He chuckled. "Why not? They're obviously crying out for attention. You'll be out of that gown in a minute anyway." His other hand left her neck, and the velvet was swiftly pushed off her shoulders. Then her breasts were free of the velvet, the bodice now beneath them, lifting, offering them in the frame Philip had created. His face was heavy with sensuality as he looked at her. "Lord, that's beautiful. I think I'll have a black velvet halter made for you and have it sewn with pink diamonds." His face slowly lowered until his breath feathered her nipple. "Black velvet, diamond hardness. " His tongue licked delicately, and an electric shock sent tremors through her entire body. "Against white velvet." He sipped at her nipple, and she felt the muscles of her stomach clench. "And pink softness." He was sucking gently, tasting, nipping, his words muffled and hot against her breasts. His cheek felt hard and faintly rough as he rubbed it against her. "Would you like that? You could wear it when I take you to bed. . . . You're so pretty like this."

She could scarcely comprehend what he was saying. She was on fire. Strangely weak, yet vibrantly alive and yearning. "If you like. Whatever you want."

He suddenly stiffened. His head lifted jerkily from her breasts as if he were unbearably tempted to remain. "How very accommodating." His voice was still thick with desire, but it held a bewildering hint of anger as well. "What a good little mistress you're going to make. Pandora. Perhaps the most passionate one I've ever enjoyed." He swiftly put her bodice in order and stepped away from her. "But could it be that the offer of diamonds has something to do with that passion?"

She reached a shaky hand up to brush the silver-blond hair away from her face. She mustn't let him see how much that remark hurt her. It was terribly hard to look coolly at him when her body was aching with suppressed hunger. "I always did like diamonds." She smiled with an effort. "And pink ones sound lovely. You appear to be a little upset. Have you changed your mind?"

His gaze was once more on her cleavage, as if he were unable to keep his eyes away. "Not upset. Uneasy. You have a very primitive effect on me. I think I could easily form a minor obsession where you're concerned." He looked directly at her. "I don't permit myself that sort of reaction to women."

"I know." She hadn't meant to say that. Surface. Keep it all on the surface. "I mean, it's obvious that you're only interested in a casual affair. Surely a minor obsession wouldn't be intolerable. You 11 probably be bored to distraction with me in three months." She mustn't push. She turned away with another shrug. "However, it's your decision." She strolled slowly toward the door. "I wouldn't want you to feel at all uncomfortable with it." She picked up her black velvet evening bag from the low chest by the door. She opened it, pulled out the gold medallion, and dropped it on the chest. "But until you make up your mind I think you had better keep this."

"An ultimatum?" Philip asked, his expression once more alert and watchful. "Sexual possession or none at all?"

"I hadn't thought of it that way, but perhaps that is what I meant." She opened the door. "Good night, Philip."

"Pandora."

She stopped and looked over her shoulder inquiringly.

"You haven't asked about your father," he said with a cruel smile. "Don't you want to know how overcome with joy he was when I called to tell him you'd been found?"

She felt the blood fade from her cheeks. She'd thought she had armored herself over the years, but trust Philip to find a weakness and strike with blinding swiftness. For a moment she felt as naked and vulnerable as she had when she was a child.

"No," she said shakily. "No, I don't want to know." She closed the door so swiftly she didn't hear the violence of the curse Philip uttered behind her.

He took an impulsive step forward and then stopped. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had hurt her. He had known that if there was even a vestige of the old Pandora left, his remark would hurt her, and he'd deliberately used it to test the sophisticated facade that had filled him with such anger and frustration. Why did the agonized look on her face make him feel slightly sick? He had never been particularly kind to women, yet in the past his actions had never filled him with such guilt. Since the moment she had walked through that door, he had felt that the Pandora he had known was somewhere just out of reach, beneath the smiling sophistication. There was something wrong, something out of kilter with this Pandora. The change was too radical.

He walked to the chest and picked up the medallion she had dropped so carelessly. Why was he questioning the metamorphosis that he had always known would come eventually? She was a desirable woman, and he would be a fool not to take advantage of the offer she had made. He could still taste the warm sweetness of her breasts on his tongue, and he felt a sudden thrust of desire in his loins at the memory. No, there was no question that he was going to take her up on that offer. He was tempted to follow her now to the hotel at the address the Blackwell's man had given him.

His hand tightened around the medallion as he remembered that she wasn't alone in that hotel room. According to the dossier, one Neal Sabine had recently moved in with her. With a start he realized he was actually shaking with rage. He took a deep breath and unclenched his hand. His palm throbbed slightly from the welt the raised design had left on his flesh. For a moment he had visualized that black velvet gown being slipped off her body by the faceless man in the report. He had seen her smile and stretch out on the bed, hold out her arms ... He shook his head to clear it. The emotion he was feeling was too strong. If he continued this way, the obsession of which he'd been so wary would grow until he could no longer term it minor.

He didn't like not knowing everything there was to know about this new Pandora. The Blackwell report had been annoyingly scanty. Blackwell's man, Denbrook, had seemed to think that Pandora's romantic affairs were all that he was interested in.

He turned and walked slowly across the room to the phone on the table by the couch. He picked up the receiver and reached into the drawer for the business card Blackwell's man had given him. Martin Denbrook. He punched in the number rapidly.

"Denbrook? Philip El Kabbar. I've decided I want that in-depth report as soon as possible." He paused as he remembered Pandora's obvious reluctance for him to see her perform. "And I want a ticket for the Nemesis concert tomorrow night. Not too close to the stage." Denbrook started to protest, but he cut him off. "I want it. Get one for yourself too. There are scalpers at every sold-out concert. Get it for me." He hung up a few minutes later. He sat on the couch and stretched his legs out before him, his eyes fixed abstractedly on the door that Pandora had closed behind her such a short time before. His uneasiness persisted, but he knew that no matter what he discovered behind Pandora's alluring mask, his decision was already made.

The surge of primitive jealousy he'd felt when he'd imagined her with Neal Sabine was too strong to ignore. Whether she wore the medallion or not, she still belonged to him. This was the last night she would spend in her lover's arms. He should have kept her with him insteadof letting her go to that bastard, dammit. He had an idea he was going to get very little sleep tonight.

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