Cold as Ice Read Online Free

eccentricities. She listened to him ramble on in his lazy Texas accent, telling herself she should just relax, that by tomorrow she'd be stripped of these clothes and her professional armor and be hiking through the jungles of Costa Rica, fending off mosquitoes and blisters. Compared to this plush cocoon it sounded like heaven.
    She awoke with a start. Harry was still talking—apparently he'd never even noticed that she'd drifted off for a moment. She could thank her mirrored sunglasses for that—if Walt Fredericks ever knew his protégée had fallen asleep in front of a client she'd be out on her ass in a matter of hours. Though there was always the good possibility that that was
exactly what she wanted.
    And then she realized what had woken her. Not Harry's lazy ramblings, but the feel of the boat beneath her. The unmistakable rumble of an engine, when this damn thing should be floating and silent.
    "Why did they turn on the engines?" She broke through Harry's discourse on tarot cards.
    "Did they? I hadn't noticed. I think they do that every now and then to check the engines. Make sure she's in good running order. Sort of like a fire drill. They don't usually do it until a few hours before we're supposed to set sail, but I have no plans to go anywhere right now. Must be some sort of maintenance thing."
    She'd sat bolt upright. They'd been under the shelter of an overhanging deck when Harry had ensconced her on the chaise, but now the sun had advanced far enough that it was halfway up her legs. It was a reasonable explanation, but she wasn't buying it.
    She swung her legs over the side of the leather couch, slipped on her killer shoes with barely a wince and rose. "I hadn't realized it had gotten so late—I've been so interested in your stories," she lied with the talent she'd honed over the years. "I really do need you to sign those papers—I have a plane to catch. I'm due in Costa Rica tomorrow afternoon."
    "Nonsense. I wouldn't hear of you leaving," he replied. "We'll have a lovely dinner, you'll spend the night, and tomorrow I'll have my private jet take you wherever you want to go."
    "I couldn't—"
    "And don't think I have wicked designs on you," he said with a wink. "I do, but my mama taught me to be a gentleman where ladies are concerned. This place has seven bedrooms, each with its own bath, and there's nothing like sleeping in the rocking arms of the ocean. It'll rock your cares away."
    "I don't have any particular cares at this moment," she said, lying through her teeth with utter charm. "And I couldn't ask you to go to so much trouble."
    "No trouble at all." He overrode her. "I have a jet and a pilot just sitting around with nothing to do—he'd love a chance to get out for a day or so. He can even wait for you while you do your business down there and bring you back, either here or to New York."
    "I'm staying for six weeks, Mr. Van Dorn."
    "No one calls me Mr. Van Dorn," he protested. "That was my daddy's name. And why in hell would you spend six weeks in Costa Rica?"
    "I'm going on a hiking expedition in the rain forest." She waited for his reaction.
    He blinked, and for a moment she wondered just how deep his humanitarian commitment ran. "The Van Dorn Foundation has always been active in environmental issues as well. After all, this is the only earth we've got."
    She wasn't about to tell him that her vacation choice of rain forest had been motivated more by the notion that she'd be unreachable than by any charitable instincts. "Indeed," she murmured. "But I really do need to be going.
    "Peter!" Harry barely raised his voice, but Peter Jensen was there instantly. He must have been hovering just out of sight. "I need you to get in touch with my pilot and tell him to get the jet ready. Ms. Spenser will be flying down to Costa Rica tomorrow, and I want her to be comfortable."
    She opened her mouth to protest again, and then caught an odd expression lurking behind Peter Jensen's rimless glasses. It was