“Look out!”
She got no chance to look anywhere. A steely arm wrapped about her waist, cinching her against a rock-hard body, and she—they—dove to the ground before landing on the concrete floor in the space between two rolling mills.
Not thatshelanded on the floor; he’d flung them sideways in such a way that she landed mostly on him.
The jolt of their landing knocked the air from her lungs, and the sensation of her body slamming into his all along her length shot through her, scrambling and scattering her wits.
She lay in his arms and struggled to breathe. For the first time in her life, her mind was so awash with tactile stimulation, she couldn’t think.
Disconcertingly, she felt utterly safe.
Her head rested on his upper chest, cushioned by firm, warm muscle, and the steely strength of him, of his arms wrapped around her, for some mystical reason left her prey to a burgeoning impulse to press herself even more deeply against him, to sink further into his embrace.
Her heart was pounding in rapid time, and a flush was spreading beneath her skin.
With a massive effort, she hauled in a breath and felt him tense beneath her.
Then he shifted. His hands gently gripped her shoulders, and he lifted her enough to peer into her face. “Are you all right?”
No. You’ve broken my brain.
She cleared her throat and croaked, “Yes.” She tried to scramble off him, and he winced, then helped her up. Only once she was upright and he was, too, did she meet his eyes.
The awareness that swam in the burnt-caramel depths left her in no doubt that he’d sensed the impact the unanticipated embrace had had on her… She blinked as it dawned on her that he’d been affected, too.
She didn’t get even a second to dwell on that revelation. As if a bubble popped, sound—which until that second had been distant and muted—erupted and rushed in, and pandemonium enveloped them.
Men rushed up from all sides, while others, she saw, were leaping and grappling with the huge hook swinging from one of the gantry cranes.
That’s what made the whistling noise.
The massive iron hook was one of several attached to the overhead cranes used to hoist cauldrons and buckets and even move converters. The overhead cranes, mounted on gantries high above, were a necessary part of any steelworks. But the hooks—big enough and heavy enough to brain anyone they struck—were normally hoisted on their chains high above and secured.
The hooks were never left with enough loose chain to allow them to swing almost to ground level, as that one had.
Even less frequently were hooks positioned directly over the aisle, not when they weren’t in use.
Oh, God. If it had struck us…
She felt the blood drain from her face.
Instantly, hands—hard, long-fingered, their touch almost familiar—locked about her waist and steadied her.
She glanced over her shoulder, met Martin Cynster’s eyes, and read in them the same realization. If he hadn’t reacted as he had, they would both be dead.
She looked about at the continuing chaos. It wouldn’t have been just them, either. Four workers had been in the aisle, two ahead of her and him and two behind. All would have been collected by the swinging hook.
He’d heard the odd sound, turned, seen, and had yelled to warn everyone, not just her. Thanks to his excellent reflexes, catastrophe had been averted.
Hinckley, white-faced and frantic, rushed up, as did several of the older crew.
She looked again at Martin Cynster. Death had come so very close to claiming her, him, and four others, too.
CHAPTER2
The realization of what had almost happened left her mentally reeling, but the clamorous questions and shocked faces crowding around her demanded an immediate response. Determinedly, she drew breath and set about reassuring everyone that she was entirely unharmed. After several minutes of patient repetition, she managed to calm everyone sufficiently to confirm that the four workers who’d been forced to scatter hadn’t taken any hurt.
Everyone seemed more concerned about her, but she’d been so cushioned she didn’t even feel jarred. Shocked, yes. Jarred, no.
