Midnight Jewels

have become something of a patron for a colony of rather talented young artists located about twenty miles from here. Once a year I have them in for an evening. I provide everything, including the transportation. Artists can be such interesting acquaintances as long as one doesn't have to deal with them on a day-to-day basis. Very temperamental people, I'm afraid. Perhaps it goes with the talent. This year you'll be here for the event. I hope you enjoy it."
    Croft glanced at Mercy and saw the dazzled expression in her eyes. He felt a surge of anger which he quickly suppressed. It was obvious she had never met anyone like Erasmus Gladstone and she was more than willing to be charmed.
    Croft knew he was going to have to take steps to make certain Mercy didn't fall under Gladstone's spell.
    Tonight, Croft decided, Mercy wasn't going to sleep alone. It was time to reinforce the bonds that had been established the night he had made her his.

----
Chapter NINE

    Mercy was aware of Croft's presence the moment he entered the bedroom that night. He made no sound, but some anticipatory instinct made her open her eyes and turn her head on the pillow. She saw him silhouetted in the open doorway between the two suites, a dark shadow among even darker shadows. She knew then that she had been waiting for him.
    The door between the suites had been closed until Croft had silently opened it a few seconds before. She had closed it deliberately after preparing for bed. Croft had been in the bathroom at the time. When he had emerged a few minutes later he had made no immediate attempt to eradicate the poor barrier.
    Mercy had lain awake for a long while expecting to have her privacy rudely invaded. She had seen the calculating expression in Croft's eyes during dinner. He had watched her laugh and talk with Gladstone, saying little himself, but making his masculine disapproval clear in subtle ways Mercy hadn't missed. Their hosts might not have noticed the dangerously remote quality of his gaze, but it had burned Mercy's nerve endings.
    Croft was either a little jealous of Gladstone or very annoyed with Mercy for having found Gladstone unthreatening. Of the two she had enough common sense to guess the latter was the case. Somehow, she didn't see Croft giving into any emotion as primitive as jealousy. But whatever the reason, Mercy had expected to find herself on the defensive later.
    But there had been no sizzling lectures in the bathroom with the shower running to cover Croft's words. And when she had calmly closed the door between the two rooms later, he hadn't kicked it open. Mercy had crawled into bed and waited, but eventually the sense of wary expectation gave way to drowsiness. She didn't know how long she had been asleep, but when she opened her eyes in darkness she knew she was no longer alone.
    She watched him leave the doorway and glide soundlessly toward the bed. It wasn't fair that the man could move like a ghost. What he did to her nerves wasn't fair, either. She could feel heat in her veins and told herself she would not let him sweep her away as he had the other night.
    Mercy didn't kid herself. She knew what was behind his presence in her room. He wasn't motivated by an uncontrollable desire, overriding passion or undying love. As far as Croft was concerned, he was on a job. He viewed Mercy's enjoyment of Erasmus Gladstone's company as a potential threat to the completion of his mission. He probably feared she was being charmed by Gladstone. Croft was going to reestablish the claim he thought he had on her. He wanted to be very certain she knew where her loyalties lay.
    She could tell him he had nothing to worry about, Mercy thought as Croft came through the darkness toward her. She could try reassuring him that she was keeping an open mind about Gladstone. But that sort of conversation was difficult to have when she had to watch every word out of fear of a hidden microphone in the bed.
    Croft stopped beside the bed and looked down at her. He was wearing only his briefs. It wasn't difficult to tell that he was already partially aroused. His hazel eyes were devoid of color in the shadows, but Mercy could see the catlike gleam in them.
    "Croft," she managed throatily, aware of the tension that was filling the atmosphere around them. It was time to talk. She had better do it quickly. "The bathroom—"
    "No." His voice was a whisper of rough velvet. He put one knee on the bed and reached out to stroke her shoulder. The bed