Eye of the Beholder

cautiously through the peephole.
    Trask stood on the front step. He had obviously driven here with the windows down. His dark hair was roughened from the night breeze. He had discarded the jacket of his black tux. The ends of his bow tie trailed loosely down the front of his crisply pleated white shirt.
    He had removed his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves. Alexa could see the strongly detailed contours of muscle and sinew beneath his skin.
    Somewhere along the line this man had done something else in his life besides sit behind an executive's desk.
    He looked as if he were about to pick up a rapier and do battle with an opponent over a point of honor.
    Lucky for him he had not come here to seduce her, Alexa thought. No telling what might have happened.
    She took a deep breath. Think: wild woman. She flung open the door.
    "It's late," she announced.
    "I know." He contemplated her with an unreadable expression. "The party's over. Offer me a drink."
    The flames of reckless abandon shriveled a bit when it occurred to Alexa that the harsh glare of the porch light was probably not doing much for the shadows beneath her eyes.
    Not that she cared.
    She stepped back into the subtly lit living room.
    And immediately realized her mistake.
    Trask glided over the threshold before she could think of a way to regain the territory she had just yielded.
    "About that drink," he said.
    "You just came from a party."
    "That was business. I never drink when I'm working." He glanced around at the interior of her snug little house, openly curious. "Looks a little like one of the suites in my hotel. You're really into this Deco stuff, aren't you?"
    "I told you, it's my specialty."
    He looked at her. "If you won't offer me a drink, the least you can do under the circumstances is make me a cup of coffee."
    She turned and walked into the kitchen. "I'll fix you a cup of tea."
    "I'll settle for that." He followed her as far as the doorway and watched as she filled the kettle. "No one around here seems to know how to make good coffee anyway."
    "There's a simple solution to that problem."
    "I know. I'm going to call my office in Seattle and have someone ship down an emergency supply of coffee via overnight express carrier."
    "I had in mind an even easier solution," she said sweetly. "You could just go back to Seattle ."
    "I will." He propped one shoulder against the door frame and folded his arms. "Eventually."
    She set the kettle on the burner. "Why did you come here tonight, Trask?"
    "I told you I wanted to talk to you."
    "I don't think we have anything left to talk about."
    "You're wrong."
    She gave him a wary glance. Then she opened the cupboard and took down a teapot decorated with a bright, geometric, Deco design and two matching mugs.
    She decided to ask the question that had been worrying her most since she had left the hotel.
    "Did you confront Edward Vale about my role in putting together your new collection?"
    "You know damn well I didn't," Trask said.
    Her hand stilled on the jar of loose green tea. "Why not?"
    His mouth crooked humorlessly. "Because I find myself in the same position as those McClelland clients you told me about. The ones who got defrauded and did not want to admit it publicly."
    "I see." She met his eyes. "It would be embarrassing for you and your company if anyone were to question the authenticity of the resort’s new collection, wouldn't it?"
    "Very."
    She spooned the tea into the pot. "Want my advice?"
    "Why not? You're the only expert I can consult, given the situation."
    She thought about that. "You are in an awkward position, aren't you? My recommendation is that you continue to keep quiet about your suspicions until the reviews appear. After the so-called experts have declared your collection brilliant and dazzling in print, you'll be home free."
    "Yeah?" He did not bother to conceal his skepticism. "How do you figure that?"
    "Don't worry, the critics aren't likely to change their minds after they've committed their opinions of the collection to print."
    "In other words, they don't want to look like fools, either."
    "You got it."
    "What about you?"
    She smiled slowly. "With any luck, once those reviews hit, especially the one in Twentieth-Century Artifact, I'll be home free, too."
    "Bottom line is that you want me to keep my mouth shut."
    "Just for a few weeks. A couple of months at the outside." She was taking yet another risk, she thought. This was not the kind of man who could be threatened or