Hot Ice

would start to roll and the air would smell of that as well.
    She had the impression of houses stacked on top of houses, stacked on top of more houses, all pink and purple in the early light. It was like a fairy tale: sweet and a little grim around the edges.
    The town was all hills, hills so steep and breathless that stairs had been dug, built into rock and earth to negotiate them. Even from a distance they seemed worn and old and pitched at a terrifying angle. She saw three children and their dog heedlessly racing down and thought she might get winded just watching them.
    She could see Lake Anosy, the sacred lake, steel blue and still, ringed by the jacaranda trees that gave it the exotic flare she’d dreamed of. Because of the distance, she could only imagine the scent would be sweet and strong. Like so many other cities, there were modern buildings, apartments, hotels, a hospital, but sprinkled among them were thatched roofs. A stone’s throw away were rice paddies and small farms. The fields would be moist and glitter in the afternoon sun. If she looked up toward the highest hill, she could see the palaces, glorious in the dawn, opulent, arrogant, anachronistic. She heard the sound of a car on the wide avenue below.
    So they were here, she thought, stretching and drawing in the cool air. The plane trip had been long and tedious, but it had given her time to adjust to what had happened and to make some decisions of her own. If she was honest, she had to admit that she’d made her decision the moment she’d stepped on the gas and started her race with Doug. True, it had been an impulse, but she’d stick by it. If nothing else, the quick stop in Paris had convinced her that Doug was smart and she was in for the count. She was thousands of miles away from New York now, and the adventure was here.
    She couldn’t change Juan’s fate, but she could have her own personal revenge by beating Dimitri to the treasure. And laughing. To accomplish it, she needed Doug Lord and the papers she’d yet to see. See them she would. It was a matter of learning how to get around Doug.
    Doug Lord, Whitney mused, stepping away from the window to dress. Who and what was he? Where did he come from and just where did he intend to go?
    A thief. Yes, she thought he was a man who might lift stealing to the level of a profession. But he wasn’t a Robin Hood. He might steal from the rich, but she couldn’t picture him giving to the poor. Whatever he—acquired, he’d keep. Yet she couldn’t condemn him for it. For one, there was something about him, some flash she’d seen right from the beginning. A lack of cruelty and a dash of what was irresistible to her. Daring.
    Then, too, she’d always believed if you excelled at something, you should pursue it. She had an idea that he was very good at what he did.
    A womanizer? Perhaps, she thought, but she’d dealt with womanizers before. Professional ones who could speak three languages and order the best champagne were less admirable than a man like Doug Lord who would womanize in all good humor. That didn’t worry her. He was attractive, even appealing when he wasn’t arguing with her. She could handle the physical part of it
    Though she could remember what it was like to lie beneath him with his mouth a teasing inch above hers. There’d been a pleasant, breathless sort of sensation she’d have liked to explore a bit further. She could remember what it was like to wonder just how it would feel to kiss that interesting, arrogant mouth.
    Not as long as they were business partners, Whitney reminded herself as she shook out a skirt. She’d keep things on the practical sort of level she could mark down in her notebook. She’d keep Doug Lord at a careful distance until she had her share of the winnings in her hand. If something happened later, then it happened. With a half smile, she decided it might be fun to anticipate it.
    “Room service.” Doug breezed in, carrying a tray. He checked a moment, taking a brief but thorough look at Whitney, who stood by the bed in a sleek, buff-colored teddy. She could make a man’s mouth water. Class, he thought again. A man like him had better watch his step when he started to have fantasies about class. “Nice dress,” he said easily.
    Refusing to give him any reaction, Whitney stepped into the skirt. “Is that breakfast?”
    He’d break through that cool eventually, he told himself. In his own time. “Coffee and rolls. We’ve got things