too many risks in an attempt to get the perfect sunset shot.
"Excuse me," she said loudly, "That guard rail is there for a good reason. It's dangerous to stand on the wrong side."
The man in the shadows turned unhurriedly to look at her.
Her first thought was that he could have stepped straight out of a Tamara de Lempicka painting.
The artist who had become known as the quintessential Art Deco portraitist would have loved him, Alexa thought. De Lempicka had excelled at creating a dark, sinister, edgy energy around her subjects. She had been able to endow them with a highly charged sensuality and an icy, enigmatic aura.
But in this man's case, she thought, de Lempicka would not have had to invent the ominous illusion. The painter's only task would have been to capture the unsettling reality of it.
The jolt of recognition hit Alexa with such force she froze in mid-step.
Trask .
Twelve years older, harder, more dangerous, but unmistakably Trask . He looked even bigger than he had the last time. Lean and broad-shouldered, he still took up a lot of space. It was a wonder light did not bend to get around him.
He contemplated her for a moment.
"Thanks for the warning," he said.
He made no move to get back behind the guard rail. It figured, she thought. This man was accustomed to standing on the edge of cliffs. She could tell that just by looking at him.
She realized she was holding her breath, waiting for him to recognize her. But he gave no indication that he remembered her from that long-ago scene in Lloyd's hall. She told herself she should be enormously relieved.
She released the breath she had been holding.
A gust of wind broke the peculiar little trance that had gripped her. She managed to keep her polite-to-the-tourist smile firmly fixed in place.
"You really should move back to the right side of that railing." She was horrified by the slightly breathless quality she heard in her own words. Get a grip, Alexa . "Didn't you see the sign?" "Yeah, I saw it."
His voice was low and resonant. The voice of a man who did not have to speak loudly in order to get the attention of others. The voice of a man who was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.
She had pushed her luck far enough. Time to take her leave before he recalled her face. No sense taking chances. She searched for a suitable exit line.
"Are you lost? Can I give you directions?" she asked.
He looked amused. "I know where I am."
"Well, in that case," she said briskly, "I'll be on my way. It's getting late."
He watched the breeze tangle her hair. "Can I give you a lift?"
"What? No." Startled, she took a hasty step back, although he had made no move toward her. "I mean, thanks, but I live near here. I use this path for exercise." Lord, now she was babbling.
His brows rose. "It's all right. I'm not a serial killer."
She kept smiling. "Yeah, sure, that's what they all say."
"I take it you're the type who doesn't take lifts from strangers?"
"No intelligent person accepts rides from strangers in this day and age."
"Maybe I'd better introduce myself. My name is Trask . My company owns the new resort here in Avalon."
Stay cool, Alexa . "Nice to meet you, Mr. Trask ."
"Just Trask ."
"Yes, well, best of luck with the new resort." She retreated another step. "Everyone in town is very excited about it."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, it is."
"I'm glad to hear that."
She did not trust the cool amusement she saw in his eyes. She dropped her own polite smile.
"Welcome to Avalon, Trask ."
She turned quickly and walked swiftly away from him.
"Better hurry," he said much too softly behind her. "I hear that night falls fast in the desert. It'll be dark soon."
She resisted the sudden urge to break into a run. With grim determination she kept moving, listening intently for the sound of the Jeep's engine.
She finally heard it come to life with a low, throaty growl. She did not look back, but neither did she take a deep breath until the sound receded into
"Excuse me," she said loudly, "That guard rail is there for a good reason. It's dangerous to stand on the wrong side."
The man in the shadows turned unhurriedly to look at her.
Her first thought was that he could have stepped straight out of a Tamara de Lempicka painting.
The artist who had become known as the quintessential Art Deco portraitist would have loved him, Alexa thought. De Lempicka had excelled at creating a dark, sinister, edgy energy around her subjects. She had been able to endow them with a highly charged sensuality and an icy, enigmatic aura.
But in this man's case, she thought, de Lempicka would not have had to invent the ominous illusion. The painter's only task would have been to capture the unsettling reality of it.
The jolt of recognition hit Alexa with such force she froze in mid-step.
Trask .
Twelve years older, harder, more dangerous, but unmistakably Trask . He looked even bigger than he had the last time. Lean and broad-shouldered, he still took up a lot of space. It was a wonder light did not bend to get around him.
He contemplated her for a moment.
"Thanks for the warning," he said.
He made no move to get back behind the guard rail. It figured, she thought. This man was accustomed to standing on the edge of cliffs. She could tell that just by looking at him.
She realized she was holding her breath, waiting for him to recognize her. But he gave no indication that he remembered her from that long-ago scene in Lloyd's hall. She told herself she should be enormously relieved.
She released the breath she had been holding.
A gust of wind broke the peculiar little trance that had gripped her. She managed to keep her polite-to-the-tourist smile firmly fixed in place.
"You really should move back to the right side of that railing." She was horrified by the slightly breathless quality she heard in her own words. Get a grip, Alexa . "Didn't you see the sign?" "Yeah, I saw it."
His voice was low and resonant. The voice of a man who did not have to speak loudly in order to get the attention of others. The voice of a man who was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.
She had pushed her luck far enough. Time to take her leave before he recalled her face. No sense taking chances. She searched for a suitable exit line.
"Are you lost? Can I give you directions?" she asked.
He looked amused. "I know where I am."
"Well, in that case," she said briskly, "I'll be on my way. It's getting late."
He watched the breeze tangle her hair. "Can I give you a lift?"
"What? No." Startled, she took a hasty step back, although he had made no move toward her. "I mean, thanks, but I live near here. I use this path for exercise." Lord, now she was babbling.
His brows rose. "It's all right. I'm not a serial killer."
She kept smiling. "Yeah, sure, that's what they all say."
"I take it you're the type who doesn't take lifts from strangers?"
"No intelligent person accepts rides from strangers in this day and age."
"Maybe I'd better introduce myself. My name is Trask . My company owns the new resort here in Avalon."
Stay cool, Alexa . "Nice to meet you, Mr. Trask ."
"Just Trask ."
"Yes, well, best of luck with the new resort." She retreated another step. "Everyone in town is very excited about it."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, it is."
"I'm glad to hear that."
She did not trust the cool amusement she saw in his eyes. She dropped her own polite smile.
"Welcome to Avalon, Trask ."
She turned quickly and walked swiftly away from him.
"Better hurry," he said much too softly behind her. "I hear that night falls fast in the desert. It'll be dark soon."
She resisted the sudden urge to break into a run. With grim determination she kept moving, listening intently for the sound of the Jeep's engine.
She finally heard it come to life with a low, throaty growl. She did not look back, but neither did she take a deep breath until the sound receded into
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