Zinnia

was eighteen, but I think I can remember how.'

'That's not what I meant.' She flinched as another burst of psychic awareness echoed the tug of physical desire. 'There's something strange going on here.'

'It's just the console. Let's move to the back. It will be more comfortable there.'

He was talking about sex, she thought. Here she was, wondering if the psychic side of her nature had gone on the fritz and had begun producing metaphysical sexual hallucinations while Nick was calmly suggesting they get more comfortable.

A disorienting panic flared deep within her. It was strong enough to dampen a large measure of her earlier enthusiasm.

She opened her eyes and planted her hands against his strong chest.

'Wait.' She was breathless. 'That's enough. We've got to stop. Right now.'

Nick stilled. Slowly he raised his head to look down at her. 'Why?'

The appalling simplicity of the question left her speechless for a few seconds. She had no idea of how to explain the peculiar sensations she had been experiencing. 'Uh, well-'

'You've had your antipregnancy vaccination like everyone else, I assume?'

'Yes,' she sputtered, suddenly embarrassed by the pragmatic question. 'Yes, of course.'

His mouth curved slightly. 'So have I. We're perfectly safe.' He started to lower his head.

'That's not the point,' she managed. 'I'm trying to tell you that this has gone far enough. I said you could kiss me. That's all. For heaven's sake, we barely know each other. And one-night stands are not my style.'

He raised his head and studied her for a long moment. There was a shattering intensity in his gaze that stopped the breath in her lungs. Zinnia could have sworn that a new kind of energy now hummed in the close confines of the car. This was not the sparkling, exciting zing of sexual attraction, physical or metaphysical. It was something much more dangerous.

'What, exactly,' Nick said with great precision, 'is your style?'

It occurred to Zinnia that she was in a somewhat precarious position. She was alone in an isolated park with one of the most notorious men in the city. Aunt Willy's words came back to her. The man is little more than a gangster.

'Don't you dare try to intimidate me, Nick Chas-tain. I came out here tonight to help you get that damned journal. I did you a very big favor. I suspect it annoys you to be in someone's debt, but that's the way things are. You owe me. I'm calling in the marker.'

He stilled. The familiar enigmatic mask slipped into place on his austere features. 'What do you want?'

'I want you to behave in a civilized manner.'

The mask dissolved as quickly as it had formed. Amusement glittered in his eyes. 'I love it when you talk dirty.'

She blinked. 'I beg your pardon?'

His smile was barely discernible. 'Never mind. You're right, I do owe you. And I would like to repay the debt.'

She eyed him warily. 'How?'

He curled his finger around one trailing tendril of her hair. 'Would you have dinner with me?'

'Dinner?' She could not seem to get her thoughts into logical order. 'When?'

'Tomorrow night?' He glanced at his watch. 'Make that tonight.'

'I have a focus assignment tonight.'

'The following night?'

'You're serious about this, aren't you?'

His gaze did not waver. 'Very.'

'But you don't need my assistance now. You've got the journal.'

'Forget the journal. Will you have dinner with me?'

'You don't need to repay me. I take back what I said about your being in my debt.'

'Fine. I don't owe you. I still want to have dinner with you.'

She hesitated. 'I'm not sure if it would be a good idea. The tabloids seem to have lost interest in us. If we're seen together again in public it might start a new wave of speculation.'

'I don't give a damn about the tabloids or the gossip columns.' He brushed his thumb across her lower lip.

She was horrified to realize that his touch made her lower lip tremble ever so slightly. She swallowed and took a deep breath.

'Excuse me, but I was under the impression that you were very concerned about your privacy,' she said.

'You mean you heard that I'm reclusive? Secretive?'

'Among other things. Are you telling me that's not the truth?'

'I'm telling you that I want to have dinner with you. I'll put up with the gossip and the speculation in order to do so. All I want from you is an answer. Yes, or no?'

It was not the most gallant or gracious invitation she'd ever had, but at least he was not trying to manipulate her this time, she thought. He was simply asking her out on a date. Sort of.

Having to make a request, knowing he had no way to enforce the answer he wanted, was no doubt a completely foreign experience for Nick Chastain. She almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

A dinner date with him would not be wise, she told herself. It would alarm her family, worry her friends at Psynergy, Inc., and quite possibly draw unwanted attention from the tabloids.

But a few sparks of the invisible, beguiling energy that had sizzled between them a moment ago still snapped in the air around her. She had waited all of her adult life to feel that delicious kind of energy, she thought.

And Nick had asked, not threatened or manipulated.

'Yes,' she said. 'I would like to have dinner with you.'

'I called it the Lost Expedition.' Newton DeForest cradled the trailing end of a green vine in one heavily gloved hand and clipped it with a pair of gardening shears. 'Bartholomew Chastain had made two earlier expeditions to map the islands of the Western Seas. Both had been extremely successful. The teams found deposits of previously unknown ores and minerals. They brought back specimens of a vast array of new plant and animal life. But Chastain's last expedition simply vanished in the jungles of some uncharted island.'

'But why aren't there any official records of the expedition?' Zinnia watched uneasily as crimson liquid seeped from the cut vine. The severed plant looked as if it were bleeding.

Leo's information had been correct in one respect, she thought. Newton DeForest was definitely strange. He had invited her into his garden while they talked and she had readily agreed. She loved plants and longed for the day when she could afford to buy a house with space for a garden.

But nothing in DeForest's garden looked quite right to her. There was a grotesque quality to the foliage. Leaves appeared oddly shaped. The colors of the occasional blooms did not look wholesome. Vines were twisted in an unnatural fashion.

The extensively planted grounds of the DeForest estate existed in a perpetual gloom created by a thick canopy of broad leaves and gnarled vines. Once Zinnia got past the trellised gate, she found herself enveloped in an artificial twilight.

Within a few steps she realized that she was disoriented. That bothered her more than the wrongness of the shapes and colors of the foliage. Her sense of direction was usually fairly reliable. She knew that she was not far from the main house but she could no longer see the aging, tumbledown stone structure. She was not certain how to get back to it. She had already lost sight of the trellised garden gate.

She was surrounded by walls of dense dark green. They towered several feet overhead. Corridors formed of seemingly impenetrable masses of leaves twisted their way into the interior of the estate. She stood with Newton in a narrow crooked passageway formed by thick creeping vines. There was a carpet of luminous green moss underfoot. It gave off a faint eerie sheen.

Nothing was normal in this garden, she decided. And that included the gardener.

Newton seemed pleasant enough, even if he was distinctly odd. She wished that he had thought to offer her a cup of coff-tea. She could have used it. What with all the excitement in Curtain Park during the night, she had