Teresa Medeiros by Breath of Magic Page A

Tristan threw a casual glance over his shoulder. Five burly, gray-suited men were huddled in front of a toy store, their efforts to look inconspicuous failing miserably. One of the men seemed to be admiring his reflection more than the charming window displays.
    “Those men are paid to follow us,” he whispered back. “They’re my bodyguards. I arranged for them todelay their departure until Cop could divert the press’s attention, but I would never leave the Tower without them.”
    Arian stole another look. “Why, you’re right! There’s that kind Mr. Nordgard. Sven!” she trilled, waving wildly. “Oh, Sven!”
    Tristan pulled her hand down. “For God’s sake, don’t wave! You’ll blow his cover and then he’ll sulk for the rest of the day because you recognized him in his Ray•Bans.”
    Arian drew off her own sunglasses to reveal a pensive frown. “Why do you require guards, Mr. Lennox? I can’t imagine a man like you being afraid of anything.”
    “The streets of New York can be a very dangerous place.” Her luminous brown eyes reminded him that there were more subtle dangers than gang members or kidnappers. “Only a fool wouldn’t be afraid,” he added lightly, tucking a
wayward
strand of hair behind her ear.
    If he expected her to linger at Tiffany’s to admire the costly trinkets she planned to buy with his million dollars, he was sorely disappointed. She forsook the glittering window display without so much as a longing glance when a policeman mounted on a handsome sorrel came trotting past.
    “Oh, sir! Please, sir, might I have a moment of your time?” Arian cried, bounding after the horse before Tristan could restrain her.
    The officer slowed, guiding his mount in a prancing circle. The mouth above his helmet strap looked as if it hadn’t cracked a smile since the early eighties. He shot Tristan and his trench coat a suspicious glance. “Is that fellow bothering you, ma’am? Are you in need of assistance?”
    By the time Tristan reached the duo, Arian was already explaining. “… it’s just that she’s the first horse I’ve seen in New York. I was beginning to fear there weren’t any left.”
    “Bathsheba’s been with the force for five yearsnow, ma’am. I’m the one who named her,” the officer confided, his stern mouth softening in a bashful grin. But his suspicious glower returned when he shifted his gaze to Tristan. “A little warm for that coat, isn’t it, sir?”
    Tristan summoned a genial smile instead of tearing open the front of his coat and flashing his Armani suit at the man. “I’m just recovering from a nasty head cold.”
    Arian stroked the horse’s velvety muzzle, her other hand absently toying with her necklace. “You’re quite the beauty, aren’t you?” she crooned. “I wish I had an apple to—”
    The horse tossed its mane with a raucous whinny before lowering its head to nuzzle Arian’s skirt pocket. Its teeth emerged with a fat red apple clenched between them.
    The cop chortled with delight, but Arian looked nearly as stunned as Tristan suspected he did.
    “Thank the pretty lady, Bathsheba,” the policeman commanded, but Bathsheba was too busy gulping down the apple core to comply. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I get the feeling you’re not from around here, but I hope you enjoy your stay in the Big Apple.” The cop nudged his horse into a saucy trot, his expression so smitten Tristan half expected him to tip his helmet to Arian like some noble gentleman of yore.
    He, however, was more chilled than charmed by her resourceful trick. He stood directly behind her, near enough to warn, but not to threaten. Near enough for the distracting perfume of her hair to sweeten the exhaust fumes.
    “I thought witches only offered apples of the poisonous variety,” he murmured.
    Arian’s tension was palpable, even in her off-key laughter. “ ’Tis fortunate the mare didn’t pull a rabbit out of my pocket. At least I can claim the apple came from my