Hot Ice

work with such vigor her friends began to mutter among themselves.
    It was one thing for her to exhaust herself with rounds of parties, quite another to do so during working hours. Whitney did what she did best. She ignored them completely.
    “Tad, don’t make a fool of yourself again. I simply can’t bear it.” Her voice was careless, but more sympathetic than cruel. Over the past few weeks, he’d nearly convinced her that he cared for her almost as much as his collection of silk ties.
    “Whitney…” Blond, tailored, and a little drunk, he stood in the doorway of her apartment, trying to figure the best way to ease himself inside. She blocked him without effort. “We’d make a good team. It doesn’t matter that my mother thinks you’re flighty.”
    Flighty. Whitney rolled her eyes at the term. “Listen to your mother, Tad. I’d make a perfectly dreadful wife. Now, go back down so your driver can take you home. You know you can’t drink more than two martinis without losing your grip.”
    “Whitney.” He grabbed her, kissing her with passion if not with style. “Let me send Charles home. I’ll spend the night.”
    “Your mother would send out the National Guard,” she reminded him, slipping out of his arms. “Now go home and sleep off that third martini. You’ll feel more like yourself tomorrow.”
    “You don’t take me seriously.”
    “I don’t take me seriously,” she corrected and patted his cheek. “Now run along and listen to your mother.” She closed the door in his face. “The old battle-ax.”
    Letting out a long breath, she crossed to the bar. After an evening with Tad, she deserved a nightcap. If she hadn’t been so restless, so… whatever, she’d never have let him convince her that she needed an evening of opera and congenial company. Opera wasn’t high on her list of enjoyments, and Tad had never been the most congenial companion.
    She splashed a healthy dose of cognac into a glass.
    “Make it two, will you, sugar?”
    Her fingers tightened on the glass, her heart lodged in her throat. But she didn’t flinch, she didn’t turn. Calmly, Whitney turned over a second glass and filled it. “Still slipping through keyholes, Douglas?”
    She wore the dress he’d bought her in Diégo-Suarez. He’d pictured her in it a hundred times. He didn’t know this was the first time she’d put it on, and that she’d done so in defiance. Nor did he know that because of it, she’d thought of him all evening.
    “Out pretty late, aren’t you?”
    She told herself she was strong enough to handle it. After all, she’d had weeks to get over him. One brow cocked, she turned.
    He was dressed in black, and it suited him. Plain black T-shirt, snug black jeans. The costume of his trade, she mused as she held out the glass. She thought his face looked leaner, his eyes more intense, then she tried not to think at all.
    “How was Paris?”
    “Okay.” He took the glass and restrained the urge to touch her hand. “How’ve you been?”
    “How do I look?” It was a direct challenge. Look at me, she demanded. Take a good long look. He did.
    Her hair flowed sleekly down one shoulder, held back with a crescent-shaped pin of diamonds. Her face was as he remembered: pale, cool, elegant. Her eyes were dark and arrogant as she watched him over the rim of her glass.
    “You look terrific,” he muttered.
    “Thank you. So, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
    He’d practiced what he was going to say, how he was going to say it, two dozen times in the last week. He’d been in New York that long, vacillating between going to her and staying away. “Just thought I’d see how you were,” he mumbled into his glass.
    “How sweet.”
    “Look, I know you must think I ran out on you—”
    “To the tune of twelve thousand, three hundred and fifty-eight dollars and forty-seven cents.”
    He made a sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Nothing changes.”
    “Did you come to make good on the IOU you left me?”
    “I came because I had to, dammit.”
    “Oh?” Unmoved, she tossed back her drink. She restrained herself from tossing the glass against the wall as well. “Do you have another venture in mind that requires some ready capital?”
    “You want to get a few shots in, go ahead.” With a snap, he set his glass down.
    She stared at him a moment, then shook her head. Turning away, she set down her own glass and rested her palms against the table. For the first time since he’d