Hot Ice

bothered.” He landed lightly on his feet.
    “Douglas.” She wanted to cry again but held the tears back. “It’s so nice of you to drop in like this.”
    “Yeah?” He strolled through the French doors into the opulent bedroom. “Well, I wasn’t sure you wanted any company—especially after that cozy little dinner you had with Dimitri.”
    “Were you watching?”
    “I’ve been around.” Turning, he fingered the rich silk of her lapel. “He gave you this?”
    Her eyes narrowed at the tone, her chin tilted. “Just what are you implying?”
    “Looks like a nice setup.” He wandered to her dresser and drew the top from a crystal decanter of scent. “All the comforts of home, right?”
    “I hate to state the obvious, but you’re an ass.”
    “And what’re you?” He pushed the stopper back into the bottle with a snap. “Walking around in fancy silk dresses he bought for you, drinking champagne with him, letting him put his hands on you?”
    “His hands on me?” She said the words slowly, letting them sink in.
    Doug gave her a look that skimmed from her bare legs to the milky skin of her throat. “You sure know how to smile at a man, don’t you, sugar? What’s your cut?”
    Each step measured, Whitney walked over, reared back, and slapped him as hard as she could. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing and the wind kicking up against the open windows.
    “You’ll get away with that once,” Doug said softly as he ran the back of his hand over his cheek. “Don’t try it again. I’m not a gentleman like your Dimitri.”
    “Just get out,” Whitney whispered. “Get the hell out. I don’t need you.”
    There was an ache in him that far outdid the sting in his cheek. “Don’t you think I can see that?”
    “You don’t see anything.”
    “I’ll tell you what I saw, sugar. I saw an empty hotel suite. I saw that you and the box were gone. And I saw you here, nuzzling up to that bastard over a rack of lamb.”
    “You’d have rather found me tied to the bedpost with bamboo shoots under my nails.” She turned away. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
    “Well, why don’t you tell me what the hell’s going on then?”
    “Why should I?” Furious, she brushed a tear away with the back of her hand. Damn, she hated to cry. Worse, she hated to cry for a man. “You’ve already made up your mind. Your very limited mind.”
    Doug dragged a hand through his hair and wished he had a drink. “Look, I’ve been going crazy for hours. It took me the better part of the afternoon to find this place, then I had to get through the guards.” And one of them, he didn’t add, was lying in the bushes with a slit throat. “When I get here, I see you dressed like a princess, smiling across the table at Dimitri as though you were the best of friends.”
    “What the hell was I supposed to do? Run around naked, spit in his eye? Dammit, my life’s on the line. If I have to play the game until I find a way out, then I’ll play. You can call me a coward if you like. But not a whore.” She turned back again, her eyes dark, wet, and angry. “Not a whore, do you understand?”
    He felt as though he’d just struck something small and soft and defenseless. He hadn’t been sure he’d find her alive, then when he had, she’d looked so cool, so beautiful. And worse, so in control. But shouldn’t he know her by now?
    “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.” Edgy, he began to pace. He plucked a rose from a vase and snapped the stem in half. “Christ, I don’t know half of what I’m saying. I’ve been going nuts ever since I walked into the hotel and you were gone. I imagined all kinds of things—and that I was going to be too late to stop any of them.”
    He looked dispassionately at the tiny drop of blood on his finger where a thorn had pierced the skin. He had to take a deep breath, and he had to say it quietly. “Dammit, Whitney, I care, I really care about you. I didn’t know what I’d find when I got here.”
    She wiped at another tear and sniffed. “You were worried about me?”
    “Yeah.” He shrugged, then tossed the mangled rose onto the floor. There was no explaining to her, even to himself, the sick dread, the guilt, the grief he’d lived with during those endless hours. “I didn’t mean to jump all over you like that.”
    “Is that an apology?”
    “Yes, dammit.” He spun back, his face a study in frustration and fury. “You want me to