From the Heart

infuriatingly. “What about carnations?”
    “Will you stop!” She leaned her palms on the desk much as she had done the first time she had stormed his office. “You might fool the brass with that crooked smile and choirboy look, but not me. You know just what you’re doing. It’s driving me crazy!” She paused a moment for breath, and he leaned back. “You know what a rumor factory this place is. Before noon, the entire newsroom is going to think I’m involved with you.”
    “So?”
    “I’m not involved with you. I never have been and I never will be involved with you. I don’t want my associates thinking otherwise.”
    Thorpe picked up the pen and tapped on the desk top. “Do you think being involved with me damages your credibility?”
    “That has nothing to do with it.” She snatched the pen out of his hand and tossed it across the room. “I’m not involved with you.”
    “The hell you aren’t,” he countered smoothly. “Wake up, Liv.”
    “Listen—”
    “No, you listen.” He rose and came around the desk. She straightened to face him. “You were kissing me two days ago.”
    “That has nothing—”
    “Shut up,” he said mildly. “I know what you felt, and you’re a fool if you think you can pretend otherwise.”
    “I’m not pretending anything.”
    “No?” He lifted his shoulder a bit, as if he thought little of her statement. “In any case, sending you a rose is hardly comparable to groping in the editing room during a coffee break. If you want something tangible to be offended about, I can oblige you.” He pulled her into his arms. For the first time, Liv noticed the glint of anger in his eyes. She refused to struggle. It would be humiliating because he was stronger. She tilted her chin and glared back at him.
    “I don’t imagine you have to put much effort into being offensive, Thorpe.”
    “Not a bit,” he agreed. “I’m rather pressed for time right now, or I’d demonstrate. We can hash this out over dinner tonight.”
    “I’m not having dinner with you tonight.”
    “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty,” he said as he released her and picked up his jacket.
    “No.”
    “I can’t make it before seven-fifteen.” He kissed her quickly. “If we have things to say to each other, they should be said in private, don’t you think?”
    He had a point. And her mouth was still warm from his. “You’ll listen to what I have to say?” she asked cautiously.
    “Of course.” He smiled and brushed her lips again, lightly.
    She stepped back. “And you’ll behave reasonably?”
    “Naturally.” He slipped on his jacket. She was wary of his easy agreement, but could hardly argue with it. “I’ve got to go. I’ll walk you to the elevator.”
    “All right.” As she walked with him, Liv wondered if she had won or lost the argument. A draw, she decided, was the best she could make of it.
     
    Thorpe hesitated outside of Liv’s apartment. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this. He wasn’t accustomed to rejection,particularly rejection from a woman. He had always had success both in his personal and professional life. The professional success he had worked for. Hard. Success in his private life had always come easily. He hadn’t had to devote endless hours to research, endless miles to legwork to lure a woman into his arms, into his bed.
    When he had been in his early twenties, pounding Washington pavements, making contacts, reporting on faulty sewage systems, he had had his share of desirable women. Some might have said more than his share. Later, when he had done an eighteen-month stint abroad, covering the delicate and explosive Middle East, there had still been women. And as his name had become more well known, his face more widely recognized, his choices had become varied.
    He knew he had only to pick up his phone and dial to insure himself an evening’s companionship. He knew scores of women—interesting women, beautiful women, famous women. He had come a long way from the boy who had hung around the old Senators’ clubhouse.
    Still, two things had remained the same. He was determined to be the best in his field, and when he wanted something, he went after it. Thorpe thrust his hands in his pockets a moment and frowned at Liv’s door. Was that why he was here? he wondered.
    But it wasn’t as simple as that. Even standing there alone, he could conjure up her face, her voice, her scent. There had never been another woman in his life he could see so