Heart of Ice. Diana Palmer
and asked Richard to take her to the airport.
They were on the porch when Egan came out the front door, looking irritated and angry and strangely haggard.
“I’d like to speak to you,” he told Kati.
She remembered looking at him as if he were some form of bacteria, her back stiff, her eyes full of hatred.
“Go ahead,” she told him.
He glared at Richard, who cleared his throat and mumbled something about getting the car.
“Why didn’t you tell me what happened?” he asked.
“Why bother, when you already knew?” she asked in glacial tones.
“I didn’t know,” he ground out.
“How amazing,” she replied calmly. “I thought you knew everything. You seem to have made a hobby out of my life—the fictionalized version, of course.”
He looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t apologize. “Richard had been drinking. It was four in the morning—”
“We had a very long walk,” she told him curtly. “About fifteen or twenty miles. Richard wasn’t drunk. He was tired.” Her dark eyes glittered up at him. “I didn’t like you much before, Mr. Winthrop, but I like you even less now. I’ll make a point of keeping out of your vicinity. I wouldn’t want to contaminate you.”
“Miss James…” he began quietly.
“Good-bye.” She brushed past him, suitcase in hand, and got into Richard’s car. Ada and Mrs. Winthrop had tried to talk her into staying, but she was adamant about having an unexpected deadline and work pressure. And to this day, only she and that animal in Wyoming really knew why she’d left. Even Richard hadn’t been privy to the truth.
That episode had brought the antagonism between Egan and Kati out into the open, and their relationship seemed to go from bad to worse. It was impossible for Kati to stay in the same room with Egan these days. He’d find an excuse, any excuse, to nick her temper. And she’d always retaliate. Like last year…
Egan had been in town for some kind of conference and had stopped by the apartment to see Ada. Kati had been on her way to a department store in downtown Manhattan to autograph copies of her latest book, Renegade Lover, a historical set in eighteenth-century South Carolina. Egan had walked in to find her in her autographing clothes—a burgundy velvet dress cut low in front, and a matching burgundy hat crowned by white feathers. She’d looked like the heroine on the front of her book, and he immediately pounced.
“My God, Madame Pompadour,” he observed, studying her from his superior height.
She bristled, glaring up at him. “Wrong country,” she replied. “But I wouldn’t expect you to know that.”
His eyebrow jerked. “Why not? Just because I’m in oil and cattle doesn’t make me an ignoramus.”
“I never said a word, Mr. Winthrop, honey,” she replied, batting her long eyelashes at him.
The term of endearment, on reflection, must have been what set him off. His lips curled in an unpleasant smile. “You do look the part, all right,” he replied. “You could stand on the street corner and make a nice little nest egg…”
She actually slapped him—and didn’t even realize she had until she felt her fingers stinging and saw the red mark along his cheek.
“Damn you!” she breathed, shaking with fury.
His nostrils flared; his eyes narrowed and became frankly dangerous. “Lift your hand to me again, ever,” he said in that low, cold tone, “and you’ll wish you’d never set eyes on me.”
“I already do, Egan Almighty Winthrop! I already do.”
“Dress like a tramp and people are going to label you one,” he rejoined. His eyes cut away from her with distaste. “I wouldn’t be seen in public with you.”
“Thank God!” she threw after him, almost jumping up and down with indignation. “I wouldn’t want people to think I cared so little about who I was seen with!”
At that moment, luckily, Ada had rushed in from her bedroom to play peacemaker. Without another word, Kati had grabbed up her coat and purse and had run from the apartment, tears rolling down her cheeks. It was a miracle that she managed to get herself back together by the time she reached the department store.
That was the last time she’d seen Egan Winthrop. And she never wanted to see him again. Oh, why had Ada agreed to let him come, knowing the state of hostility that existed between Egan and her? Why!
She put the last ball on the tree, and was reaching for the little golden angel that would sit atop it when she heard the door open.
It must be Ada with the pizza, of course, and she was starved. She reached up, slender in jeans and a pullover yellow velour sweater, laughing as she put the angel in place. As she moved, she knocked into one of the balls, but caught it just in time to keep it from dropping to the carpet.
“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