From the Heart

going to clear the air, I suggest we get to it.”
    “Are you always all business, Liv?” He lit a cigarette, watching her face. One of his greatest assets was his ability to study directly, endlessly. More than one high-powered politician had squirmed under his dark, patient gaze.
    She didn’t like the quiet power, or its effect on her. “We met here to discuss—”
    “Haven’t you ever heard of pleasantries?” he countered. “How are you? Nice weather we’re having?”
    “I don’t care how you are,” she returned evenly. He wasn’t going to get the best of her. “And the weather’s terrible.”
    “Such a sweet voice, such a nasty tongue.” He observed the flare, quickly controlled, which leaped into her eyes. “You have the most perfect face I’ve ever seen.”
    Liv stiffened—back, shoulders, arms. Thorpe noted the involuntary movement and sipped his scotch. “I didn’t come here to discuss my looks.”
    “No, but then looks are part of the job, aren’t they?” The waiter set the wine in front of her. Liv slipped her fingers around the stem, but didn’t lift the glass. “Viewers would rather invite attractive people into their living rooms. It makes the news easier to swallow. You add a little class as well; it’s a nice touch.”
    “My looks have nothing to do with the quality of my reporting.” Her voice was cold and unemotional, but her eyes were beginning to heat.
    “No, but they do score you points in broadcasting.” He leaned back, still studying her. “You’re a damned good broadcaster, Liv, and you’re picking up speed as a reporter.”
    She frowned at him. Was he trying to unbalance her by tossing out a compliment?
    “And,” he added without changing rhythm, “you’re a very cautious woman.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “If I asked you out to dinner, what would you say?”
    “No.”
    He acknowledged this with a quick, unoffended grin. “Why?”
    Deliberately, she took a sip of wine. “Because I don’t like you. I don’t have dinner with men I don’t like.”
    “Which implies that you do have dinner with men you like.” Thorpe took a last, thoughtful drag, then crushed out his cigarette. “But you don’t go out with anyone, do you?”
    “That’s none of your business.” Infuriated, Liv started to rise, but his hands came down firmly on hers.
    “You tend to jump and run when the button’s pushed. I’m curious about you, Olivia.” He was speaking quietly, below the laughter and raised voices around them.
    “I don’t want you to be interested in me in any way. I don’t like you,” she repeated, and controlled the urge to fight against his hold. His palms were hard and unexpectedlyrough. It was an odd sensation on her skin. “I don’t like your understated machismo or your overstated arrogance.”
    “Understated machismo?” He grinned, enjoying himself. “I think that’s a compliment.”
    The grin was appealing, and she steeled herself against it. She knew she had been right to term him dangerous.
    “I like your style, Liv—and your face. Iced sex,” he continued, then saw that he had hit a nerve, a raw one. Her hands jumped convulsively under his. Her eyes went from angry to hurt to carefully blank.
    “Let go of my hands.”
    He had wanted to annoy her, prod her, but not to hurt her. “I’m sorry.”
    The apology was simple, sincere and unexpected. It killed her urge to spring up and leave. When his hands left hers, she reached for her wine again. “If we’re finished with the pleasantries now, Thorpe, perhaps we can get down to business.”
    “All right, Liv,” he agreed. “Your turn at bat.”
    She set down her glass. “I want you to stop roadblocking me.”
    “Be specific.”
    “WWBW is an affiliate of CNC. There’s supposed to be a certain amount of cooperation. The local broadcast is just as important as the national.”
    “And?”
    At times he was maddeningly closemouthed. She pushed her wine aside and leaned forward on the table. “I’m not asking for your help. I don’t want it. But I’m tired of the sabotage.”
    “Sabotage?” He picked up his drink and swirled it. She was becoming animated again, forgetting her vow to remain distant and untouchable. He liked the hint of pink under her ivory-toned skin.
    “You knew I was working on the Dell story. You knew every step I took. Don’t try that innocent, boyish look on me, Thorpe. I know you have contacts in the woodwork at WBW. You wanted me to make an