Heart of Ice

Her hand lifted again, but he caught it this time, holding it so that she had to either stand on her tiptoes or have her shoulder dislocated.

“Let go!” she panted. “You’re hurting!”

“Then stop trying to hit me. Peace on earth, remember?” he reminded her, oddly calm.

“I’d like to leave you in pieces,” she mumbled, glaring up at him.

His eyes wandered from her wild, waving red-gold hair down past her full breasts to her small waist, flaring hips and long legs. “You’ve gained a little weight, haven’t you?” he asked. “As voluptuous as ever. I suppose that appeals to some men.”

“Ooooh!” she burst out, infuriated, struggling.

He let her go all at once and pulled a cigarette from his pocket, watching her with amusement as he lit it. “What’s the matter? Disappointed because you don’t appeal to me?”

“God forbid!”

He shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than this if you want to keep a truce with me for the next few days. I can’t tolerate hysterical women.”

She closed her eyes, willing him to disappear. It didn’t work. When she opened them, he was still there. She put away the antiseptic and bandages and went back into the living room, walking stiffly, to clean the debris of the shattered ball from the beige carpet.

“Don’t cut yourself,” he cautioned, dropping lazily into an armchair with the ashtray he’d found.

“On what, the ball or you?” she asked coldly.

He only laughed, softly, menacingly; and she fumbled with pieces of the ball while he watched her in that catlike, unblinking way of his.

“I thought Ada told me you’d stopped smoking,” she remarked when she was finished.

“I did. I only do it now when I’m nervous.” He took another long draw, his eyes mocking. “You give me the jitters, honey, didn’t you know?”

“Me and the cobalt bomb, maybe,” she scoffed. She threw away the debris and ran an irritated hand through her hair. “Do you want me to show you to your room, like a good hostess?” she asked.

“You’d show me to the elevator and press the Down button,” he said. “I’ll wait for my sister and a warmer welcome.”

It was Christmas, and he’d lost his mother, and she hated the surge of sympathy she felt. But knowing he’d toss it right back in her face kept her quiet. She went to the window and stared down at the busy street. “Ada, hurry,” she wanted to scream.

“I saw your book advertised on television the other day,” he remarked.

She turned around, arms folded defensively over her breasts. “Did you? Imagine, you watching television.”

He didn’t take her up on that. He crushed out his half-finished cigarette. “It sold out at the local bookstore.”

“I’m sure you bought all the copies—to keep your good neighbors from being exposed to it,” she chided.

His eyebrows arched. “In fact, I did buy one copy. To read.”

She went red from head to toe. The thought of Egan Winthrop reading Harvest of Passion made her want to pull a blanket over her head. It was a spicy book with sensuous love scenes, and the way he was looking her over made it obvious what he thought of the book and its author.

“I like historical fiction,” he remarked. “Despite having to wade through the obligatory sex to get to it.”

She flushed even more and turned away, too tongue-tied to answer him.

“How do you manage to stay on your feet with all that exhaustive research you obviously do?”

She whirled, her eyes blazing. “What do you mean by that?” she burst out.

He laughed softly, predatorily. “You know damned good and well what I mean. How many men does it take?”

The door opened just in time to spare his ears. Ada walked in and her face glowed with joy as she saw her brother. She tossed the pizza onto a chair and ran to him, to be swung up in his powerful arms and warmly kissed.

“You get prettier all the time,” he said, laughing, and the radiance in his face made Kati feel like mourning. She’d never bring that look to Egan’s face.

“And you get handsomer. I’m so glad you could come,” Ada said genuinely.

“I’m glad someone is,” he murmured, glancing at Kati’s flushed, furious face.

Ada looked past him, and her own expression sobered. “Ooops,” she murmured.

Kati swallowed her hostility. She wouldn’t ruin Christmas for Ada—she wouldn’t. She pinned a smile to her lips. “It’s all right. He patched me up when I cut my hand. We’re friends now. Aren’t we?” she asked, grinding her teeth together as she looked at Egan.

“Of course,” he agreed. “Bosom pals.” He stared at her breasts.

Ada grabbed him by the hand and half dragged him from the room. “Let me show you where to put your suitcase, Egan!” she said hastily.

Kati went to take the pizza into the kitchen and make coffee. And counted to ten, five times.

Chapter Two (#ulink_cf5d6778-ac4f-53c8-bf3b-8b5bed1b7faf)

“How have you been?” Ada asked her brother as the three of them sat around the dining room table munching pizza and drinking coffee.

“All right,” he said, staring at the thick brown mug that held his coffee. “You?”

Ada smiled. “Busy. It’s helped me not to dwell on Mama.”

“She’s better off,” Egan reminded her quietly.

“I know,” Ada said, her eyes misting. She shook her head and grabbed another slice of pizza. “Anybody else for seconds? There are three slices left.”

“No more for me,” Kati said with a speaking glance at Egan. “I wouldn’t want to get more voluptuous than I already am.”

“Nonsense,” blissfully ignorant Ada said. “You’re just right. Come on, have another slice.”

“Go ahead,” Egan taunted.

“Why don’t you?” she dared him.

“And be accused of making a pig of myself?” he asked innocently.

“Who would be so unkind as to call you a pig?” Kati asked sweetly.