Heart of Ice. Diana Palmer
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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.
“What does your boyfriend do for a living?” he asked unexpectedly.
“Jack isn’t my boyfriend,” she said. “He’s a man I date. And he’s a political reporter for the New York Times.”
He leaned back in his chair while Ada bit her lower lip and looked apprehensive.
“Is he really?” Egan asked. “He doesn’t look like he gets much exercise. A little overweight, wouldn’t you say?”
She glared at him. “He works very hard.”
He only laughed, and sipped his coffee. “If I took him home with me, I could break him in one day.”
“You could break the devil in one day,” Kati said, exasperated. “What business is it of yours who I date?”
“Now, that’s a good question,” he replied. His eyes narrowed, and there was a smile she didn’t understand on his chiseled lips. “Maybe I feel sorry for the poor man. He does know what you do for a living, doesn’t he? Must be hell on him, having everything he does to you turn up in a book…”
“Egan.” Ada groaned, hiding her face in her hands.
“You overbearing, unspeakable, mean-tempered…” Kati began in a low tone. She threw her napkin down onto the table and stood up.
“You sure got up on the wrong side of the bed,” Egan commented. “Here I am a guest in your apartment—”
“I’d sooner invite a cobra to breakfast!” she burst out.
“You should have,” he murmured, glancing at the plate he’d just emptied. “He might have enjoyed burned eggs and half-raw