In the Dead of Cold Read Online Free

gaze. His expression had softened, but his eyes were still hard.
    “And after you’ve told Mr. M. your dire news, you will tell me who did this to you.”
    Another shiver moved up her back at the coldness in his voice. She had never heard icy, killing hatred come from him. When he spoke to her in the dreams they shared, he was nothing but warm and loving or light and laughing. Then, of course, if he whispered in her ear and his words were filled with passion and desire, the sound of his voice could make her hot and wet. His whispers in her ear could make her come. The coldness, the hatred she heard right now…it sent shivers through her.
    The door opened into what looked like a foyer. There were two solid oak doors ahead of them with a small table on either side, each holding a plant. Mr. Drummond started to take her arm. She stepped out of the elevator before he could touch her. Her legs tingled as if she walked on pins and needles. Her wet clothes clung to her. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. She held the towel as if it were her lifeline. A tornado of feelings swept through her—a mixture of hot from the man beside her and cold from her wet clothes and the fear that she was now stepping in a pit of vipers.
    Mr. Drummond reached in front of her and opened one of the doors, leading her into a grand office. Deep, sea-green carpet, a large, intricately carved desk, comfortable plush chairs, a sofa, and a well-stocked bar took up one end. There was also a fireplace with a beautiful oak mantel. Flames poured from the gas log, filling the room with warmth. Jane fought the urge to move closer, to hold out her hands and let the fire send its heat through her. Above the mantel were two swords set in a crisscross position, their intricate handles pointing at the ceiling, their edges appearing sharp. At the other end of the huge room was a round conference table that reminded Jane of one that King Arthur would have used. All in all, the office was larger than some apartments Jane had lived in.
    Graham Masterson’s picture had graced the front cover of three separate magazines just this month, so Jane had no difficulty recognizing him. With his dark hair and black eyes, he was a looker. But she was too tired, cold, and uncomfortable to notice or care. Not that she would anyway, since her dream lover stood beside her. She forced down a swallow and stepped into the office. There were four other men in the room, each sitting at various locations. She recognized defense tactics when she saw them.
    Graham Masterson stood. “Thank you for bringing her up, Milo.”
    Now she had a first name to go with her midnight lover.
    Milo. Milo Drummond.
    She glanced over at him and found he watched her.
    “Ms. Smyth?” Graham Masterson extended his hand to her.
    Jane stepped closer to him but didn’t reach out. “You can call me Jane.”
    He got the message and put his hand back on his desk. “Of course.” His words were polite. “Please sit down.”
    “No, thank you.”
    He nodded, another polite gesture. “Can I offer you a drink?”
    “Perhaps after we’ve talked.” She grasped the back of the chair in front of her in an effort to stay on her feet. Milo took the towel she still held.
    “I understand you’ve refused the assistance of the hotel doctor. May I suggest you change your mind?”
    “I don’t need a doctor.”
    “I beg to differ.”
    “I came to help you.”
    At her words, he raised a brow. “And how is that?”
    Jane licked her lips before she spoke again, but it didn’t ease her fear. “I was at the bookstore in town earlier. There was a man there. I don’t know if you know him. But he knows you.” She felt trapped in his endless gaze.
    Graham tilted his head in question. “Does he have a name?”
    “All I know is a first name—Bart.”
    When she said his name, the men behind her shifted and stood, on alert. Jane turned and glanced at them. Her gaze swept past Milo. He had dropped the wet