jumped with dismay. With a quick flip of the hall light switch, she illuminated the entire corridor. He'd simply vanished. A shiver trailed down her spine. God, what the hell was going on here? This guy made Houdini look like an amateur. No, not a magician. The stranger was anything but that. Her hand slid over her wrist as she recalled his uncanny ability. Turning back to the door, she reached for the doorknob then froze. The dead bolt hadn't been touched. How in the hell had he gotten into the house? The sudden pounding on the opposite side of the door made her jump.
"Emma? Are you quite all right?" Ewan's distinctive English accent echoed through the door, and she heaved a sigh of relief.
Without hesitation she unlocked the door and tugged it open. For once, she welcomed the sight of Ewan's angular features and graying hair. Most of the time, his pompous attitude grated on her, but after the day she'd had, well, even the devil himself would be welcome. She winced inwardly. Definitely the wrong choice of phrase. Lucifer had come and gone already, leaving her more confused than she'd ever been in her life.
Always meticulous in appearance, Ewan Redmurre was a throw-back to a fifties-era professor. Any fashionista would have a stroke just looking at him. But Ewan's look fit his personality. Somewhat stuffy, rich in anal-retentive detail, but mostly--brilliant. Tonight, though, the rain had left him drenched and he was obviously displeased about it.
"What the devil took you so long?" he groused as he stepped into the foyer. "I'm soaking wet."
She jumped aside as he shrugged out of his trench coat and proceeded to shake the rain off it onto the entryway's floor. Gritting her teeth at the action, she took the coat out of his hands. Okay, warm fuzzies about Ewan were gone. Didn't the man believe in umbrellas? Not waiting for him to shake the water off his fedora, she lifted it off his head then hung both items on the peg hooks next to the door.
"I was . . . talking with someone . . ."
Remembering the intruder's concern for her safety, she frowned. Her hesitation surprised her. Ewan might be an ass sometimes, but she'd known him since before she could walk. He'd been a friend of her parents since their college days. Like Charlie, he'd been a rock she'd leaned on after her parents' murder five years ago. She'd relied on him again today at Charlie's memorial service. But the stranger's concern had been so compelling . . . and for some crazy reason, she trusted him to keep her safe. No, she'd tell Ewan later when she had a better grasp of the situation.
"Do you want a drink?" she asked.
"Whiskey neat, if you please."
She nodded at his request and passed through the living room into the kitchen. It didn't take long to find the whiskey because the pantry was bare. She made a mental note to go grocery shopping.
"This someone you were talking with wouldn't be that Frost fellow, would it?" Ewan's crisp accent floated into the kitchen like a brisk breeze. "The last thing you need is to be talking to that moronic jackass."
The mention of Jonathan made her flinch, and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the older man's comment. She chose to laugh. Jonathan would have been livid to hear himself referred to as a jackass, let alone stupid. Her ex-fiance believed himself to be urbane and sophisticated, but he was really a liar and a cheat. Whiskey bottle in one hand and two glasses in another, she returned to the living room and arched an eyebrow at her guest.
"I haven't seen Jonathan since the Institute's annual fundraiser last year."
It had been an awkward evening at best since it had been the first time
"Emma? Are you quite all right?" Ewan's distinctive English accent echoed through the door, and she heaved a sigh of relief.
Without hesitation she unlocked the door and tugged it open. For once, she welcomed the sight of Ewan's angular features and graying hair. Most of the time, his pompous attitude grated on her, but after the day she'd had, well, even the devil himself would be welcome. She winced inwardly. Definitely the wrong choice of phrase. Lucifer had come and gone already, leaving her more confused than she'd ever been in her life.
Always meticulous in appearance, Ewan Redmurre was a throw-back to a fifties-era professor. Any fashionista would have a stroke just looking at him. But Ewan's look fit his personality. Somewhat stuffy, rich in anal-retentive detail, but mostly--brilliant. Tonight, though, the rain had left him drenched and he was obviously displeased about it.
"What the devil took you so long?" he groused as he stepped into the foyer. "I'm soaking wet."
She jumped aside as he shrugged out of his trench coat and proceeded to shake the rain off it onto the entryway's floor. Gritting her teeth at the action, she took the coat out of his hands. Okay, warm fuzzies about Ewan were gone. Didn't the man believe in umbrellas? Not waiting for him to shake the water off his fedora, she lifted it off his head then hung both items on the peg hooks next to the door.
"I was . . . talking with someone . . ."
Remembering the intruder's concern for her safety, she frowned. Her hesitation surprised her. Ewan might be an ass sometimes, but she'd known him since before she could walk. He'd been a friend of her parents since their college days. Like Charlie, he'd been a rock she'd leaned on after her parents' murder five years ago. She'd relied on him again today at Charlie's memorial service. But the stranger's concern had been so compelling . . . and for some crazy reason, she trusted him to keep her safe. No, she'd tell Ewan later when she had a better grasp of the situation.
"Do you want a drink?" she asked.
"Whiskey neat, if you please."
She nodded at his request and passed through the living room into the kitchen. It didn't take long to find the whiskey because the pantry was bare. She made a mental note to go grocery shopping.
"This someone you were talking with wouldn't be that Frost fellow, would it?" Ewan's crisp accent floated into the kitchen like a brisk breeze. "The last thing you need is to be talking to that moronic jackass."
The mention of Jonathan made her flinch, and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the older man's comment. She chose to laugh. Jonathan would have been livid to hear himself referred to as a jackass, let alone stupid. Her ex-fiance believed himself to be urbane and sophisticated, but he was really a liar and a cheat. Whiskey bottle in one hand and two glasses in another, she returned to the living room and arched an eyebrow at her guest.
"I haven't seen Jonathan since the Institute's annual fundraiser last year."
It had been an awkward evening at best since it had been the first time
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