Hot Ice

pleases me to have beauty within arm’s length.”
    The food rolled uncomfortably in her stomach. She held out her glass, waiting until he’d filled it to within an inch of the rim. “I hope you won’t think me rude if I ask for how long you intend to extend me your hospitality?”
    He topped off his own glass and toasted her. “Not at all. For as long as it pleases me.”
    Knowing if she put anything else in her stomach, it might not stay down, she ran a fingertip around the rim of the glass. “It occurred to me that you might be considering demanding a ransom from my father.”
    “Please, my dear.” He gave her a light smile, touched with disapproval. “I don’t consider such things proper luncheon conversation.”
    “Just a thought.”
    “I must ask you not to worry about such things. I’d much prefer you to simply relax and enjoy your stay. I trust your rooms are adequate?”
    “Lovely.” She found she wanted to scream now much more than she’d wanted to when she’d turned and faced Barns. His pale eyes stayed steady and open, like a fish’s. Or a dead man’s. Briefly she lowered her lashes. “I haven’t thanked you for the wardrobe, which as it happens, I was in desperate need of.”
    “Think nothing of it. Perhaps you’d like a stroll through the gardens.” He rose, coming over to draw back her chair. “Afterward, I imagine you’d like a siesta. The heat here in midafternoon is oppressive.”
    “You’re very considerate.” She laid her hand on his arm, forcing her fingers not to curl.
    “You’re my guest, my dear. A very welcome one.”
    “A guest.” Her smile was cool again. Her voice, though she was amazed she accomplished it, was ironic. “Do you make it a habit to lock up your guests in their rooms, Mr. Dimitri?”
    “I make it a habit,” he said, lifting her fingers to his lips, “to lock up a treasure. Shall we walk?”
    Whitney tossed her hair back. She’d find the way out. Smiling at him, she promised herself she’d find the way out. If she didn’t—she still felt the cold brush of his lips on her skin—she’d be dead. “Of course.”

CHAPTER
15
    So far so good. It wasn’t a very positive statement, but it was the best Whitney could do. She’d gotten through the first day as Dimitri’s “guest” without any problems. And without any bright ideas of how to check out—in one piece.
    He’d been gracious, courteous. Her slightest whim had been at her fingertips. She’d tested it by expressing a mild craving for chocolate soufflé. It had been served to her at the end of a long, extraordinary, seven-course meal.
    Though she’d wracked her brain during the three hours she’d been locked in her rooms that afternoon, Whitney had come up blank. There was no breaking through the doors, no jumping out the window, and the phone in her sitting room was only good for in-house calls.
    She might have considered making a break for it during the afternoon stroll in the gardens. Even as she’d been working out the details, Dimitri had plucked her a blush pink rosebud and confided in her how distressing it was for him to have to arrange for armed guards around the perimeter of the grounds. Security, as he put it, was the burden of the successful.
    As they’d reached the edge of the garden, he’d casually pointed out one of his staff. The wide-shouldered man had worn a trim, dark suit, sported a natty moustache, and carried a small, deadly Uzi.
    Whitney had decided she’d prefer a more subtle means of escape than a wild dash across the wide-open grounds.
    She tried to think of one during her afternoon confinement. Sooner or later her father would become concerned by her prolonged absence. But it might take another month before that came to pass.
    Dimitri would want to leave the island at some point. Probably soon, since he had his hands on the treasure. Whether she went with him or not—and was afforded more opportunities for escape—was dependent on his whim. Whitney didn’t care for having her fate rest on the whim of a man who wore blusher and paid others to kill for him.
    So she paced the suite through the afternoon, thinking up and rejecting plans as basic as tying the sheets together and climbing out the window, and as complicated as carving her way through the walls with a butter knife.
    In the end, she dressed in the sheer ivory silk that clung to every subtle curve and glittered with tiny seed pearls.
    For the better part of two hours, she faced Dimitri