Flash

electronic music swelled. Wind blew. Thunder drummed in the distance. Arrows of blue light crackled overhead and underfoot. The hazy mist thickened. It reflected the glow, intensifying the aura of sorcery.
    Olivia was engulfed in the special effects. The dancing lights pulsed with the electronic music in a dazzling, intricate pattern that had a mesmerizing effect.
    "Well, shoot," she muttered. "I'm going to have to give Bolivar and Zara another raise."
    Bolivar had gone a bit overboard on the fog, she decided. It was getting noticeably thicker by the second. She waved a hand to clear away some of the misty stuff.
    "Turn off the fog, Bolivar. I can't see a thing."
    There was no response. She realized he could not hear her above the music and the sounds of the gathering storm.
    "Bolivar, shut off the fog."
    The vapor grew denser. The lenses of her glasses misted. She realized that she could no longer make out the outlines of the fake rock walls.
    She removed her glasses and wiped the lenses on her sleeve. When she put them back on they immediately clouded over a second time. It was like being trapped inside a blue cotton candy machine, she thought. Everything around her was concealed in a fuzzy, dark turquoise mist.
    The music soared, a high-tech electronic symphony with strong Celtic themes.
    Irritated, she groped her way toward the exit. At one point she flung out a hand and made contact with a wall. Her knuckles scraped against the rough surface.
    "Ouch." She winced and shook her bruised fingers. Gingerly she made her way by touch along the twisting corridor that led to the mouth of the cave.
    She rounded a corner.
    And froze when she saw the dark figure looming in the glowing mist.
    "Bolivar?"
    But she knew it was not her cousin. Even with vapor-shrouded glasses she could see that whoever he was, this man was too tall, too broad across the shoulders, too overwhelming in every way to be Bolivar.
    Please don't let him be a potential client
. The runaway fog would not make a good impression, she thought. Belatedly it occurred to her that he might be from the Camelot Blue publicity department come to check on progress.
    Her business instincts surged to the fore. She rallied swiftly.
    "A small problem with the fog machine," she said in her most reassuring tones. "Nothing to worry about. We'll have it adjusted in no time."
    Blue mist swirled around the man as he moved toward her. "I'm told there's a mechanical problem. The young man at the controls asked me to come in and guide you out. He said that by now your glasses would be fogged up."
    Perhaps because she could not make out his features, she was acutely conscious of his voice. It was imbued with a deep, dark resonance that vibrated along her nerve endings. He spoke softly, but she could hear him quite clearly through the ancient music.
    Instinctively she removed her glasses again. She batted impatiently at the seething mist. It parted just long enough to reveal a magician's enigmatic eyes and severe, ascetic features.
    Merlin had returned to his cave.
    "Who are you?" she demanded.
    "I'm Sloan."
    A strange shiver shot down her spine. The glowing blue vapor seemed to intensify. She waved her hands frantically to clear her view.
    "Darn it, I told Bolivar it was a mistake to go for the romantic atmosphere," she said.
    "It usually is."
    He gripped her arm with powerful fingers and led her out of the mist-filled cavern into the light of day.

4
    « ^ »
    H e had done business with plenty of women in the past, but he knew in his gut that this time things would be different. This woman was different.
    Jasper paused briefly in the doorway of Olivia's small office. He barely managed to suppress a groan.
    The desk was piled so high with papers, notebooks, and invoices that he could not see the surface. There were more papers on top of the computer.
    On the other side of the room a file drawer stood open. The folders inside were crammed willy-nilly with documents. More folders, apparently waiting to be filed, were stacked perilously high on top of the cabinet. The air of busy clutter made him want to grind his teeth.
    Without a word he made his way through the crowded space. He went to stand at the glass window that looked out over the studio.
    The fact that his new business partner had no respect for order and organization was the least of his problems, he told himself. Of far more immediate concern was this intense, edgy awareness that arced through him. The office seemed