Gift of Gold

herself up to it and the man who had inspired it.
    “
Jonas.
”
    “Oh, yes. Christ, yes. Yes.
Yes.
” He shuddered heavily once more and then froze for an instant, eyes closed, face taut as he pumped out his own release.
    And then there was only silence.
    Verity came slowly back to herself, aware first of the storm that still beat against the windows and then of the weight of the man who sprawled on top of her. She lay quietly for a long moment, listening to his deep breathing while she enjoyed the lingering, relaxed contentment that pulsed within her.
    So that was what it was all about. She smiled up at the ceiling and wriggled her toes. Then another jagged shaft of lightning lit the room and she saw the rapier lying on the floor. Memory returned in a rush.
    The blade appeared wet in the platinum glare of the lightning, as if it had been dampened with fresh blood. The too-white light disappeared, plunging the room into merciful shadow. Verity’s sense of peace and satisfaction shriveled.
    “Jonas?” She touched his shoulder. “Jonas, are you awake?
    “I’m awake.” He made no move to lift his head from her breast. She felt his warm breath on her nipple.
    “Are you…are you all right?”
    “I’m fine. Thanks to you.” He yawned.
    “Wait a minute,” Verity said, her tone sharpening. “Don’t you dare go to sleep on me, Jonas. I want to talk to you.”
    “In the morning.”
    She slapped his shoulder lightly, reprovingly. He groaned in response.
    “No, not in the morning,” Verity said firmly. “Now. What in the world happened to you tonight? What made you bring that sword in here? Did you have a nightmare?”
    Jonas didn’t react for so long that Verity began to fear he’d gone to sleep after all. But finally he sighed heavily and shifted himself reluctantly to lie on his back beside her. He had one arm over his eyes.
    “You could call it that,” he said quietly.
    “Jonas...”
    He took his arm away from his eyes and propped himself up on his elbow so that he could look down at her. His expression was remote and wary but his gaze seemed brilliant in the shadows.
Florentine gold.
    “It’s a long story, Verity. Are you sure you want to hear it tonight?”
    “I most certainly do want to hear it tonight,” she declared firmly, pulling herself up against the pillows. “I want to know what happened. Do you have a lot of bad dreams?”
    “Not if I’m careful,” he drawled wryly and sat up on the edge of the bed. “And believe me, I’ve been very careful for the past five years.” He got to his feet and paced to the window, where he stood looking out into the blackness of the storm. “You’re not going to understand or believe any of this, Verity. You’ll think I’m crazy. Sometimes I think I’m crazy.”
    “Try me.”
    He shook his head. “I’d rather wait awhile. I’d rather let you get to know me better so that you can trust me.”
    “I have to know what’s going on, Jonas. For better or worse, we seem to have started something. If I’m going to sleep with you, even occasionally, I must have some answers.”
    His mouth crooked wryly. “So demanding. What a little despot you are, honey.”
    “I have a right to know more about you, Jonas,” she insisted with grave dignity.
    “I suppose that’s true. Well, we might as well get this over with as quickly as possible. You’re probably going to come unglued when you hear what I have to say.”
    “It takes a lot to make me come unglued,” she stated with calm pride. “My father gave me a practical sort of education, remember? I’ve lived in a lot of places and I’ve seen a lot of things. I may have been a virgin when you met me, but I have definitely not led a sheltered life. Dad doesn’t believe in sheltering people.”
    Jonas braced one hand against the steel windowsill and nodded. “Having met your father, I’m inclined to believe you. All right, here goes. Have you ever heard of something called psychometry?”
    Verity was silent for a moment. This wasn’t what she had expected to hear. She had thought there would be some long explanation about nightmares and the reason behind them. She had been prepared to listen to a tale of real-life terror that still haunted Jonas.
    “You mean the psychic thing?” she finally asked cautiously. “That claim that some people can touch an object and sense stuff about its history?”
    “Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair. “The psychic thing. I’ve got the ability,