” Byron said, not without a note of sympathy. “My guess is this one had two cameras with him. Chastain probably never even saw the second one.”
“Nick is not going to be pleased,” Zinnia said. “I think his plan to become respectable has just suffered another setback.”
Nick tossed the copy of Synsation into the waste-basket. He looked at Feather. “Get the editor of that rag on the phone.”
“Sure, boss.” Feather took a step back toward the door. “Speaking of phone calls, I got a message for you from someone named Stonebraker. He called a few minutes ago, just before you walked in the door.”
Anticipation replaced seething irritation. “What’s the message?”
“He said to give you a name and an address.” Feather removed a notepad from his pocket. “Alfred Wilkes. At two-twenty-three West Old Vashon Street.”
Nick hesitated, torn between the urge to deal with the editor of Synsation and the arguably more important issue of talking to the master forger.
“Hold the call to the editor.” He got to his feet. “He’ll keep. I’ll take care of him later.”
“Right, boss.” Feather paused. “You going out to this address?”
“Yes.” Nick walked around the edge of his desk and grabbed his jacket off the chair where he had tossed it a few minutes earlier. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. This could take a while.”
Feather eyed him thoughtfully. “Want backup?”
“No, not this time.” Nick hooked the jacket over his shoulder and led the way out of the inner office.
The secret panel slid shut. With Feather at his heels, he crossed the gilded chamber and opened the door.
Voices rose in the hall.
“I’m sorry, Sir, Mr. Chastain is busy at the moment. I’ll be glad to schedule an appointment.”
A young man dressed in a sweater and khaki trousers leaned across the reception desk. His long hair was tied back with a thong. The muscles of his shoulders were bunched with rigid aggressive tension.