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“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 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 (#ulink_cf5d6778-ac4f-53c8-bf3b-8b5bed1b7faf)
“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.
