Falling Awake (8 page)

Definitely not a meek, nervous little spinster, he thought.

Tango Dancer.

t
he auditorium was filled to capacity. Isabel sat in the third to the last row, notebook and pen on the small desk that extended from the arm of the plush, theater-style seat. She was watching the speaker onstage, concentrating so she would not miss anything Tamsyn Strickland said, when she felt a whispery, atavistic thrill stir the hair on the nape of her neck.

Following an instinct that was probably as old as the species, she turned her head to look back over her shoulder to see who or what was closing in on her.

A man had entered the dimly lit chamber. He stood in the shadows behind the last row of seats. It was difficult to make him out clearly because of the low level of illumination but she could see from the way he stood that he was not interested in what was going on at the front of the room. Instead he took off a pair of
dark sunglasses and examined the group of seminar attendees the way a large hunting cat studies the crowd gathered at the watering hole. Selecting his prey.

His gaze locked with hers. That was when she knew he had been looking for her.

Adrenaline splashed through her veins. She could have sworn that she heard energy crackling in the room. She was amazed that there was no flash of lightning.

What was going on here? Alarmed, oddly excited and somewhat dazed, she turned quickly around in her seat and forced herself to pay attention to the lecture.

Onstage Tamsyn Strickland, pointer in hand, launched into her closing remarks.

“Tapping into your personal creative potential is the focus of the Kyler Method,” Tamsyn declared. Exuberance bubbled up through her words. “That is the skill that we will teach you, and believe me, you will learn it well. What’s more, you will see the positive effects of the method at work in your personal life within the first twenty-four hours.”

The audience was riveted. No surprise there, Isabel thought. Tamsyn was a charismatic speaker. She believed wholeheartedly in the Kyler Method, and when she was onstage, she could make the audience believe in it, too.

She was in her early thirties, attractive, divorced and zealously committed to her new career as an instructor here at Kyler, Inc. Tamsyn had found her calling in motivational lecturing.

Isabel gave it a few minutes and then, unable to resist, risked
another glance over her shoulder to see if the stranger was still standing in the shadows at the back of the room.

He was there, all right. And still watching her. He inclined his head in a small gesture that signaled his recognition and let her know that he was waiting for her.

Isabel caught her breath and turned around again, very quickly. She had never seen him before in her life. She was positive of that. No woman would ever forget a man like that. How could he possibly know who she was?

“This is only an orientation session.” Tamsyn paused at the front of the stage and spread her hands in a graceful rising motion. “The hard work comes later, in the seminars and workshops that you will attend over the course of the next five days. But I promise you that when you walk out of this room today you will know that your journey has begun. You will learn how to organize, manage and control your life in a way that will increase your personal satisfaction and prosperity. You will learn how to tap into your own creative potential. Your life will never be the same.”

Tamsyn gave the audience one last megawatt smile and, with an actor’s sense of timing, vanished from the stage through a gold velvet curtain.

The room exploded into applause. The spectacular art-glass chandelier that had been designed especially for the expensively decorated auditorium brightened gradually. The warm light that radiated through the translucent abstract sculpture revealed the room’s paneled walls and rich, plush carpeting.

The massive chandelier was typical of the over-the-top design features that were incorporated into all the public spaces and classrooms at the headquarters of Kyler, Inc. Isabel knew that her brother-in-law, Farrell Kyler, president and CEO of the motivational seminar company, had spared no expense when he commissioned the architect and designer to construct the campus.

The crowd thinned out quickly. She realized that she was the last person still sitting in a seat. She could not delay this any longer.

She picked up her notebook and pen and dropped them into her shoulder bag. Very deliberately she adjusted her glasses on her nose and slowly rose to her feet.

Maybe he would be gone by the time she got to the entrance of the auditorium.

Maybe the sun would not rise tomorrow.

She made her way to the end of the row of seats without looking toward the door. But when she reached the aisle, she had no choice but to look straight ahead.

He was waiting, one shoulder propped against the wall, arms folded, watching her come toward him. He wore a dark blue shirt that was open at the collar, the cuffs rolled up on strong forearms. The shirt was paired with charcoal gray trousers. Both had the close fit and elegant, masculine drape that only came with hand tailoring.

She was acutely aware of her own attire, which consisted of a Kyler red jacket, complete with a little crest on the left breast,
and a pair of Kyler tan trousers. She was a walking ad for the Kyler Method.

When she was a few steps away he straightened and lowered his arms. Technically, he was not exactly blocking the exit, she thought. But it certainly appeared that way.

“Isabel Wright?”

She took a deep, steadying breath. His voice was as interesting as sin and, in the wrong hands, probably twice as dangerous.

“Yes.” She gave him the Desperately Professional Smile she had tried to perfect at the Center for Sleep Research. “Have we met?”

His answering smile was not much more than a faint curve of his hard mouth but there was an intimate, knowing quality to it that sent a frisson of excitement along every nerve ending in her body.

“Ellis Cutler,” he said. “I believe you knew me as Client Number Two when you were associated with the Belvedere Center for Sleep Research.”

Dream Man.

The world stopped for a couple of seconds. So did her breathing. This was Dream Man.

She managed to hold out her hand. “How do you do?”

Ellis’s fingers closed around hers, firm and strong. She sensed the power in him but she also knew that it was under cool and complete control. Just like in his dreams, she thought.

“Sorry to show up here unannounced,” he said. “Took me a while to track you down after we found out you’d left the center.”

“We?”

He raised his brows. “Client Number One was also interested in locating you.”

“I see.”

“I’d like to talk to you. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

It was all very polite and innocuous. He was even trying to quietly reassure her by offering to have the conversation in a public venue. Nevertheless, she had a hunch that he would not politely and innocuously disappear if she refused to speak with him.

“Certainly.” She tightened her grip on the shoulder bag and kept the Desperately Professional Smile in place. “There’s a café outside on the terrace. It has a nice view of the beach.”

“Sounds good.” He took his sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on.

They made their way through the high-ceilinged lobby. The large space was lightly crowded with a sprinkling of late arrivals checking in for the week-long series of seminars. Isabel could feel a few curious glances coming from the staff at the reception desk. She ignored them. They were, she was quite sure, aimed at her companion, not her. Ellis Cutler appeared to be oblivious to the attention they were drawing but she was pretty sure he was aware of everything that was going on around them.

“Got to say I was a little surprised to find you here.” Ellis leaned around her to open one of the heavy glass doors. “Never pictured you as the type to sign up for a course of motivational seminars. Always had the feeling that you were already very motivated.”

She stepped out onto the long, wide terrace that fronted the
sleek, modern facade of the seminar wing. “The Kyler Method is not just about developing a positive, motivated attitude,” she said crisply. “It is also about tapping the creative side of your nature. It’s about exploring options, seeing things in a different light, opening up your personal horizons.”

“That sounds like a direct quote.”

“Page one of the
The Kyler Method: Ten Steps to Reinventing Yourself.
”

“By Farrell Kyler, your brother-in-law. The book spent five months on the major best-seller lists.”

“I see you’ve done your research on me,” she said coolly.

“You’ve been analyzing my dream reports for a year, Isabel. You probably know me well enough by now to realize that I always do my research.”

It was a simple statement of fact but it sent another small thrill of alarm through her. He was acknowledging that there was a strong, personal connection between them.

“Yes,” she murmured.

All of her senses felt sharp and acute. She was intensely aware of the brisk breeze off the bay and the warmth of the summer sun. The sea was an electric blue mirror that dazzled her eyes.

She led the way to the far end of the terrace, where several tables shaded with colorful umbrellas had been set outside. There were only a handful of people in the vicinity. They sipped frothy espresso-based drinks or drank expensive water from bottles that bore labels printed in a variety of foreign languages.

Ellis indicated a table situated some distance from the others,
offering a measure of privacy. The low, muted roar of the surf at the foot of the bluff provided a level of white noise that made it possible to talk without being overheard.

Isabel sat down in the shade cast by the red-and-tan umbrella. Ellis took the seat across from her.

A waiter dressed in a signature Kyler red polo shirt, tan shorts and high-end running shoes hurried over to take their orders.

Isabel smiled at him. “Green tea, please.”

“You got it.” The waiter looked expectantly at Ellis.

“The same,” Ellis said.

If the waiter thought green tea was a wimpy drink for a man, he was too smart to reveal it. He dutifully noted the order on his pad and hastened off toward the glass doors of the café.

Ellis looked at Isabel. She could feel the intensity of his gaze right through the heat shield of his midnight dark glasses.

Pay attention,
she warned herself.
You’ve been inside his dreams. You know how clever and subtle he can be, even when he’s in the middle of a nightmare. Keep it cool. Keep your distance.

“How are you feeling?” she asked on impulse.

So much for keeping her distance.

Something about his absolute stillness told her she had caught him off guard. He recovered almost instantly.

“Much better, thank you,” he said in a mockingly grave tone. “Haven’t had red meat in months. Taking my vitamins. Drinking plenty of green tea. Renting classic screwball romantic comedies. Haven’t actually gone out and bought a romance novel yet, but I’ll get around to it. Been a little busy lately.”

His obvious amusement disconcerted her. She blushed and hastily sat back in her chair. “What can I do for you, Mr. Cutler?”

“Make it Ellis.”

“Okay, Ellis.” She waited.

“I understand you’ve left your job at the Belvedere Center for Sleep Research.”

“I was fired.”

He showed his teeth in a brief, soft laugh. “I’m not exactly a student of the Kyler Method but the next time the subject comes up, I suggest you put a more positive spin on why you left.”

“How can you be positive about getting fired?”

“Try saying that you resigned to pursue other interests.”

She pursed her lips, considering the phrase closely. “Resigned to pursue other interests. It does have a more positive ring, doesn’t it? Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Usually I charge a lot of money for advice like that.”

“You do?”

Before she could question him further, the waiter returned with a steaming pot and two ceramic cups. He set the tea things down and departed.

“I’m here to offer you another job,” Ellis said in a surprisingly offhanded fashion. “Good pay. Good benefits. Guaranteed retirement plan.”

Excitement swept through her. She tried not to let it show. “Working for you?”

“No. I would continue to contract for your services but you
would be employed by another research lab. The situation would be similar to the one you had at the center.”

He sounded almost bored, as if he were going through the motions, as if her decision was a matter of complete disinterest to him.

“I see.” She thought about that for a moment and then decided to play a couple of her own cards. “Would this other lab by any chance be my former Client Number One? An unnamed government agency engaged in Level Five dream research?”

Ellis’s brows climbed. “I take it you obviously know a lot more about your private clients than Martin Belvedere led us to believe.”

He sounded impressed but not surprised, she thought, and certainly not alarmed. She got the distinct impression that he had already guessed that she knew a certain amount about her anonymous clients.

Her confidence rose. She picked up the teapot. He watched her fill his cup and then her own as if the small ritual fascinated him.

“After doing several dozen Level Five dream analyses it would be hard not to know something about my clients,” she said, setting down the pot.

“I thought so.” He made himself more comfortable in the chair, turning slightly to study some wet-suited surfers who were paddling out across the bay. “I told Lawson—”

“Lawson?”

“Jack Lawson. He’s the director of Frey-Salter, Inc. Anonymous Client Number One to you.”

“Ah.”

“I told him that I would deliver his offer of a job. I’ve completed my assignment.”

“No offense, but you didn’t do much of a sales job,” she said dryly.

He smiled his cool, edgy smile and picked up his cup. “Just said I’d make his offer for him. Didn’t say I’d try to talk you into going to work at Frey-Salter.”