Heart of Ice

“Not one bit. Not one ounce. Not a fraction.” She glared at the elevator.

Jack laughed. “Poor guy!”

“Not Egan. Feel sorry for me. I’m stuck in the same apartment with him for the next week,” she moaned.

“You could always move in with me,” he offered.

She laughed, knowing the offer was a joke, just as it always had been. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. “Sure I could. I can just see your mother’s face.”

“Mother likes you.” He chuckled. “She’d probably be thrilled.”

“Only because she could pump me for my latest plots.” She grinned. “You know she’s one of my biggest fans. Sweet lady.”

“She’s sweet, all right. Well, where do you want to go? The Rainbow Grill?”

“Let’s save it for a special time. How about the Crawdaddy Room at the Roosevelt?”

He chuckled. “You just like to go there because of their pudding,” he accused.

“Well, it is terribly good,” she reminded him.

“I know, I know. Actually, I like it myself.”

She followed him into the elevator and put the confrontation with Egan right out of her mind.

A prime rib, a salad, several hard rolls and a dish of delicious whiskey pudding later, Kati sat drinking her coffee and looking around at the elegant surroundings. She saw a nice little old German waiter she knew from other visits there and smiled at him.

“Friend of yours?” Jack asked her.

“Everybody’s my friend.” She laughed. “I used to think New York was a cold place until I moved here. New Yorkers just take a little getting to know. And then they’re family. I love New York,” she sang softly, and laughed again.

“So do I. Of course, I was born here,” he added. He looked out the window at the traffic. “I’ve got tickets for a modern ballet, if you’d like to use them.”

“Could we?”

“Sure. Come on.”

He led her down a side street where a group of people were just entering what looked like an old warehouse. But inside, it was a theater, complete with live orchestra and lighted stage and some of the most beautiful modern ballet she’d ever watched. The people onstage looked like living art: the women delicate and pink in their tulle and satin, the men vigorous and athletic and vibrant. Kati had been going to the ballet for years, but this was something special.

Afterward, they went to a lounge and drank piña coladas and danced to the hazy music of a combo until the wee hours.

“That was fun,” she told Jack when he brought her home. “We’ll have to do it again.”

“Indeed we will. I’m sorry I didn’t think of the ballet weeks ago. I get free tickets.”

“Let’s do it again even if we have to pay for them,” she said, laughing.

“Suits me. I’ll call you in a few days. Looks like I may have to fly down to Washington on that latest scandal.”

“Call me when you get back, okay?”

“Okay. Night, doll.” He winked and was gone. He never tried to kiss her or make advances. With them, it was friendship instead of involvement, and she enjoyed his company very much. Jack had been married and his wife had died. He wanted involvement even less than she did and was glad to be going out with someone who wouldn’t try to tie him up in wedding paper.

Dreamily, she unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside. She closed the door and leaned back against it, humming a few bars of the classical piece that had accompanied one of the pieces at the ballet.

“Do you usually stay out this late?” Egan asked from the living room. He was standing by the window with a glass of amber liquid that looked like whiskey in his hand.

She stared at him. “I’m twenty-five,” she reminded him. “I stay out as late as I like.”

He moved toward her slowly, gracefully, his eyes holding hers. “Do you sleep with him?” he asked.

She caught her breath. “Egan, what I do with anyone is my business.”

He threw back the rest of his drink and set the glass on a small table in the hall, moving toward her until she felt like backing away.

“How is he?” he asked lazily. Then he caught her by the shoulders and held her in front of him, looking down quietly, holding her eyes.

Her lips parted as she met that intimidating stare. “Egan…”

His nostrils flared. The lean fingers that were holding her tightened. “Is he white all over?” he continued in a faintly mocking tone. “City boy.”

“Well, there aren’t many cattle to herd up here,” she said tautly.

“No, but there are too damn many people. You can’t walk two steps without running into someone,” he complained. “I couldn’t survive here. Answer me. Do you sleep with him?”

“That’s non—” she began.

“Tell me anyway. Does he do all those things to you that you write about in your books?” he asked, studying her. “Does he ‘strip you slowly,’ so that you can ‘feel every brush of his fingers…’”

“Egan!” She reached up to press her fingers against his lips, stopping the words as she flushed deeply.

He hadn’t expected the touch of her fingers. He caught them and held them as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. His eyes held hers.

“Is that the kind of man you like, Katriane Desiree?” he asked, using the full name that she didn’t know he’d ever heard.

She watched him helplessly. “I like…writers,” she managed.

“Do you?” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed its warm palm softly, slowly. His teeth nipped at her slender forefinger.

“Egan,” she breathed nervously.

He took the tip of her finger into his mouth and she felt his tongue touching it. “Afraid?” he murmured. “Don’t they say that a woman is instinctively afraid of a man she thinks can conquer her?”

She wrenched away from him like an animal at bay. “You’d be lucky!” she whispered. Was that her voice, shaking like that?

He stared at her, sliding his hands into his pockets, and the action stretched the fabric of his trousers tight over the powerful muscles of his legs. “So would you,” he returned. “But one of these days I might give you a thrill, honey. God knows, my taste never ran to virgins. And an experienced woman is…exciting.”

She felt the blood rush into her face, and she whirled on her heel. If she stayed there one second longer, she’d hit him! Boy, wouldn’t the joke be on him if he ever tried to take her to bed! Egan, in bed…