Fired Up (Dreamlight Trilogy #1)(39)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

He watched her for a long moment. “And if it turns out you’re pregnant?”

This time the silence lasted for an eternity. And then her hand fluttered lightly over her slim belly.

“That would be different, too,” she said finally. “I’ve always assumed that I would probably never have children.”

“And now?” He didn’t know why he was pushing her. She was right. The odds were good that she wasn’t pregnant. But for some reason he had to know.

She glanced at the carpet behind him and smiled a little as if whatever she saw there satisfied her. He knew she was looking at his psi prints.

“You would make an excellent father,” she stated.

She went back to work on the computer. Keys clicked madly.

He couldn’t think of anything to say. He was, according to all the definitions of the Arcane Society, half monster. He carried a genetic twist that would go down through future generations. And she thought he would make a terrific father?

Smiling a little, he went back into the other room and headed for the shower.

27

HE WAS STILL FEELING GOOD TWENTY MINUTES LATER WHEN they went downstairs for breakfast. He carried the lamp in the leather duffel. His computer case was in his other hand. Chloe had stuffed her computer back into her black satchel.

There was a fresh pair of white- haired senior citizens on the stools in front of the slots in the lobby. Neither of them looked up when he and Chloe went past. The front-desk clerk did not come out of his office.

They walked through the weedy parking lot and crossed the street to the small café attached to the casino. The waitress working the morning shift was not the same one who had served them last night, but she looked like she could tell the same hard-luck story.

He and Chloe sat down across from each other in the same booth they had used the previous evening. From his position he had a view into the dark cave of the adjoining casino. It was seven forty- five in the morning, but there were a few intrepid souls feeding the slots. The blackjack and poker tables were quiet. He knew that activity would pick up as the day wore on, growing brisker during the afternoon and evening. By midnight the place would be filled to capacity. The rhythm would be the same tomorrow and the day after and next year. The pattern of casino gaming never changed.

There was always a pattern, Jack thought. Once you identified it you could figure out the strengths and weaknesses. He took some comfort from that. At least he could still think like a strat-talent.

Chloe picked up her fork. “Vegas is always reinventing itself, blowing up old hotels and casinos and building new ones in their place. There’s always new computer technology in the gaming machines. New theme-park resorts on the Strip. Newer and more astonishing high-tech shows in the casino theaters. But underneath it all nothing changes. It’s as if it exists in another dimension.”

Jack shrugged and ate some of his eggs. “That’s the appeal. This town is built on sex and sin. Get too far away from your core business, and you lose your customers.”

Chloe’s fork paused in midair. Her brows rose. “You know, sometimes I forget that you’re a coldhearted zillionaire businessman who makes his living investing.”

For some reason the coldhearted bothered him.

“What’s your problem with Vegas?” he asked.

“Who said I had a problem?”

“No offense, but it’s obvious.”

She sighed. “I’m not a prude, and I have no particular issues involving games of chance. But the energy in a casino bothers me.”

“Yeah? How?”

“What do you see when you look into that other room?”

He glanced at the entrance of the casino again. “Rows of slots. Lots of flashing lights. Croupiers waiting for players. A woman in a sexy outfit carrying a tray of drinks.”

“At seven forty-five in the morning,” Chloe said drily.

He forked up more eggs. “It’s a casino. Not as fancy as those on the Strip but, still, a casino. It is what it is.”

She glanced over her shoulder and contemplated the dark gaming floor for a moment. He felt energy pulse and knew that she had opened her senses.

“To me it looks like someone splashed hot, radioactive acid all over the place,” she said. She turned back to her eggs. “Layers and layers of it. Years, decades of the stuff. There’s a reason they call gambling a fever. It’s like a drug. It affects dream psi in a major way.”

“People with a lot of talent, you and me, for instance, tend to get lucky when we play,” he pointed out. “The psychic side of our natures gives us an edge.”

She regarded him with stern disapproval. “Do you gamble?”

“All the time.” He smiled. “But only when I have enough information to calculate the odds.”

Her expression cleared. “You mean your venture-capital business. Obviously that line of work does require that you take risks.”

“So does yours.”

She brushed that aside. “I meant financial risk.”

He drank some coffee and thought about how to get back to the subject that seemed to matter as much as the lamp did this morning.

He put the mug down and looked at her. “About last night.”

He could have sworn she flinched a little, but she gave him a dazzling smile.

“You know,” she said, “I doubt that in the entire history of civilization there has ever been a good conversation that started with about last night.”

He got an odd sensation of heat but not the sexual kind. It took him a couple of beats to realize that he was probably turning a dull red.

“You know we need to talk about it,” he said.

“Why?”

She was still smiling, but she was starting to get a deer- in-the-headlights look in her eyes. He knew he was pushing into dangerous territory.

“Don’t know about you,” he said neutrally, “but it’s never been like that for me.”

She cleared her throat. “I absolutely agree that it was a very unique experience.”

“Unique.” He drank some more coffee. “Okay, that’s one way to describe it.”

“But, as you said, there have always been stories about what it’s like when two strong talents get together,” she added earnestly. “In that way, I mean.”

“I’ve met other strong talents,” he said, keeping his voice even. “My ex-wife was a Level Eight. Can’t say that it’s ever been like that for me. You?”

“Like I said, it was unique,” she declared briskly. “Let’s just leave it at that. We have other priorities at the moment.”