The conquering of fear is the highest art.

a"The Collected Sayings of the Emperor Fear no man. Woman is the deadlier of the species.

a"Victoria Faen Aedlys, addressing the troops on the eve of the Battle of Benworth Vale While Roxanne manned the gallery, Adrian dismantled her leaky kitchen hand pump and replaced the worn washers. He figured this was the least he could do. Thanks to Charles's culinary expertise, he'd been eating Roxie's cupboards bare; he'd actually regained some of the weight he'd lost while living on his own. Though part of him would always crave solitude, he knew he'd had too much of a good thing these last few years. The loose bonds of affection that united Roxie's household suited him perfectly. He found his appet.i.te for many things coming back.

The adjustable wrench clanked as he set it by his thigh on the checkerboard floor. In a familiar nervous habit, he rubbed his right wrist with his left hand, unable to feel the implant but conscious that it was there. He'd never experienced such an intense attraction before. Much as he wanted a relationship with Roxanne, he feared her impact on his life. What would his family say? Or his boss? The Securit contract had no morals clause, but it was understood that officers shouldn't fraternize with questionable social types.

Much as he loathed the phrase, he knew it applied to her.

If he wasn't careful to keep his yen for her in check, he could easily jeopardize his career. Since he'd become the station's man for demon-related crime, he didn't have much else. He couldn't afford to muck up the one positive contribution he'd made to the world.

The sound of footsteps approaching snapped him back to the present. Charles stepped into the kitchen's wide doorway. The boy's work ap.r.o.n was damp from a morning spent scrubbing dishes at The Laughing Crow. In spite of this sullying of his attire, excitement sparkled in his eyes.

"I heard something," he said. "Some of the locals think they saw your boy two weeks ago, catching a feed at one of the soup kitchens on Front. He was well, they said, not sick, and not hooked up with anyone dangerous. They don't know what happened to him since, though. He hasn't been around."

"He can't just have disappeared."

Charles cut him a look. Adrian winced at the reminder that of course he could.

Charles's expression softened. "You could talk to Dr. Abul. He works at St. Stefan's. They see a lot of what washes out of the sewers. Not a pleasant thought, I know, but no point putting your neck on the line if the boy isn't around to appreciate it. I'm sure Abul would be happy to check for you. Anything for a friend of Roxie's."

"What's this about a friend of Roxie's?" The woman herself appeared around the corner with a small brown bag in one hand and an empty ca.s.serole dish in the other.

Her cheer sounded forced, but Adrian didn't get a chance to ask why. The sight of the dirty dropcloth between his knees pulled her up short.

"You fixed my faucet," she said, obviously bewildered.

Now that his attention had been drawn, Charles goggled, too.

Well, really, Adrian thought. Were the people in this household so self-sufficient a guest couldn't pitch in?

"It was leaking," he said mildly, refusing to defend his actions. "Now it's not."

Roxie's chest lifted on a quick breath, as if she'd meant to speak then thought better of it. Because Charles was present, Adrian fought his compulsion to stare at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She'd paired her brown moleskin trousers with a romantically flowing man's white shirt. He was ready to swear there was nothing beneath its ruffled front but her.

"Were you talking about me?" she asked with a lightness that didn't seem natural.

Adrian looked to Charles for permission, but his glacial green eyes refused.

"Honestly," Roxie huffed.

Charles put a conciliatory hand on her shoulder. "I was just telling Adrian he needn't worry about paying Dr. Abul for his services."

This appeared to satisfy her, though she eased away from his hold. "I doubt he'd take your money," she said to Adrian, then handed Charles the empty ca.s.serole dish. "Linia said your grape leaves were wonderful, and she will trade you her recipe for braised basil chicken."

"I knew I'd get her this time," he crowed and bounded off to claim his prize.

Once he was gone, Adrian wiped his hands on a rag and pulled himself to his feet with the edge of the counter. Roxie resisted at first when he tugged her to him, then gave in with a soundless sigh. His s.e.x began to thicken the moment their hips met, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. That being so, he resigned himself. Tomorrow would take care of tomorrow. Today, he'd enjoy the gift of this warm woman in his arms. To his surprise, when he tried to catch her mouth for a kiss, she twisted her head away.

"We shouldn't," she said, her face averted.

"Shouldn't we?" Wondering what had gotten into her but still hopeful, he nuzzled the delicate softness beneath her ear. "I don't see anyone here but us." Unable to resist, he set his teeth lightly to her neck and gently sucked her skin between.

"Adrian!" she exclaimed, though the sound was more a gasp of pleasure than a complaint.

Despite what her body was telling him, he sensed she was an inch from squirming away. This was definitely a new development. Concerned, he loosened his hold. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she said. "I'm perfectly fine."

"You don't sound fine. First you shrug away from Charles and now from me. That tells me something's happened, something you don't want to talk about."

She looked at him, her eyes so close he could see the tiny rays of silver in her irises. The ring of gold around their outer edges looked molten.

"What do you feel when I touch you?" she asked.

The question perplexed him, especially its intensity. How could she not know what he felt? "I feel good," he said and rubbed her shoulders from behind.

"Just good?" she insisted.

"Very good?" he offered back.

She stared at him, then laughed softly under her breath. He wondered if he'd failed some test more sophisticated people knew how to solve.

"It's all right," she said, shaking her head. "Forget I asked."

This didn't seem quite the way to proceed, but because he didn't know what else to do, he slid one hand down her arm. "What's in the bag?"

He felt her reaching a decision. "It's a present for you from Abul. A special sticking plaster so you can have a soak without getting your st.i.tches wet. I thought, perhapsa"" She swallowed, for once the one who had to gather her nerve. "I thought you might like me to scrub your back."

Unsophisticated or not, Adrian knew she was offering more than a scrub. Too brilliantly happy to question his luck, he bared every tooth he had in a smile. "I'd like that very much."

Roxanne ducked her head again, but this time the gesture was shyly pleased. "Very well," she said, her voice so smoky it made him squirm. "Let's get wet."

Muscles taut with antic.i.p.ation, he struggled to keep his footing as they took the narrow back stairs. Her bottom was delectable. He could see the muscles moving in it as she descended ahead of him.

"I hope you're not offended that we didn't shift you down here before," she said. "I figured it would be easier to leave you near the kitchen."

"Nonsense, Roxanne, your parlor is quite comfortable."

She pushed the hall door open. "Bet you'll be glad to get back to your own bed."

He wagered he'd be happier to get into hers.

Grinning at the likelihood of this happening soon, he examined the third floor for the first time since he'd arrived. A wide hall extended the length of the building. Blocks of daylight brightened either end, the effect of two deep-set, decoratively leaded windows. On the far ledge, lavender peonies overflowed a tarnished silver vase. He could smell their heady scent from where he stood.

Seven doors led off the hall, all closed. Her bed lay behind one of them. His chest tightened. He could handle this. He needn't a.s.sume he couldn't please her just because she was more experienced.

He glanced at the pictures on the wall. With her fondness for secondhand finery, he didn't expect to find anything valuable, but one canvas jumped out at him, an Andrew Nannis of a girl playing at the water's edge.

No, he thought. A painting like that belonged in a museum. It had to be a reproduction.

"It's reaL" she said. "Art is an excellent investment."

"You can't just admit things like that. What if I were a thief?"

"You're not." Unperturbed, she opened a door and gestured him inside.

He didn't have time to scold her further, because the bathroom was even more eye-popping than the Andrew Narmis. Tiled in coral and cream, it was almost as big as her parlor. It had one round, rippled window, much like the ones in her storeroom, except this was a rich saffron.

A pedestal sink and vanity were s.p.a.ced around the walls, along with a flush commode and bidet: an exotic bit of plumbing he could recognize but not operate. A gla.s.s-doored armoire stood sentinel to the right of the door, its shelves stacked with thick coral-colored towels. Beyond that a lion-footed divan in cream silk faille offered respite to those wearied by their tour of the facilities. The crowning glory, however, was the bath. Set on a platform in the center of the room, its deep sarcophaguslike tub had been carved from a single block of marble. Pink marble.

Roxanne stepped past his flabbergasted form to open the free-running tap. No hand-pumping here. The faucet looked suspiciously sterling.

"Is that a gas burner?" he exclaimed, bending down to examine the innards of the platform that held the tub. Roxanne admitted it was.

"There's an automatic shutoff. So you can't accidentally stew yourself. Whatever else you might say about demons, you can't deny they invent lovely conveniences."

Her voice held an irony he didn't understand. It reminded him they weren't terribly far from being strangers. And they were alone. He was about to strip naked and take a bath. Their eyes connected. He wondered if his breathing sounded as loud to her as it did to him. The bourgeois in him had a sudden urge to hail a chaperone. His libido might have no conscience, but the boy his mother raised knew he shouldn't be alone with this woman who was not his wife.

Roxanne's courage seemed to falter with his change of mood.

"Well," she said unsurely. "I'll leave you to it."

Adrian could have kicked himself as he watched her pull the door shut behind her. Idiot. All he'd had to do was ask her to stay.

By the time he shut off the gas ring, applied his sticking plaster, and lowered himself into the tub, the water was scalding. Fit punishment, he supposed, for his stupidity. Releasing a long, pensive sigh, he decided her leaving was for the best. It saved him from making a fool of himself. Sadly, every word of this was a lie. He was praying she'd come back. Otherwise, why had he shaved so carefully? Why had he scoured his teeth with her mint powder?

When he heard her timid rap, he sat up with a splash, his heart knocking against his ribs. Was it going to happen after all?

At his hoa.r.s.e answer, she stuck her head around the door. "I, um, thought you might need some help."

"Yes," he said definitely. "Help would be most helpful."

He sounded inane, but better that than letting her go again.

"Would you like me to wash your hair?"

He nodded wordlessly, his energy centered on controlling his reaction. If he was wrong, and she was only being considerate, he didn't want to scare her away. He had nothing to hide behind here, nothing but clear water and steam. His eyes followed her as she opened the armoire and removed a corked indigo bottle. The label was full of flowers. Apparently, she fancied the new scented hair soap from Jeruvia. Rolling her sleeves above her elbows, she dropped a folded towel onto the step beside the tub, lathered her hands, and knelt.

Though she seemed nervous, the first touch of her fingers on his scalp undid him utterly.

"Good?" she asked as he closed his eyes and trembled.

"Mm-hm," was all he could manage. His s.e.x had leapt to full attention in an instant. He knew it would be dark with blood. She had only to look down to see it. He didn't dare check to see if she had.

"When I was little," she said, her voice a trifle high, "I loved having my hair washed. Once in a while, my mother would do it, and it always made me feel like a spoiled cat."

The sc.r.a.p of his brain that still functioned wanted to know what else she'd loved as a childa"only it seemed wrong to seek confidences when he knew he wouldn't reciprocate. In fairness, all he was prepared to ask of her was more of this obliterating sweetness, more touching, more body-to-body song drowning out all the words but Yes, now, soon.

That pleasure he'd be more than happy to turn and turnabout.

Have to stay in control, he thought, but he couldn't remember why. Fighting a groan, he gripped the sides of the tub.

Her chest brushed his arm as she worked more than the soap into a lather.

He was certain then that there was nothing under that ruffled shirt but her. Her nipples were sharp against the linen. She did want him. This was exciting her, too.

She told him to close his eyes while she rinsed his hair with cup after cup of cool water from the sink. The liquid sluiced over his chest and back, warming as it ran down his heated flesh. It swirled into the water, teasing the swollen tip of his s.e.x. When he tried to slouch lower, his legs stuck out of the tub. He had skinny knees like a teenager. He couldn't imagine they'd arouse her, but she cupped one with her dripping palm, lightly squeezing the tendons on either side. Luck or instinct enabled her to tweak the strongest nerve. His leg jerked. The head of his s.e.x broke the surface of the water.

It felt immense, its throb an embarra.s.sment. She'd known how much he wanted her. Now she couldn't help but see. A pause followed during which he knew, absolutely knew, that she was staring.

"Beautiful man," she murmured and then, "don't move."

She needn't have worried. He couldn't have moved to save his rife.

Soaping a crisp, golden sea sponge, she rubbed it across his shoulders, then down his back and over the upper curves of his behind. Her strokes were firm and lingering. He leaned back so she could wash his front, letting his arms slide wetly along the rim of the tub. She soaped his arms, his neck, his chest hair. She sent him into a stupor of desire by drawing slow figure eights around his nipples. Then she set the sponge aside and continued the task with her hand. When she finally touched the tiny nubs, his chest arched into her palm. He'd been biting his lip against a moan, but at this he couldn't hold it back, even if it marked him a s.e.xual neophyte, shattered by the simplest trick.

No one had ever touched him with such concentrated attention. If her movements hadn't been so sure, if he hadn't known whose daughter she was, he'd have been tempted to believe she'd never done this before. Her exploration seemed more curious than practiceda"as though it were new to her. Fresh.

His wish that this were true was dangerous. If she really was innocent, he had no business playing these games with her.

Her sigh distracted him, a soft, happy sound. Her touch skimmed down his arm, over the back of his hand, and between his knuckles. She braided their fingers together and squeezed. Strangely moved, he squeezed her back, in thanks, in encouragement, and because the energy building inside him demanded expression.

He was sorry when she let go, but only for a moment.

"Here," she said, reaching into the bath to capture his ankle. Droplets tinkled on the water's surface as she lifted his foot to the rim, forcing him to grab the tub for balance. Still on her knees, she shuffled her towel down the platform to get closer, her respiration suddenly shallow.

What now? he wondered, his own breath coming faster in sympathy.

Her palm warmed his ankle. She tilted his foot upward with the sole facing her. One thumb rubbed the tendons of his instep while the other thumb worked the outer curve. Her hands moved in tandem, smooth, deep strokes down the length of his foot. His toes curled. The water sloshed as he squirmed in reaction. What she was doing felt wonderful, strange, and electric, as if a current had been connected between his foot and his c.o.c.k, shocking him with hot jolts of sensation. Almost embarra.s.sing, how s.e.xual it was. Who'd have thought such a thing was possible?

The gleam in her eye told him she knew what she was doing, and that she was enjoying it. Confident now, she bent closer. She blew softly on his toes, then took one into her mouth and sucked. He cried out, his c.o.c.k stiffening so forcefully it slapped his belly.

"Enough," he gasped, though he couldn't bring himself to pull free. "I can't take it. It's like a wire attached to mya"to mya""

"s.e.x," she said. The way she drew out the word made his scalp shiver. She surrounded another toe and flicked her tongue along the wrinkled pad. He groaned. He was going to spend. From a woman sucking on his foot. He couldn't allow this to happen.

"Please let go. Please."

"Your wish is my command," she purred.

She set his foot back under the water. Adrian sighed in relief and just a little in regret.

"I don't want you to think I didn't like that," he said, panting a bit to catch his breath. "I was just afraid I'da finish without you even touching my c.o.c.k."

To his relief, his language did not repel her. Her pupils expanded as she held his gaze, shiny black swallowing up the silver. She scooted closer, then hesitated in a way he found enchanting.