From the Heart

“that I’ve met anyone who can outtalk me.” She leaned against the back seat of the cab, tucked into the curve of Jordan’s arm. “I’m suitably humbled.”
    “I gave serious consideration to strangling her after the first hour.” She was close, and the scent of her hair wafted over him. She was warm and a little sleepy, a little high on champagne. He wanted her. “She drilled you for two hours and ten minutes.”
    Kasey laughed softly. “She’s a marvelous person.”
    “I’ve always thought so, until tonight.”
    “She’s very fond of you.” Kasey smiled up at him. “She told me you were a wonderful writer, a marvelous man, particularly when you forget to be polite.” She laughed at his lifted brow. “I had to agree with her.”
    “If Serena’s books are a barometer, she prefers a more—earthy type.”
    “Oh, Jordan, I just love it when you’re dignified.” She took a nip at his ear. “Why don’t you kiss me again the way you did at the party? Sort of macho and domineering.”
    “Damn you, Kasey.” He was laughing as he pressed his lips to hers.
    “ Mmm, swear at me and I’m yours,” she murmured.
    “Be careful,” he warned, finding his hunger growing despite her teasing. “I ran out of patience an hour ago.”
    Kasey laughed again and laid her spinning head on his shoulder. “And he burned for her, burned with a white-hotheat that only she could satisfy.” She sighed and snuggled. “Serena Newport, Chesterfield’s Woman. ”
    She was more than high on champagne, Jordan realized. She was three-quarters drunk. “Kasey, you’re smashed,” he said, amused.
    “Well put,” she agreed. “You writers have a way with words.” She lifted her mouth to just beneath his. “Are you going to take advantage of my condition?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Oh, good.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Start now.”
    The cab pulled over to the curb, and Jordan untangled himself. “Why don’t I pay off the cab first?”
    “Details.” Kasey stepped onto the sidewalk with the help of the doorman. The cold air, still smelling of snow, whipped over her cheeks. It did nothing to clear her head. “Jordan.” She tucked her arm into his when he joined her. “It’s just occurred to me, something you said in the cab about Serena’s barometer. Does that mean you read her books?”
    “Of course I read her books.” He steered Kasey through the doors and across the lobby. “Does that surprise you?”
    “I stand astonished.”
    “It’s astonishing that you can stand at all,” he countered, pressing the button for the elevator.
    “But Jordan, I have a difficult time picturing you reading Chesterfield’s Woman. ” Kasey allowed herself to be drawn inside the elevator.
    “Why?” He pushed the button for their floor, then pulled Kasey into his arms. “To quote Germaine, she tells a hell of a story.”
    Then he was kissing her with a quick, desperate hunger that had her rocking on her feet. She would have been dizzy without the help of champagne. The silk pressed cool against her skin as his hand ran down her back. The heat kindled in her slowly, until she was utterly pliant in his arms. Passion licked by wine simmered under his touch. Her mouth was soft under his, and his tongue moved inside to seek hers. Her thighs throbbed with need, and her head swam. She was reeling and heating and floating all at once. She could no longer cling to him but went limp in her first total surrender.
    “God, Kasey, I’ve never known an elevator to take so long.” He buried his face in her hair and tried to draw back his own sanity. She was so fluid, so totally willing to have him love her; he felt incredibly strong. He hadn’t known he would find even her weakness an excitement when it had been her strength that had drawn him to her.
    The elevator door slid open, and he guided her out into the hall.
    “Jordan.” Kasey turned to him again, leaning against him with her face lifted to his. Her eyes were misted, but the smile reached them.
    “What?”
    “Do you remember what Chesterfield does to Melanie in Chapter Eight right before the ship is attacked by the British frigate?”
    He grinned, remembering very well. “Yes, as it happens, I do. Why?”
    “Well.” She put her arms around his neck again. “I was wondering—a purely academic thought—if fiction could be translated to fact. I’m thinking of doing a paper on the subject.”
    “And you’d like me to help you test your