Heart of Ice

by Diana Palmer

  Egan shook his head on a tired sigh. “I guess not. Damn. You and your logical arguments.” He took off his hat and coat. “What’s for dinner? I’m half-starved.”

  “You’re always half-starved. There’s some sliced turkey in the refrigerator, left over from my solitary Christmas dinner I had all by myself, alone, yesterday.”

  Egan glanced at the old woman. “Did you have a good time?” he asked.

  “I told you I ate by myself!” Dessie growled.

  “Well, I guess that means you didn’t have any company,” Egan said pleasantly.

  “Wait,” the housekeeper said, “until tonight. And see what I feed you for supper.”

  “Let me die of starvation, then,” he said. “I’ll call up Ada and tell her you won’t feed me, and see what you do then!”

  Dessie threw down her apron. “Hard case,” she accused, her lower lips thrusting out. “Just hit me in my weakest spot, why don’t you?”

  Egan grinned, winking at Kati, who was seeing a side of him she hadn’t dreamed existed. She liked this big, laughing man who seemed so at home in the wilderness.

  He even looked different from the man in the pinstripe suit in Ada’s apartment. He was wearing denim now, from head to foot, and a pair of disreputable brown boots that had seen better days—along with a hat that was surely obsolete. The only relatively new piece of apparel he had was the sheepskin coat he’d just taken off. But he seemed bigger and tougher and in every way more appealing than the sophisticated executive.

  “You look different,” Kati remarked absently, watching him.

  He cocked an eyebrow as he carried turkey and mayonnaise to the table. “I do?”

  “His looks ain’t improved,” Dessie argued.

  “Just mind your own business, thank you,” he drawled in her direction and watched her go back to her roast. “And don’t burn that thing up like you did the last one!”

  “I didn’t burn nothing up,” she shot back. “That stupid dog of yours got in here and reared up on my stove and changed the heat setting!”

  “Durango doesn’t get in the house,” he told her. “And he isn’t smart enough to work a stove, despite being the best cattle dog I own.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t turn my back on him,” she muttered. She put the roast in the oven and closed the door. “Excuse me. I got to go to the cellar and get apples. I thought you might like an apple pie. Not that you deserve one,” she added, glaring back as she went out the door.

  He only laughed. “Get the bread, honey, and I’ll make you one too,” he told Kati.

  “Where is it?”

  “In the breadbox.”

  She got up and went to the cabinet to get it, but before she could turn around, he was behind her, the length of his body threatening and warm.

  “Fell right into the trap, didn’t you?” he breathed, turning her so that her back was against the wall. With his hands on the wall beside her, he eased down so that his body pressed wholly on hers, in a contact that made the blood surge into her face.

  “God, it’s wild like this, isn’t it?” he said unsteadily. “I can feel you burning like a brand under every inch of me.”

  She opened her lips to speak, and he bent and took them. His mouth was cold from the outdoors, but hers warmed it, so that seconds later it was blazing with heat. A moan growled out of his throat into her hungry, wanting mouth.

  She felt his tongue, and her eyes opened suddenly, finding his closed, his brows drawn, as he savored the pleasure. But as if he felt her looking at him, the thick lashes moved up and his darkening silver eyes looked straight into hers.

  On a caught breath he lifted his lips just fractionally over hers. “Now, that’s exciting,” he whispered. “I’ve never watched a woman while I kissed her.”

  But obviously he was going to, because his eyes stayed open when he bent again, and so did hers. The hunger and need in his kiss inflamed her, and her hands found their way to the top button on his shirt.

  She’d never wanted to touch a man’s bare skin. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when the thought had appealed. But it did now. She could feel the crush of his hips and thighs over hers, and explosive sensations were curling her toes.

  Her fingers toyed with his top button while she tried to decide how risky it would be. He was hungry enough without being tempted further, and she wasn’t sure she could handle him.

  He lifted his head and watched her fingers. “Are you always this unsure of yourself with a man?” he asked under his breath. “Or is it just me? Touch me if you want to, Kati. I won’t lose my head and bend you back over the kitchen table.”

  The wording made it sound cheap, made her sound cheap. The color went out of her face and she eased away from him.

  He swore quietly, watching her get the bread and some saucers and start making sandwiches in a strained silence.

  “What do you want from me?” he ground out.

  She drew in a steadying breath. “I’d settle for a little respect. Not much. Just what you’d give any stranger who came into your house.” Tears welled in her eyes as she spread mayonnaise. “I’m not a tramp, Egan Winthrop.”

  He watched a solitary tear land with a splatter on the clean tabletop, and his hands caught her waist convulsively, jerking her back against him.

  “Don’t…cry,” he bit off, his fingers hurting.

  “Don’t touch me!” she threw back, twisting away from him.

  He held on to the edge of the table, glaring as she wiped the tears away and finished making the sandwiches. She pushed his at him and went to put the knife in the sink.

  He poured coffee into her cup and his, put the pot away and sat down. She followed suit, but she ate in silence, not even looking at him. Fool, she told herself. You stupid fool, you had to come with him!

  Dessie came back to a grinding silence. She stared at them, apples in her apron, and grimaced. “I leave you alone five minutes and you start a war.”

  Egan finished his coffee and got up, not rising to the bait. “I’ve got work to do.”

  He grabbed his coat and hat and stamped out the door. Kati brushed away more tears. Dessie just shook her head and started peeling apples. After a minute, she got another bowl and knife and pushed them at Kati.

  “Might as well peel,” she told her. “It’ll give your hands something to do while your mind works.”

  “Mine doesn’t work,” Kati replied coldly. “If it did, I’d still be in New York.”

  “Not many people get under his skin like that,” Dessie commented with a slow grin. “Good to know he’s still human.”

  “Well, I’d need proof,” Kati glowered.

  “I think you’ll get it,” came the laughing reply. “Now, peel, if you want an apple pie.”

  Kati gave in. And it was rather soothing, peeling apples. She had a feeling she was going to make a lot of pies before she got her research done.

  Chapter Nine

  After that little episode, Egan became remote. He was the perfect host, polite and courteous, but about as warm as one of the rocks on his land.

  Kati decided that if he could play it cool, so could she. So she was equally polite. And distant. Oddly enough, there were no more violent arguments like the ones they had in the past. Once in a while, she’d notice Egan watching her over the supper table before he disappeared into his study to work, or during a rare minute in the morning before he went to his office down the road. But he kept to himself, and the affectionate, hungry man who’d brought her to the ranch seemed to have vanished into his former, cold counterpart.

  But she did accomplish one of her goals. She learned enough about ranching to do a nonfiction work on it.

  The logistics of supplies fascinated her. Egan’s cows and second-year heifers were bred to drop calves in February and March. So during January, the ranch manager and his men were very much involved in precalving planning. That meant buying ear tags, identifying first-calf heifers, checking breeding dates to estimate calving dat
es and arranging for adequate facilities.

  Because of the increased herd, move calving pens had to be added, but those were erected during the fall. The cowboys were closely watching the cows now to make sure there were no problems. One of the older hands told her that he always hated being a cowboy during this time of the year and at roundup in the spring, when the cattle had to be branded, vetted, and moved about fifty miles away to summer pasture.

  Listening to the men tell about their adventures took up the better part of her days. She was careful not to interfere with their work, having been cautioned by the boss about that. But she was around during breaks and sometimes after dinner, with her pad and pen in hand, asking questions.

  It would have been all right if Ramey hadn’t asked her to go to a dance with him. Egan happened to overhear the question, and before Kati could even get her mouth open to say “No, thanks,” Egan was on top of them.

  “If you’re through irritating the men,” he told her cuttingly, “they need their rest.”

  She rose, embarrassed to tears but too proud to show it. “Excuse me, I didn’t realize—”

  “But, boss,” Ramey groaned, “she wasn’t bothering us!”

  There was a loud tumult as the other cowboys in the bunkhouse agreed with pathetic eagerness.

  “All the same, good night,” Egan said in his coldest tone. He held the door open; Kati, seeing defeat, shrugged, calling a smiling good night to the men and walked knee-deep in the melting snow back to the truck she’d commandeered for the drive down.

  “This way,” Egan said curtly, taking her arm. He led her to his pickup truck and put her inside.

  “I was just asking questions,” she muttered. “You told me not to interfere with their work.”

  “I didn’t say you could sleep with them,” he growled.

  “You pig!” she burst out. Her eyes blazed; her lips trembled with fury. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”

  “Ramey asked you out—did you think I didn’t hear him?” he asked. He fumbled for a cigarette, surprising her, because she’d seen him smoke only once or twice in the past few days.

  “I was going to refuse,” she replied. “He’s a nice boy, but—”

  “But not experienced enough for a woman like you, right?” he asked, smiling insolently.

  Her breath stopped. “What exactly do you mean, ‘a woman like me’?” she asked deliberately.

  “What do you think I mean?”

  She clutched the pen and pad in her hand and stared straight ahead.

  “No comeback?”

  “I won’t need one. I’m going home.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  “What do you plan to do, Mr. Winthrop, tie me up in a line cabin?”

  “Who taught you about line cabins?”

  “Gig,” she said uncomfortably, remembering the long, amusing talk she’d had with the sly old foreman.

  “Gig never talks to anybody, not even me.”

  “Well, he talks to me,” she shot back. “But I guess you’ll accuse me of trying to get him into bed too!”

  “You’d hate it,” he said, lifting the cigarette to his mouth. “He only bathes once a month.”

  She tried to keep her temper blazing, but she lost and hid the muffled laugh in her hands.

  He glanced at her, his eyes sparkling. “If I stop making objectionable remarks to you,” he said after a minute, “do you suppose we might try to get along for the duration?”

  “I don’t think that’s possible,” she said, glancing at him. “You won’t even give me the benefit of a doubt.”

  “I’ve read your books,” he reminded her.

  “How in God’s name do you think Edgar Rice Burroughs wrote Tarzan of the Apes?” she exploded. “Do you believe that he swung from trees in darkest Africa? When he wrote the first book, he’d never even seen Africa!”

  He pulled up at the front door and cut off the engine. “Are you trying to tell me that a woman could write a sexy book without having had sex?” He laughed. “No dice, baby. I’m not stupid.”

  “That depends on your definitions,” she returned hotly. “About me, yes, sir, you are stupid.”

  “Only when you kiss me in that slow, hot way,” he murmured, smiling wickedly, “and try to take off my shirt.”

  She slammed the pen against the pad impotently and glared at him.

  “All right,” he said after a minute and crushed out the cigarette. “I’ll apologize for the crude remark I made in the kitchen. Will that pacify you?”

  “I want to make something crystal-clear,” she returned, gripping the pad tightly. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m here to research a book.”

  His eyes darkened and he studied her closely. “Put it in words, not innuendos.”

  “I don’t want to be mauled around,” she replied.

  “Tell Ramey. He was the one who wanted to take you off into the woods,” he said on a laugh.

  “So did you!” she accused.

  He shook his head. “No. I wanted to take you into my bed. There’s a difference.”

  “Geographical,” she countered.

  He sighed and reached out to smooth a long, unruly strand of her hair. “I want you. I haven’t made any secret of it. You want me, too. It’s just going to take more time than I thought.”

  “I won’t sleep with you,” she told him.

  “You will,” he replied softly, searching her eyes. “Eventually.”

  “Is that a threat?” she asked, finding her fighting feet.

  “No, ma’am,” he said, grinning.

  She glared at him uncertainly. “I don’t understand you.”

  “You’ve got a whole lot of company,” he told her. He dropped her hair. “Better get some rest. And don’t go back to the bunkhouse at night. Keeps the boys awake.”

  “I have to find out some things about calving,” she protested.

  “Do you? What do you want to know?” he asked with a wicked smile.

  “Oh, stuff your hat…!” she began.

  “Now, now, you mustn’t shock me,” he told her as he got out of the truck. “I’m just an unsophisticated country boy, you know.”

  “Like hell,” she muttered under her breath.

  He opened her door and lifted her into his arms. She started to struggle, but he held her implacably and shook his head.

  “Don’t fight,” he said. “We’ve spent days avoiding each other. I just want to hold you.”

  She felt a rush of feeling that should have made her run screaming the other way. But instead, she put her arms—pad and pen and all—around his neck and let him carry her. By the time he got to the steps, her face was buried in his warm throat and her heartbeat was shaking her.

  “We haven’t made love since we were in New York,” he whispered as he carried her into his study and deliberately locked the door behind him.

  She felt her lips go dry as she looked up at him. He was taking off his hat and coat, and the way he was staring at her made her feel threatened.

  “No more games, Katriane,” he said softly. He took away the pad and pen, and, bending, took off her warm coat and dropped it beside his on the chair. He lifted her off the floor. “I won’t hurt you. But I’ve gone hungry too long.”

  There would never be a better time to tell him the truth. But just as she started to, he bent and pressed his open mouth against the peak of her breast. She cried out, shocked speechless at the intimacy of it even through two layers of cloth.

  He didn’t say a word. She felt him lower her, felt the soft pile of a rug under her back. And then his body was spreading over hers like a heavy blanket, making fires that blazed up and burned in exquisite torment.

  His mouth moved up to hers, taking it with a power and masculine possessiveness that she’d never felt before. She wasn’t even aware of what his hands were doing until he lifted her and she felt the slight chill of the room and the heat of the blazing fire in the hearth on her bare flesh.

  “Eg
an,” she protested shakily as he laid her back down.

  “God, you’re something!” he breathed, looking down with wild, glittering eyes on what he’d uncovered. His hands went to the buttons on his shirt and unfastened them slowly, methodically. He pulled the shirt free of his jeans and stripped it off, revealing bronzed skin that shimmered smoothly in the light of the fire.

  Her eyes fastened on him hungrily, loving every rugged line of him, wanting the feel of his hard muscles against her own trembling softness.

  There was only the crackle of the fire as they looked at each other, only its reddish glow in the room. She knew what he was going to do, but she was powerless to stop him. She loved him. Oh, God, she loved him!

  He came down slowly, easing his chest over hers by levering himself over her on his arms. His eyes held hers every second as he brushed his chest against her taut breasts and watched the wild, sweet surge of her body upward to make the contact even closer.

  “Don’t hold anything back with me,” he said under his breath. “And I’ll please you until you scream with it.”

  His mouth eased down as his chest did, and she reached up to catch his head in her hands, tangle her fingers in his hair while he kissed the breath from her swollen mouth.

  She experienced her own power when she felt the tremor in his long body; and without thinking about consequences, she tugged his head up and shifted to bring his lips down to the bareness of her body.

  “Kati!” he burst out as if she’d surprised him, and he dug his hands in under her back. His mouth opened, and she felt his tongue, his teeth at flesh that had never even known a man’s eyes.

  Her body rippled in his arms, on waves of sweetness, and she moaned as his mouth learned every smooth inch of her above the waist. He rolled suddenly onto his back, bringing her with him, and she felt his hands going under the waistband of her jeans onto the softness of her lower spine.

  “Look at me,” he said in a husky tone.

  She lifted her head just as his clean, strong hands contracted, and he smiled at the hunger he could read in her eyes.

  He nipped her earlobe with his teeth and whispered things that excited and shocked, all at once, embarrassing things that she’d only read until that moment.