by Diana Palmer
“Back already?” she called. “I’m starved to death! Do you want to have it in here by the tree?”
There was a pregnant pause, and she felt eyes watching her. Nervous, she turned—to find herself staring at Egan Winthrop. Her hand clenched at the sight of him—so powerful and dark in his gray vested suit—and the fragile ball shattered under the pressure.
“You little idiot,” he muttered, moving forward to force open her hand.
She let him, numb, her eyes falling to the sight of his dark hands under her pale one where blood beaded from a small cut.
“I…wasn’t expecting…you,” she said nervously.
“Obviously. Do you have some antiseptic?”
“In the bathroom.”
He marched her into it and fumbled in the medicine cabinet for antiseptic and a bandage.
“Where’s Ada?” he asked as he cleaned the small cut, examined it for shards, and applied the stinging antiseptic.
“Out getting pizza,” she muttered.
He glanced up. He’d never been so close to her, and those silver eyes at point-blank range were frightening. So was the warmth of his lean, powerful body and the smell of his musky cologne.
His eyes searched hers quietly, and he didn’t smile. That wasn’t unusual. She’d only seen him smile at Ada or his mother. He was reserved to the point of inhibition most of the time. A hard man. Cold…
Something wild and frightening dilated her eyes as she met that long, lingering look, and her heart jumped. Her lips parted as she tore her gaze down to the small hand that was visibly trembling in his big ones.
“Nervous, Katriane?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m nervous,” she bit off, deciding that a lie would only amuse him. If granite could be amused.
“How long did it take Ada to talk you into this visit?” he asked.
She drew in a heavy breath. “All of a half hour,” she said gruffly. “And I still think it’s a horrible mistake.” She looked up at him defiantly. “I don’t want to spoil Christmas for her by fighting with you.”
His chin lifted as he studied her. “Then you’ll just have to be nice to me, won’t you?” he baited. “No snide remarks, no deliberate taunts…”
“Look who’s talking about snide remarks!” she returned. “You’re the one who does all the attacking!”
“You give as good as you get, don’t you?” he asked.
Her lower lip jutted. “It’s Christmas.”
“Yes, I know.” He studied her. “I like presents.”
“Is anyone going to give you one?” she asked incredulously.
“Ada,” he reminded her.
“Poor demented soul, she loves you,” she said, eyeing him.
“Women do, from time to time,” he returned.
“Ah, the advantages of wealth,” she muttered.
“Do you think I have to pay for it?” he asked with a cold smile. “I suppose a woman who sells it expects everyone to…”
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
“How have you been?” Ada asked her brother as t
he 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 hi
m.
“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.
