Raintree. Linda Winstead Jones
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let herself go and really enjoy sex with him. She didn’t have to worry about his ego; if he started going too fast, she could tell him to slow down, and if he didn’t like that…tough. She wouldn’t have to worry about his pleasure; he would see to that himself.
She wondered if he took his time, or if he liked to get down to business.
She wondered how big he was.
Maybe she could relax enough to enjoy it, and even if she didn’t, at least she could satisfy her curiosity.
With a suddenness that startled her, he threw back the covers and got out of bed. “Where are you going?” she asked, surprised when he headed toward the door instead of the bathroom.
“It’s sunrise,” was all he said.
And? The sun rose every day. Did he mean he always got up at this time, even when he’d had only four hours’ sleep? Or did he have an early appointment?
She didn’t follow him. She had her own appointment—with the bathroom. She also wanted to give him enough time to have that first cup of coffee.
When she left her room forty-five minutes later, after having made the bed and put away her clothes, she went to the kitchen but found it empty. A pot of coffee had been made, however, and she smiled with satisfaction.
Where was he? In the shower?
She didn’t intend to stand around waiting for him to make an appearance. She was in the living room, heading toward her bedroom, when he appeared on the balcony two floors above.
“Come up here,” he called down. “I’ll be outside.”
His bedroom had a deck—or was it a balcony, too?—that faced east. She had looked at it yesterday, but hadn’t gone out, because his damn command had kept her from stepping outside. There were two comfortable-looking chairs and a small table out there, and she’d thought it must be a comfortable place to sit in the afternoon when the sun had passed its apex and that side of the house was shaded.
She went up the two flights of stairs to his bedroom. His bed, she noticed, had been stripped; that gave her a sense of satisfaction. She could see him sitting in one of the chairs outside, so she went to the open French door. Coffee cup in hand, he sat with his head tilted back a little, his eyes almost closed against the brilliance of the bright morning sun, the expression on his face almost…blissful.
“You’re handy with the salt, aren’t you?” he said neutrally, sipping the coffee, but she sensed he wasn’t angry. Of course, the coffee from the kitchen wasn’t dirt-flavored. When he made the next pot of coffee in here, he might not be as sanguine about things.
“Payback.”
“I guessed.”
He didn’t say anything else, and after a moment she shifted her weight. “Was that all you wanted, just to say that?”
He looked around, as if he’d drifted off into a reverie and was faintly surprised by her presence. “Don’t just stand there, come out here and sit down.”
Just thinking about doing so gave her the sense of running into a wall. “I can’t.”
That got a quick smile from him as he realized she was still housebound. He didn’t say anything, but immediately the mental wall disappeared.
“Crap,” she said, stepping outside and going to sit beside him.
“What?”
“You didn’t say anything, you just thought it. I’d hoped you had to speak the command out loud, that I had to hear it, before it would work.”
“Sorry. All I have to do is think it. I was tempted to use the gift yesterday afternoon and tell a few people to go jump in the lake, but I restrained myself.”
“You’re a saint among men,” she said dryly, and he gave her a quick grin.
“I was dealing with the media, so, considering the level of temptation, I tend to agree with you.”
Media, huh? No wonder he had refused to take her with him.
“I called last night to tell you I wouldn’t make it back until late, but you didn’t answer the phone.”
“Why would I? I’m not your secretary.”
“The call was for you.”
“I didn’t know that, did I?”
“I left a message for you.”
“I didn’t hear it.” The answering machine was in the kitchen; she’d been in his bedroom when the last phone call came in, which must have been him calling her.
“That’s because you didn’t bother to play it back.” He sounded annoyed now.
“Why would I? I’m not—”
“My secretary. I know. You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”
“I try,” she said, giving him a smile that was more a baring of her teeth than anything related to humor.
He grunted and sipped coffee for a while. Lorna pulled her bare feet up in the chair and looked out over the mountains and broad valleys, enjoying being outside after an entire day cooped up in the house. The morning was cool enough to make her wish she had on socks, but not so cool that she was forced to go inside.
“Do you want to go with me today?” he finally asked, with obvious reluctance.
“Depends. What are you doing?”
“Overseeing cleanup, talking to insurance adjusters, and I still don’t have an answer to why two detectives were asking questions immediately after the fire, so I’m pursuing that by going directly to the source.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“I’m glad someone thinks so,” he said wryly. “Get ready and we’ll eat breakfast out. For some reason, I don’t trust the food here.”
Chapter Sixteen
Tuesday morning, 7:30 a.m.
The man sitting concealed behind some scrub brush had been in place since before dawn, when he had relieved the unlucky fool who had been on surveillance duty all night. When he saw the garage door sliding up, he grabbed the binoculars hanging by a strap around his neck and trained them on the house. Red brake lights glowed in the dimness of the garage; then a sleek Jaguar began backing out.
He picked up a radio and keyed the microphone. “He’s leaving now.”
“Is he alone?”
“I can’t tell—no, the woman is with him.”
“Ten-four. I’ll be ready.”
His job done for the moment, he let the binoculars fall before the light glinting on the lenses gave him away. He could relax now. Following Raintree wasn’t his job.
“Has the fire marshal said yet how the fire started?” Lorna asked as they drove down the steep, winding road. The air was very clear, the sky a deep blue bowl. The shadows thrown by the morning sun sharply delineated every bush, every boulder.
“Only that it started around a utility closet.”
She settled the shoulder strap of the seat belt so the nylon wasn’t rubbing against her neck. “So have one of your mind readers take a peek and tell you what the fire marshal thinks.”
Dante had to laugh. “You seem to think there are a lot of us, that I have an army of gifted people I can call on.”
“Well, don’t you?”
“Scattered around the world. Here in Reno, there are nine, including myself. None of them are gifted with telepathy.”
“You mean you can’t call your strongest