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lower than hers. She checked closely to be certain that the straps of her white bra did not show.
    It was a sensible, functional, well-made bra, designed for long wear and many trips through the washing machine. She had bought it during the semiannual underwear and foundation sale at a major downtown department store. It was a practical, serviceable piece of clothing. She had half a dozen others just like it in the top drawer of her dresser. But she knew that it was not the sort of bra that one wore under a flutter dress. She wished she had a silky little scrap of lingerie to go with the gown. Something in black lace, perhaps.
    On the other hand, she would probably never have an opportunity to wear the flutter dress again, so it was just as well that she had not invested in a fancy designer bra to go with it. It would have been a waste of money.
    Pleased with the dress and with the fact that she was ready ten minutes before Lucas was scheduled to arrive, Amaryllis walked out of her bedroom. She felt calm and collected, just the way a good prism was supposed to feel before an intensive focus session.
    Then the reality of what was about to happen hit her again. She was going to spend the evening with Lucas Trent.
    She clasped her hands very tightly together and took several deep breaths. She was annoyed to note that her palms were damp. She had tried to ignore the nervous anticipation that had been building within her, but things were getting worse. It was ridiculous. She had to get a grip, she told herself.
    She came to a halt in the middle of her small living room and gave herself a stern lecture. To focus effectively for a high-class talent, a prism had to be composed and in command. A prism who could not control herself could not control a strong talent. She had to do a good job tonight, if not for herself, then for the sake of Psynergy, Inc.
    As usual, thoughts of duty and responsibility had a wonderfully calming effect on Amaryllis’s nerves. She was relieved to feel her pulse slow. The cool mantle of professionalism descended upon her.
    Much better. Almost normal. This was a working evening, she reminded herself. She was under contract. This was not a social event. The fact that she had been anxious for the past two days must not be allowed to affect her performance.
    The fact that she was going to focus for the Iceman was irrelevant.
    The doorbell chimed.
    Lucas had arrived.
    She would walk, not run, to the door, Amaryllis told herself.
    The bell chimed again as she went down the short hall. Somehow the usually mellow tones seemed to have been infused with an imperious note. High-class talents were an impatient lot, Amaryllis thought. They were difficult, demanding, and arrogant. That was the principal reason why they rarely got along well with full-spectrum prisms.
    For some reason, although she had taken her time getting to the door, she felt a little flushed when she finally opened it. Lucas stood on the front step.
    “You’re early,” Amaryllis said.
    Lucas frowned. He glanced at his black wrist watch. “It’s exactly seven o’clock.”
    “Is it? Imagine that.” Amaryllis summoned up a smile. “Sorry. Guess my clock is slow.”
    Lucas was dressed in conservative, formal evening black. Black shirt, black jacket, black trousers, and black tie. Not a hint of khaki in sight, Amaryllis noticed. She wondered what he thought of the current fad for Western Islands gear. Not much, judging from the fact that his dark hair was cut short and brushed back in a crisp, no-nonsense style.
    Lucas surveyed her from head to toe. “Something wrong?”
    Good grief, she was staring. “No, of course not.” Amaryllis hurriedly stepped back into the hall. “Come on in. I’ll just be a minute. I have to get my purse.”
    “There’s no rush.” He walked through the door. “I allowed plenty of time.”
    The implication that he had expected her to keep him waiting annoyed Amaryllis. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
    She