Heart of Ice

Chapter Two

“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.

“Excuse me,” Ada interrupted, “but it’s Christmas. Remember? Holly and mistletoe…?”

“Mistletoe?” Egan glanced at Kati. “I’d rather drink poison.”

Kati glared back. “Ditto!”

“Let’s watch television!” Ada suggested frantically. She dragged Kati into the living room and quickly turned on the set. “I’ll clear the table, you keep Egan company.”

“You’re just afraid of getting caught in the line of fire,” Egan accused as his sister rushed out of the room.

But Ada only grinned.

Egan eased down into the armchair he’d vacated earlier and stared at Kati. He’d taken off his coat and vest. Both sleeves of his white silk shirt were rolled up and the neck was opened. He didn’t wear an undershirt, and through the thin fabric, bronzed muscles and a thick pelt of hair were visible. That bothered Kati, so she carefully avoided looking at him while the evening news blared into the room.

“How’s the writing going?” Egan asked conversationally.

“Just fine, thanks,” she replied tersely.

“What are you working on now?”

She swallowed. Ada had finked on her, she just knew it. “Actually, I’m doing another historical.”

“On…?”

She cleared her throat. “Wyoming,” she mumbled.

“Pardon?” he said.

Her lips made a thin line. “Wyoming,” she said louder.

“A historical novel about Wyoming. Well, well. Have you done a lot of research?”

She glanced at him warily. “What do you mean?”

“Historical research,” he clarified, watching her. “You’ll have to mention cattle-ranching, I imagine?”

“Yes,” she said grudgingly.

“Know a lot about it, city lady?” he mocked.

She glared at him. “I have been on a ranch before.”

“Sure. Mine.” He stared down his nose at her. “I don’t imagine they have many big cattle ranches in Charleston?”

“We have good people,” she returned. “With excellent breeding.”

His eyebrows arched. “Yes, I know. My grandmother came from Charleston.”

She glared at him. “Did she, really?” she asked coldly.

He smiled softly. “She used to say it was where the Cooper and Ashley Rivers meet to form the Atlantic Ocean.”

She’d heard that, too, in her childhood in the South Carolina coastal city, and she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling with him.

“She was a redhead too,” he continued, waiting for a reaction.

“My hair isn’t red,” she said, predictably.

“Honey and fox fur,” he argued, studying it.

She flushed. That sounded oddly poetic, and she didn’t like the tingle that ran through her.

She glanced at her watch. “Excuse me. I’d better put on a dress.”

Egan glared. “Going somewhere?”

“Yes.” She left him sitting there and went to find Ada. “Jack’s coming for me at seven,” she reminded her friend. “I’ve got to get dressed.”

“I’ll go keep Egan company. Lucky you, to have a boyfriend in town.” She sighed. “Mine’s out at sea again.”

“Marshal will be back before you know it,” she murmured. “Sorry to run out on you.”

“You’ll have fun.” Ada grinned. “And so will I. I like Egan. He’s great company, even if he is my brother.”

Well, there was no accounting for taste. She couldn’t imagine Egan being great company; but then, she wasn’t related to him.

She put on a black cocktail dress and wore red accessories with it. Her eyes gave her a critical appraisal. She’d twirled her hair into a French twist and added a rhinestone clip to it, and she liked that elegant touch. She grinned. Jack would love it.

Jack Asher was a reporter for the New York Times, a political specialist who was intelligent and fun to be with. She’d known him for several months and enjoyed the occasional date. But things were still platonic between them because she didn’t want any serious involvement. She was too independent.

The doorbell rang while she was putting a gloss of lipstick on her mouth, and she knew Ada would get it. Then she remembered that Egan was here, and rushed to finish her makeup and get back into the living room.

Jack was standing in the hall, talking to Ada while Egan glared at him.

He cleared his throat when Kati joined him, looking painfully relieved to see her.

“Hi, lady,” he said with a forced smile. He was blond and blue-eyed and not nearly as tall or muscular as Egan. Sadly enough, in comparison he looked rather pale and dull.

But Kati grinned at him and Ada as if nothing were wrong. “Had to find my purse, but I’m ready when you are. Night, Ada. Egan,” she added, glancing his way.

Egan didn’t answer her. He was still glaring at Jack with those dangerous narrowed eyes glittering like new silver while he smoked a cigarette. Ada made a frantic gesture, but he ignored her too.

“Night, Ada,” Jack said uncomfortably and led Kati out the door.

“Whew!” Jack exclaimed when they reached the elevator. “I felt like an insect on a mounting board for a second there! Is he always like that? So…uncommunicative?”

“Egan?” Kati’s eyes flared up. “He’s usually much too communicative, if you want to know. We’re stuck with him for Christmas. Ada invited him because their mother died earlier this year. She felt sorry for him, being all alone.”

“I should think so,” Jack said gently. “Well, maybe he talks to her.” He frowned. “You don’t like him, do you?”

“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…

She went straight into the bathroom, oblivious that she might wake Ada, and ran herself a calming cool shower.

Chapter Three

Kati didn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel the hard grip of Egan’s fingers on her shoulders, the touch of his mouth against her hand. She hated him, she thought miserably; that was why she couldn’t sleep.

She dragged into the kitchen just after daylight, with her long gold and beige striped caftan flowing lovingly over the soft curves of her body. Her tousled hair fell in glorious disarray around her shoulders, and her dark eyes were even darker with drowsiness.

With a long yawn, she filled the coffee pot and started it, then she reached for the skillet and bacon and turned on the stove. She was leaning back against the refrigerator with a carton of eggs in one hand and butter in the other when the kitchen door opened and Egan came in, dressed in nothing but a pair of tan slacks.

He stopped at the sight of her and stared. She did some staring of her own. He was just as she’d imagined him without that shirt—sexy as all get-out. Bronzed muscles rippled as he closed the kitchen door; a mat of hair on his chest curled down obviously below his belt buckle. His arms looked much more powerful without a concealing shirt, as did his shoulders. She could hardly drag her eyes away.

“I thought I’d fix myself a cup of coffee,” he said quietly.

“I just put some on,” she said.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Does that mean I have to wait until you drink your potful before I can make mine?” he asked.

She glared at him. So much for truces. “There’s a nice little coffee shop down on the corner,” she suggested with a venomous smile.

“I’ll tell Ada you’re being unkind to me,” he threatened. “Remember Ada? My sister? The one whose Christmas you said you didn’t want to spoil?”

She drew in a calming breath. “Do excuse me, Mr. Winthrop,” she said formally. “Wouldn’t you like to sit down? I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.”

“Not until you tell me where you plan to pour it,” he returned.

“Don’t tempt me.” She reached up into the cabinet for a second cup and saucer while he pulled out a chair and straddled it.

When she turned back with the filled cups, she found him watching her. It unnerved her when he did that, and she spilled coffee into one of the saucers before she could set them on the table.

“Couldn’t you sleep?” he asked pleasantly.

“No,” she said. “I’m not used to sleeping late. I’m at my best early in the morning.”

A slow, wicked smile touched his hard mouth. “Most of us are,” he commented.

It didn’t necessarily mean what she thought it did, but she couldn’t help the blush. And that increased her embarrassment, because he laughed.

“Will you stop!” she burst out, glaring at him. “Oh, why don’t you take your coffee and go back to bed?”

“I’m hungry. Don’t I smell bacon?”

“Bacon!” She jumped up and turned it just in time. It was a nice golden brown.

“Going to scramble some eggs, too?” he asked.

“No, I thought I’d let you drink yours raw,” she said.

He only laughed, sipping his coffee. “I like raw oysters, but I draw the line at raw eggs. Want me to make the toast?”

“You can cook?”

“Don’t get insulting.” He stood up and found the bread and butter. “Get me a pan and some cinnamon and sugar.”

She stared at him.

“Cinnamon,” he said patiently. “It’s a spice—”

“I know what it is,” she grumbled, finding it. “Here. And I’ve lined the pan with aluminum foil. It’s all yours.”

“Ungrateful woman,” he muttered as he mixed the cinnamon and sugar in the shaker she’d handed him. He buttered the bread and spread the mixture on top.

“Don’t get conceited just because you can make cinnamon toast,” she mumbled. “After all, it isn’t exactly duckling a l’orange.”

“I’d like to see you cook that,” he remarked.

She cleared her throat. “Well, I could if I had a recipe.”

“So could I.” He turned on the oven and slid the toast in under the broiler. “Get me a pot holder.”

“Who was your personal slave yesterday?” she asked, tossing him a quilted pot holder.

“I liked the old days,” he murmured, glancing at her. “When men hunted and women cooked and had kids.”

“Drudgery,” she scoffed. “Women were little more than free labor….”

“Cosseted and protected and worried over and loved to death,” he continued, staring down at her. “Now they’re overbearing, pushy, impossible to get along with and wilder than bucks.”

“Look who’s talking about being wild!” she burst out.

He stared down his nose at her. “I’m a man.”

She drew in a breath and let it out, and her eyes involuntarily ran over him.

“No argument?” he asked.

She turned away. “Your toast’s burning.”

He took it out—nicely browned and smelling sweet and delicate—and put it on a plate while she scrambled eggs.

“I like mine fried, honey,” he commented.

“Okay. There’s a frying pan, grease is in the cabinet. If you’re too good to eat my scrambled eggs, you can mutilate your own any way you like.”

He chuckled softly, an odd sound that she’d never heard, and she turned to look up at him.

“Firecracker,” he murmured, his eyes narrow and searching. “Are you like that in bed?”

She jerked her eyes away and concentrated on the eggs. “Wouldn’t you like to get dressed before we eat?”

It was a mistake. A horrible mistake. Because then he knew what she hadn’t admitted since he walked into the room. That, stripped to the waist, he bothered her.

The arrogant beast knew it, all right. He moved lazily until he was standing just behind her…so close that she felt him and smelled him and wanted nothing more out of life than to turn around and slide her hands all over that broad chest.

His hands caught her waist, making her jump, and eased her back against him so that she could feel the warm, hard muscles of his chest and stomach against her back. The caftan was paper-thin, and it was like standing naked in his arms.

She felt his fingers move to her hips, caressingly, and her hand trembled as it stirred the eggs to keep them from burning.

“Egan, don’t,” she whispered shakily.

His breath was warm and rough in her hair, because the top of her head only came to his chin. The fingers holding her hips contracted, and she felt the tips of them on her flat stomach like a brand.

“Put down that damned spoon and turn around,” he said in a tone she didn’t recognize.

She was shaking like a leaf, and God only knew what would have happened. But noisy footsteps sounded outside the kitchen door, and an equally noisy yawn followed it. Egan let go of her and moved away just as Ada walked in.

“There you are!” she said brightly, watching her best friend stir eggs. “I’m starved!”

“It’ll be on the table in two shakes,” Kati promised, hoping her voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt. Damn Egan!

“I’d better get dressed,” Egan commented, winking at Ada as he went past her. “I think I bother somebody like this.”

Kati made an unforgivable comment under her breath as he left the room.

“At it again, I see,” Ada sighed wearily.

“He started it,” Kati said through her teeth. “I didn’t ask him to walk in here naked.”

“What?” Ada blinked.

Kati looked at her friend with a pained expression. “Oh, God, isn’t he beautiful?” she whispered with genuine feeling.

Ada chuckled gleefully. “Well, I always thought so, even if he is my brother. But isn’t that something of a strange admission for you to make?”

“It slipped out. Just forget it.” She dished up the eggs. “I think I’d better put something on too.”

“Don’t be long,” Ada cautioned. “The eggs will congeal.”

“I’ll hurry.”

She ran for her bedroom and closed the door just as Egan opened his. A minute’s grace! She got into her jeans, blue T-shirt and shoes, and barely stopped to run a brush through her hair. She hoped it would be a short week. She hadn’t expected Egan to have this kind of effect on her. In all the years she’d known him, he’d never even tried to make a pass at her. Now, in less than two days, he’d made more impact on her guarded emotions than any other man had in all her twenty-five years. She was going to have to get a hold on herself. She didn’t know what kind of game Egan had in mind, but she wasn’t playing.

He was wearing a brown velour pullover when she came back, one that emphasized his dark hair and complexion and the hard muscles she’d already seen.

“We left a little for you,” Egan commented as she sat down. He pushed aside his empty plate and poured himself another cup of coffee from the hotplate on the table.

“How kind of you,” she said pleasantly. She held up her cup and Egan filled it, studying her far too closely.