He came back into the living room in a dressing gown, carrying a couple of drinks. It was going to get awkward, all right.
"Like it?" he asked, waving a hand around.
"It's beautiful," Trigger said honestly. She smiled. She sipped at the drink and placed it on the arm of her chair. "Somebody like an interior decorator help you with it?"
Brule laughed and sat down opposite her with his drink. The laugh had sounded the least bit annoyed. "You're right," he said. "How did you guess?"
"You never went in for art exactly," she said. "This room is a work of art."
He nodded. He didn't look annoyed any more. He looked smug. "It is, isn't it?" he said. "It didn't even cost so very much. You just have to know how, that's all."
"Know how about what?" Trigger asked.
"Know how to live," Brule said. "Know what it's all about. Then it's easy."
He was looking at her. The smile was there. The warm, rich voice was there. All the old charm was there. It was Brule. And it wasn't. Trigger realized she was twisting her hands together. She looked down at them. The little jewel in the ring Holati Tate had given her to wear blinked back with crimson gleamings.
Crimson!