Gift of Gold

to wear to a funeral.”
    “Or a wedding,” Verity retorted.
    Jonas gave her a mild look. “I haven’t attended a single wedding in the past five years.”
    “A cheerful thought.” Verity lapsed back into silence, practicing her fluff-brained pose. The banter with Jonas was typical of the way they had been communicating for the past few days. There was a wary, sparring quality to their relationship that disappeared only when they were locked in the mortal combat of passion or the equally compelling forces generated inside the time corridor.
    She had made two more trips into that corridor with him since the first one. Jonas had been eager to use the pistols as a catalyst. Too eager, as far as Verity was concerned. She still did not understand what happened to her when she accompanied him and she wasn’t certain she wanted to understand. Jonas had kept both trips short, but there was no doubt that he was very determined to explore the control he now had over his talent. In fact, he seemed driven to explore that control. That worried Verity.
    The passion in their relationship was growing more powerful, too. Ever since the night Jonas had run his first so-called test, he had made it abundantly clear that he did not need a jaunt into the psychic corridor to get an erection.
    Verity winced, thinking about the way she had spent the past few nights. She supposed she had unintentionally challenged him, and now Jonas was out to prove he could be insatiable with little or no provocation.
    He was certainly doing a good job of it. Verity sometimes wondered how much longer she would hold up under his relentless demands. But she always found herself responding, even when he roused her from a sound sleep as he had at three this morning. She had awakened curled on her side, her hips nestled into his warmth, and discovered that he was sliding into her already moist channel from the rear. Her small protest had been replaced by a gasp of excitement as her body quickly responded to his. Jonas had chuckled deeply, the sound replete with satisfaction as he felt her immediate reaction. One thing was for certain, she was managing to keep his ego stroked and well fed.
    Afterward he had left. He always left around three in the morning to return to the cabin he shared with her father. Verity never asked him to stay. She wasn’t quite certain why, but she had a hunch it probably had something to do with the fundamental uncertainty surrounding their relationship. Not letting Jonas spend the whole night with her was a way of keeping him at a slight distance emotionally.
    They had not discussed the future of their relationship. Things continued normally at the restaurant and Emerson watched with a benign eye as Jonas openly staked a man’s claim on Verity. The older man never even commented on the fact that Jonas routinely returned to the smaller cottage around three in the morning. He seemed to accept that his daughter had taken a lover.
    Verity supposed her father figured that at her age it was much too late to get out a shotgun.
    The elevator doors opened onto a sophisticated lobby occupied by a sleek-looking dark-haired receptionist and several pieces of expensive furniture of contemporary Italian design.
    “May I help you?” the receptionist asked politely, her dark eyes on Jonas.
    “Jonas Quarrel and Verity Ames. We’re here to see Mr. Kincaid,” Jonas said easily. “We have an appointment.”
    “Of course, Mr. Quarrel.” The woman’s voice was warm honey. “You may go right in. Mr. Kincaid is expecting you. His secretary will show you the way.”
    Another sleek-looking woman, this one a blonde, walked into the room. She greeted the visitors in a finishing-school accent. Verity surreptitiously examined the designer suits both the receptionist and Kincaid’s secretary wore and decided that pink-collar work must pay better than restaurant work. She’d better be careful or Jonas might decide to try office work. It was a cinch either of the women in Kincaid’s office would be happy to welcome him into their ranks. They’d probably welcome him into a few other places, too.
    It occurred to Verity that she might be jealous. The knowledge made her feel extremely fluff-brained. She remembered the smile that went with the image just as Kincaid’s secretary showed them through a heavy paneled door.
    “Miss Ames and Mr. Quarrel, sir.” The secretary excused herself with a polite nod at Jonas.
    Verity noticed two things very