Gargoyle's Mate Read Online Free PDF Page B

to pick it up at the local impound. She chalked it up as one more reason to dislike Lorn De LaRue.
    Fatima sat in the rear of the vehicle trying to avoid getting too comfortable in the plush seats. The city scenery faded as they left Ann Arbor’s border, giving way to a tree lined rural setting. She watched in awe admiring the lush fall colors bursting vibrantly from trees. The beauty of seasonal change was definitely something lacking in California.
    After several miles of quiet contemplation the car slowed its way down a private paved road. Fatima’s heart began to pound erratically when she realized they weren’t pulling up to a quaint country restaurant but a home or rather a Tudor style mini-mansion made of red brick. It was beautifully adorned with overgrown ivy which gave it an aged appeal. Mike came around, to help her out of the back seat and lead her through the home’s large foyer into a sitting room.
    “Mr. De LaRue will be with you shortly.” He smiled and she felt a sense of calm overtake her. Alone, she allowed her eyes to take in the eclectic ensemble of old world furniture. She wasn’t surprised to see the room done in dark woods and deep colors; it suited Lorn.
    “Your ride was enjoyable?” The rich timbre that could only belong to one man reached her just as Lorn entered the room. His sudden appearance caused her to start. Why hadn’t she heard him approaching on the hardwood floors?
    “Yes, thank you,” she added as an afterthought.
    “Dinner will be ready shortly. In the meantime can I get you something?” He indicated the bar in one corner.
    “No, I’m fine,” she answered, drinking in every inch of his enormous height. He’d changed into khaki colored slacks and a cream mock turtleneck. His normally bound hair hung loosely past his shoulders, which only accentuated his Viking-esque attributes.
    The throbbing had begun again, but Fatima was becoming so accustomed to the sensation it hardly registered with her now.
    “When you said dinner I thought you meant at a restaurant,” she said, trying not to stare at his firm backside as he made his way to the mini-bar.
    “Is that what I said?” he asked, pouring amber liquid into a snifter.
    “Well no, I just assumed.”
    He took a sip from his drink. “I hope being alone with me doesn’t make you uncomfortable. After all, we’ll be working very closely together and sharing many meals at my home.”
    Why did his words sound like a warning?
    He took a long swallow, emptying the glass in one gulp. Fatima found her gaze drawn to his throat as he drained the contents.
    “I live in a very remote town, so the opportunity to dine out will be limited. Our being alone together is something you’ll need to quickly come to terms with.” He seemed to study her face for her reaction.
    “I assure you, Mr. De LaRue, I am quite capable of handling the research without your supervision,” she began. “I’ll take the utmost care with your documents and whatever else is given to me to analyze.”
    “I don’t doubt it; however I think once again you have misunderstood. My purpose isn’t to supervise but to work with you, under you if you will. It has always been my intention to be very hands-on,” he answered without annoyance.
    She squirmed at the imagery his words conjured up. Had he intended them to sound so suggestive?
    “While I’m sure you’re perfectly capable at everything you do, anthropological research is scientific and requires skillsets developed from formal education or hands on experience, preferably a combination of both,” she replied hotly. How dare he assume he could just barge in on her area of expertise as if it were as simple as reading the morning paper? Granted the items were his, but if she was to maintain any merit in an already laughable endeavor he would need to respect her craft.
    “What is it you assume I do?” he asked, ignoring her diatribe, finally making his way to an unoccupied chair opposite her