Heart of Ice by Diana Palmer Page B

get in the house,” he told her. “And he isn’t smart enough to work a stove, despite being the best cattle dog I own.”
    “Well, I wouldn’t turn my back on him,” she muttered. She put the roast in the oven and closed the door. “Excuse me. I got to go to the cellar and get apples. I thought you might like an apple pie. Not that you deserve one,” she added, glaring back as she went out the door.
    He only laughed. “Get the bread, honey, and I’ll make you one too,” he told Kati.
    “Where is it?”
    “In the breadbox.”
    She got up and went to the cabinet to get it, but before she could turn around, he was behind her, the length of his body threatening and warm.
    “Fell right into the trap, didn’t you?” he breathed, turning her so that her back was against the wall. With his hands on the wall beside her, he eased down so that his body pressed wholly on hers, in a contact that made the blood surge into her face.
    “God, it’s wild like this, isn’t it?” he said unsteadily. “I can feel you burning like a brand under every inch of me.”
    She opened her lips to speak, and he bent and took them. His mouth was cold from the outdoors, but hers warmed it, so that seconds later it was blazing with heat. A moan growled out of his throat into her hungry, wanting mouth.
    She felt his tongue, and her eyes opened suddenly, finding his closed, his brows drawn, as he savored the pleasure. But as if he felt her looking at him, thethick lashes moved up and his darkening silver eyes looked straight into hers.
    On a caught breath he lifted his lips just fractionally over hers. “Now, that’s exciting,” he whispered. “I’ve never watched a woman while I kissed her.”
    But obviously he was going to, because his eyes stayed open when he bent again, and so did hers. The hunger and need in his kiss inflamed her, and her hands found their way to the top button on his shirt.
    She’d never wanted to touch a man’s bare skin. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when the thought had appealed. But it did now. She could feel the crush of his hips and thighs over hers, and explosive sensations were curling her toes.
    Her fingers toyed with his top button while she tried to decide how risky it would be. He was hungry enough without being tempted further, and she wasn’t sure she could handle him.
    He lifted his head and watched her fingers. “Are you always this unsure of yourself with a man?” he asked under his breath. “Or is it just me? Touch me if you want to, Kati. I won’t lose my head and bend you back over the kitchen table.”
    The wording made it sound cheap, made her sound cheap. The color went out of her face and she eased away from him.
    He swore quietly, watching her get the bread and some saucers and start making sandwiches in a strained silence.
    “What do you want from me?” he ground out.
    She drew in a steadying breath. “I’d settle for a little respect. Not much. Just what you’d give any stranger who came into your house.” Tears welled in her eyes as she spread mayonnaise. “I’m not a tramp, Egan Winthrop.”
    He watched a solitary tear land with a splatter on the clean tabletop, and his hands caught her waist convulsively, jerking her back against him.
    “Don’t…cry,” he bit off, his fingers hurting.
    “Don’t touch me!” she threw back, twisting away from him.
    He held on to the edge of the table, glaring as she wiped the tears away and finished making the sandwiches. She pushed his at him and went to put the knife in the sink.
    He poured coffee into her cup and his, put the pot away and sat down. She followed suit, but she ate in silence, not even looking at him. Fool, she told herself. You stupid fool, you had to come with him!
    Dessie came back to a grinding silence. She stared at them, apples in her apron, and grimaced. “I leave you alone five minutes and you start a war.”
    Egan finished his coffee and got up, not rising to the bait. “I’ve got work to