Hot Ice (19 page)

“Not nearly so much when you’ve got them all.”

Shrugging, she plucked another flower to twirl under her nose. “You worry too much about money.”

“What?” He stopped and gaped at her. “I worry?
I
worry? Just who keeps marking down every solitary penny in her little book? Just who sleeps with her wallet under her pillow?”

“That’s business,” Whitney said easily. She touched the flower in her hair. Pretty petals and a tough stem. “Business is entirely different.”

“Bullshit. I’ve never seen anyone so bent on counting their change, tallying every cent. If I were bleeding, you’d charge me a goddamn dime for a Band-Aid.”

“No more than a nickel,” she corrected. “And there’s absolutely no need to shout.”

“I have to shout to be heard over all that racket.”

They both stopped, brows drawing together. The sound they’d just begun to notice was like an engine. No, Doug decided even as he tensed to run, it was too steady and deep for an engine. Thunder? No. He took her hand again.

“Come on. Let’s go see what the hell that is.”

It grew louder as they walked east. Louder, it lost all resemblance to the sound of a motor. “Water against rock,” Whitney murmured. When they stepped into the clearing, she saw she’d nearly been right. Water against water.

The falls plunged down twenty feet into a clear, gurgling lagoon. The white agitated water was struck by the sun on its journey down, then turned to a deep crystal blue. The falls made a sound of rushing, of power and speed, and yet it was a picture of serenity. Yes, the forest was like a woman, Doug thought again. Intensely beautiful, powerful, and full of surprises. Without realizing it, Whitney rested her head against Doug’s shoulder.

“It’s lovely,” she murmured. “Absolutely lovely. Just as though it were waiting for us.”

He gave in and slipped an arm around her. “Nice spot for a picnic. Aren’t you glad we waited?”

She had to match his grin. “A picnic,” she agreed with her eyes dancing. “And a bath.”

“Bath?”

“A wonderful, cool, wet bath.” Catching him by surprise, she gave him a quick, smacking kiss, then dashed to the side of the lagoon. “I’m not passing this up, Douglas.” She dropped her pack and began to dig inside. “Just the thought of getting my body into water and washing off the dirt of the past couple of days makes me crazy.” She brought out a cake of French milled soap and a small bottle of shampoo.

Doug took the soap and held it under his nose. It smelled like her—feminine, fresh. Expensive. “Gonna share?”

“All right. And in this case, because I’m feeling generous, no charge.”

His grin tilted as he tossed the soap back to her. “Can’t take a bath with your clothes on.”

She met the challenge in his eyes and undid her top button. “I’ve no intention of keeping them on.” Slowly, she undid the range of buttons, waiting while his gaze followed the trail. A light breeze ruffled the edges and tickled the line of bare skin. “All you have to do,” she said softly, “is turn around.” When he lifted his gaze to hers and smiled, she gestured with the cake in her hand. “Or no soap.”

“Talk about spoilsports,” he mumbled, but turned his back.

In seconds, Whitney stripped and dove cleanly into the pool. Breaking the surface, she treaded water. “Your turn.” With the simple pleasure of having water against
her skin, she dipped her head back and let it flow through her hair. “Don’t forget the shampoo.”

The water was clear enough to give him a tempting silhouette of her body from the shoulders down. Water lapped over her breasts. Her feet kicked gently. Feeling the stir, the dull, dangerous stir of desire, he concentrated on her face. It didn’t help.

It glowed with laughter, washed clean of the light, sophisticated makeup she put on every morning. Her hair was sleek, turned dark with water and sun as it framed the elegant bones that would keep her a beauty even when she was eighty. Doug picked up the little plastic bottle of shampoo and tossed it in his hand.

Under the circumstances, he thought it wise to look at the humor in the situation. He had a ticket to a million-dollar prize literally at his fingertips, a determined and very clever enemy breathing down his throat, and he was about to skinny-dip with an ice-cream princess.

After pulling his shirt over his head, he reached for the snap of his jeans. “You’re not going to turn around are you?”

Dammit, she liked it when he grinned that way. The cheerful cockiness was just plain appealing. Lavishly, she began to soap one arm. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that cool, slick feeling. “Want to brag, do you, Douglas? I’m not easily impressed.”

He sat down to remove his shoes. “Leave me my share of the soap.”

“Move a little faster then.” She began to soap her other arm in the same long, smooth stroke. “God, this is better than Elizabeth Arden’s.” With a sigh, she lay back and lifted one leg out of the water. When he stood and dropped his jeans, she gave him a thorough, critical study. Her expression was bland, but she didn’t miss the lean, muscled thighs, the taut stomach, the narrow hips just covered with low, snug briefs. He had the clean, sleek
build of a runner. And that, she supposed, was what he was.

“Adequate,” she said after a moment. “Since you apparently like to pose, it’s a pity I didn’t bring my Polaroid.”

Unstung, he pulled off the briefs. For a moment, he was poised, naked—and she was forced to admit, magnificent—at the edge of the lagoon. His dive was sharp before he surfaced a foot away from her. What he’d seen underwater made his mouth go dry with desire.

“Soap,” he said, as cool as she, and offered the shampoo in trade.

“Don’t forget behind the ears.” Using a generous hand, she poured shampoo into her palm.

“Hey, half’s mine, remember.”

“You’ll get it. Anyway, I’ve more hair than you.” She worked it into a lather while she scissored her feet to keep above water.

He gestured with the soap before rubbing it over his chest. “And I’ve more body.”

With a smile, she sank below the surface, leaving a frothy trail of suds where her hair fanned out. The beat of water sucked them down and away. Unable to resist, she swam down, deeper. She could hear the vibrations of the falls, drumming, drumming, see rocks sparkling a foot beneath her, taste the clear, sweet water that was kissed by the sun. Glancing up, she saw the strong, lean body of the man who was now her partner.

The idea of danger, or men with guns, of being pursued seemed ludicrous. This was paradise. Whitney didn’t believe in cunning snakes behind luscious flowers. When she surfaced, she was laughing.

“This is fabulous. We should book in for the weekend.”

He saw the sun shoot sparks into her hair. “Next time. I’ll even spring for the soap.”

“Yeah?” He looked attractive, dangerously so. She discovered she preferred a touch of danger in a man. The word boredom, the only word she considered a true obscenity, wouldn’t apply to him. Unexpected. That was the word. She found it had a sensuous ring.

Testing him, and perhaps herself, she treaded slowly until their bodies were too close for safety. “Trade,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on his as she held out the bottle.

His fingers tightened on the slick soap so that it nearly slid out of them. Just what the hell was she up to? he asked himself. He’d been around enough to recognize that look in a woman’s eyes. It said—maybe. Why don’t you persuade me? The trouble was, she wasn’t anything like the women he’d known. He wasn’t entirely sure of his moves.

Instead, he equated her to a job, a high-class, luxury apartment complex that took careful casing, meticulous planning, and intricate legwork before he took it down. Better that he be the thief with her. He knew the rules, because he’d made them.

“Sure.” He opened his palm so that she had to slide the wet cake of soap from it. In response, she tossed the bottle high, laughing as she retreated. Doug plucked it inches above the water.

“I hope you don’t mind a touch of jasmine.” Lazily she lifted her other leg and began to run the soap up and down her calf.

“I can handle it.” He poured the shampoo directly on his hair, rescrewed the cap, then tossed it on the ground beside the lagoon. “Ever been to a public bath?”

“No.” Curious, she glanced back over. “Have you?”

“I was in Tokyo a couple years back. It’s an interesting experience.”

“I usually like to keep the quantity in my tub down to two.” She ran the soap up a thigh. “Cozy, but not crowded.”

“I’ll bet.” He ducked under to rinse off, and to cool off. She had legs that went all the way up to her waist.

“Convenient, too,” she said when he’d surfaced. “Especially when you need your back scrubbed.” With a smile, she held out the soap again. “Would you mind?”

So she wanted to play games, he decided. Well, he rarely turned one down—as long as he’d figured the odds. Taking the soap from her, he began to run it over her shoulder blades. “Marvelous,” she said after a moment. It wasn’t easy to keep her voice even when her stomach had begun to tighten, but she managed. “But then I suppose a man in your line of work has to have clever hands.”

“It helps. I suppose all that ice cream could buy million-dollar skin.”

“It helps.”

His hand ran lower, down her spine, then slowly up again. Unprepared for the jolt it brought her, Whitney shuddered. Doug grinned.

“Cold?”

Just who had she managed to push anyway? she wondered. “The water gets chilly unless you move around.” Telling herself it wasn’t a retreat, she gently sidestroked away. Not that easy, sugar, Doug thought. He tossed the soap onto the grass beside the shampoo. In a quick move, he grabbed her ankle.

“Problem?”

Effortlessly, he pulled her back toward him. “As long as we’re playing games—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she began, but the sentence ended on a quick gasp as her body collided with his.

“The hell you don’t.”

He found he enjoyed it—the uncertainty, the annoyance, and the flare of awareness that came and went in her eyes. Her body was long and slim. Deliberately, he tangled her
legs with his so that she was forced to grab his shoulders to stay afloat.

“Watch your step, Lord,” she warned.

“Water games, Whitney. I’ve always been a sucker for them.”

“I’ll let you know when I want to play.”

His hands slid up to just under her breasts. “Didn’t you?”

She’d asked for it. Knowing it didn’t improve her temper one whit. Yes, she’d wanted to play with him, but on her terms, in her own time. She discovered she was over her head in more ways than one, and she didn’t care for it. Her voice became very cool; her eyes were equally chilly.

“You don’t really consider we’re in the same league, do you?” Long ago, she’d discovered insults, given coldly, were the most successful of defenses.

“No, but then I’ve never paid much attention to caste systems. You want to play duchess, go ahead.” He slid his thumbs up, over her nipples, and heard her breath shudder in, then out. “As I recall, royalty always had a penchant for taking commoners to bed.”

“I’ve no intention of taking you to mine.”

“You want me.”

“You’re flattering yourself.”

“You’re lying.”

Temper flared. The warm liquid pull in her stomach battled with it. “The water’s getting cold, Douglas. I want to get out.”

“You want me to kiss you.”

“I’d sooner kiss a toad.”

He grinned. She’d practically hissed at him. “I won’t give you warts.”

Making up his mind on the instant, he covered her mouth with his.

She stiffened. No one ever kissed her without her
consent, and without jumping through the hoops she tossed out first. Who the hell did he think he was?

And her heart pounded against his. Her pulses raced. Her head swam.

She didn’t give a damn who he was.

With a spurt of passion that rocked them both, she moved her mouth on his. Tongues met. His teeth scraped her lower lip while he slid his arms around her back to mold them closer together. Surprises, he thought as he began to lose himself in her. The lady was full of them.

He tasted cool, fresh, different, so excitingly different. Passion took them beneath the surface. Wrapped together, they came up again, mouths fused, water cascading off skin.

There’d never been anything like him in her life. He didn’t ask, but took. His hands moved over her body with an intimacy she’d always doled out stingily. She chose a lover, sometimes impulsively, sometimes calculatingly but
she
chose. This time, she’d been given no choice. The moment of helplessness was as exhilarating as anything she’d ever experienced.

He’d bring her madness in bed. If he could take her so far with a kiss… He’d take her, up, over, beyond, whether she wanted to go or not. And oh, now, with the water lapping over her, with his hands stroking and his mouth growing hotter, hungrier, she wanted to go.

And then, she thought, he’d give her a salute, a cocky grin, and slip off into the night. Once a thief, always a thief, whether it was gold or a woman’s soul. Perhaps she hadn’t chosen this beginning, but she’d hold on long enough to choose her own end.

She pushed regrets aside. Pain was something to be avoided at all costs. Even if the cost was pleasure.

Whitney let her body go limp, as in total surrender. Then quickly, she lifted her hands to his shoulders and pushed. Hard.

Doug went under without a chance to gulp in air.

Before he’d surfaced, Whitney was at the side of the lagoon and climbing out. “Game’s over. My point.” She grabbed up her blouse and pulled it on without bothering to dry.

Fury. He’d thought he knew precisely what it felt like. Women. He had thought he’d known what buttons to push. Doug discovered he was just learning. Swimming to the side, he hauled himself out. Whitney was already pulling on her slacks.

“A nice diversion,” she said, letting out a quiet, relieved breath when she was fully clothed. “Now I think we’d better have that picnic. I’m starving.”

“Lady…” Keeping his eyes on her, Doug picked up his jeans. “What I’ve got in mind for you is no picnic.”

“Really?” On solid ground again, she reached in her pack and found her brush. She began to pull it slowly through her hair. Water rained out in gemlike drops. “You look like you could use a bit of raw meat at the moment. Is that the look you use to scare little old ladies out of their purses?”