the pockets of a black windbreaker. He was a compelling if enigmatic figure, his expression unreadable in the darkness. Awareness went through her in a flash of invisible lightning that left her strangely breathless. It was as if she found herself poised at the top of a very high Ferris wheel.
She clutched the robe more securely at her throat and tried not to think in terms of fantasy and gender. They were business associates. He was her employer. There were rules of engagement to be observed, especially in view of the fact that she wanted to work for him again in the future. As often as possible.
"You okay?" he asked.
She could hear the genuine concern in his voice. She realized she had not answered his question.
"Fine. Great. No problem," she said quickly, trying to sound casual. What was a little danger, mayhem and a near-death experience on the job? All in a day's work in the art consulting business. She was a professional. "Just having a little trouble getting to sleep. Thought some night air might help."
ABC Amber Text Converter Trial vers ion, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html
"I'm not surprised. I thought you were handling things a little too coolly earlier this evening.
Wondered when it would hit you."
Irritation surged through her. She was cool, damn it, She wasn't even having a panic attack although she had every right to one under the circumstances.
"Okay, so walking into a burglary-in-progress is not how I spend most of my evenings," she said brusquely "But I hear that a change of pace now and then is good for you." She remembered the image of light glinting or a very old sword, and shuddered. "Besides, you did all the heavy lifting."
"You gave me a hell of a scare tonight."
She froze, uncomprehending, at the tone. She could have sworn that he was quietly furious.
But that made nosense. Why should he be mad at her? She was the one who had reason to be annoyed.
Her consulting instincts took over. This was a client, she reminded herself. She was going for repeat business here. Besides, they had both been under a lot of stress this evening.
Allowances had to be made.
"I got a pretty good scare myself," she said, deliberately choosing a more diplomatic note.
"And it got even worse when I realized you were going to do a lot more than just send the van rolling backward down the drive. I couldn't believe it when I saw you holding the point of that blade to that man's throat."
"Creating a distraction with the van wasn't going to solve the problem."
His voice was the temperature of ice now. It occurred to her for the first time that maybe he was the one in danger of having a panic attack. She took a step closer to the partition and peered at his face, trying to catch a glimpse of his expression.
"Are you okay?" she asked gently.
"Depends how you define okay."
"We've both had a difficult evening."
"You think?"
She did not like the cold amusement in his voice. It sounded as though he were exerting enormous self-control. She knew the feeling. She hesitated a second and then decided to take the plunge. This was Fantasy Man, after all. He had quite possibly saved her life tonight. He had certainly prevented the theft of a fortune in old armor. Mack deserved a reward. She braced herself for the supreme sacrifice.
"I have a pill in my key chain case," she said. "I keep it handy for emergencies. It's for acute anxiety attacks. You can have it if you need it." She tried not to think about the long trip home tomorrow without her small security blanket in her purse.
There was a short pause.
"Thanks," he said finally. "Very generous of you. But I found one of those little miniature bottles of whiskey in the mini-bar. I think it will do the trick."
"Oh, good." She tried to conceal her relief.
There was a beat of silence.
"Do you have to use the pills frequently?" he asked.
"No. But I have a tendency toward panic attacks. Everyone says I inherited it from my aunt's side of the family, but as far as I
She clutched the robe more securely at her throat and tried not to think in terms of fantasy and gender. They were business associates. He was her employer. There were rules of engagement to be observed, especially in view of the fact that she wanted to work for him again in the future. As often as possible.
"You okay?" he asked.
She could hear the genuine concern in his voice. She realized she had not answered his question.
"Fine. Great. No problem," she said quickly, trying to sound casual. What was a little danger, mayhem and a near-death experience on the job? All in a day's work in the art consulting business. She was a professional. "Just having a little trouble getting to sleep. Thought some night air might help."
ABC Amber Text Converter Trial vers ion, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html
"I'm not surprised. I thought you were handling things a little too coolly earlier this evening.
Wondered when it would hit you."
Irritation surged through her. She was cool, damn it, She wasn't even having a panic attack although she had every right to one under the circumstances.
"Okay, so walking into a burglary-in-progress is not how I spend most of my evenings," she said brusquely "But I hear that a change of pace now and then is good for you." She remembered the image of light glinting or a very old sword, and shuddered. "Besides, you did all the heavy lifting."
"You gave me a hell of a scare tonight."
She froze, uncomprehending, at the tone. She could have sworn that he was quietly furious.
But that made nosense. Why should he be mad at her? She was the one who had reason to be annoyed.
Her consulting instincts took over. This was a client, she reminded herself. She was going for repeat business here. Besides, they had both been under a lot of stress this evening.
Allowances had to be made.
"I got a pretty good scare myself," she said, deliberately choosing a more diplomatic note.
"And it got even worse when I realized you were going to do a lot more than just send the van rolling backward down the drive. I couldn't believe it when I saw you holding the point of that blade to that man's throat."
"Creating a distraction with the van wasn't going to solve the problem."
His voice was the temperature of ice now. It occurred to her for the first time that maybe he was the one in danger of having a panic attack. She took a step closer to the partition and peered at his face, trying to catch a glimpse of his expression.
"Are you okay?" she asked gently.
"Depends how you define okay."
"We've both had a difficult evening."
"You think?"
She did not like the cold amusement in his voice. It sounded as though he were exerting enormous self-control. She knew the feeling. She hesitated a second and then decided to take the plunge. This was Fantasy Man, after all. He had quite possibly saved her life tonight. He had certainly prevented the theft of a fortune in old armor. Mack deserved a reward. She braced herself for the supreme sacrifice.
"I have a pill in my key chain case," she said. "I keep it handy for emergencies. It's for acute anxiety attacks. You can have it if you need it." She tried not to think about the long trip home tomorrow without her small security blanket in her purse.
There was a short pause.
"Thanks," he said finally. "Very generous of you. But I found one of those little miniature bottles of whiskey in the mini-bar. I think it will do the trick."
"Oh, good." She tried to conceal her relief.
There was a beat of silence.
"Do you have to use the pills frequently?" he asked.
"No. But I have a tendency toward panic attacks. Everyone says I inherited it from my aunt's side of the family, but as far as I
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