Cold as Ice (Ice 2)

About frigging time, she thought. He moved to one side to let her precede him, and it was a momentary shock to realize how tall he was. She was a good six feet in her ridiculous heels, and he was quite a bit taller than she. He should have dwarfed the cabin and yet he barely seemed to be there.

“Enigma,” he murmured as she passed him.

“I beg your pardon?” she said, rattled.

“The word you couldn’t get. It’s enigma.”

Of course it was. She controlled her instinctive irritation; the man got on her nerves for no discernible reason. She didn’t have to play this role for very much longer, she reminded herself. Get Harry Van Dorn to sign the papers, flirt a little bit if she must and then get back to the tiny airport and see if she could catch an earlier flight to Costa Rica.

The bright sun was blinding when she stepped out on deck, and there was no more pretending she was back on the island with all the water shimmering around them. She looked up at the huge boat—not a mansion, an ocean liner—and followed Peter Jensen’s precise walk halfway down the length of the ship until he stopped. She moved past him, dismissing the executive assistant from her mind as she took in the full glory of Harry Van Dorn, the world’s sexiest billionaire.

“Ms. Spenser,” he said, rising from his seat on the couch, his Texas accent rich and charming. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting! You came all this way out here just for me and I leave you cooling your heels while I’m busy with paperwork. Peter, why didn’t you tell me Ms. Spenser was here?”

“I’m sorry, sir. It must have slipped my mind.” Jensen’s voice was neutral, expressionless, but she turned back to glance at him anyway. Why in the world wouldn’t he have told Van Dorn she was there? Just to be a pissant? Or was Van Dorn simply dumping the blame on his assistant as he knew he could?

“No harm done,” Van Dorn said, moving forward, taking Genevieve’s hand with the most natural of gestures and bringing her back into the cabin. He was clearly a physical man, one who liked to touch when he talked to people. It was part and parcel of his charisma.

Unfortunately Genevieve didn’t like to be touched.

But a client was a client, so she simply upped the wattage of her smile and let him pull her over to the white leather banquette, forgetting about the unpleasant little man who’d brought her here. Except that in fact he wasn’t that little. It didn’t matter—he’d already made himself scarce.

“Now, don’t you mind Peter,” Harry said, sitting just a bit too close to her. “He tends to be very protective of me, and he thinks every woman is after my money.”

“All I’m after is your signature on a few papers, Mr. Van Dorn. I certainly wouldn’t want to take up any more of your time—”

“If I don’t have time for a beautiful young woman then I’m in a pretty pitiful condition,” Harry said. “Peter just wants to keep my nose to the grindstone, while I believe in having fun. He doesn’t have much use for women, I’m afraid. Whereas I have far too much. And you’re such a pretty thing. Tell me, what sign are you?”

He’d managed to throw her completely off guard. “Sign?”

“Astrology. I’m a man who likes my superstitions. That’s why I named the boat Seven Sins. Seven’s my lucky number and always has been. I know that that new age crap don’t mean squat, but I enjoy playing around with it. So indulge me. I’m guessing you’re a Libra. Libras make the best lawyers—always judging and balancing.”

In fact she was a Taurus with Scorpio rising—her teenage friend Sally had had her chart done for an eighteenth birthday present, and that was one of the few details that had stuck. But she had no intention of disillusioning her wealthy client.

“How did you guess?” she said, keeping the admiration in her voice at a believable level.

Harry’s laugh was warm and appealing, and Genevieve was beginning to see why people found him so charming.

People magazine hadn’t lied—he was gorgeous. Deeply tanned skin, clear blue eyes with laugh lines etched deep around them, a shock of sun-streaked blond hair that made him look like Brad Pitt in his seedy mode. He radiated warmth, charm and sexuality, from his broad, boyish grin to his flirting eyes to his rangy, well-muscled body. He was handsome, charming, and any warm-blooded woman would have been interested. Right then, Genevieve couldn’t have cared less.

But she had a job to do, and she knew that one of her unspoken orders was to give this very important client anything he wanted. It wouldn’t be the first ti

me she’d considered sleeping with someone for business reasons. She knew perfectly well what that made her—a pragmatist. She’d avoided it so far, but sooner or later she was going to have to be less fastidious and more practical. If it turned out that she had to sleep with Harry Van Dorn just to get some papers signed and get out of there…well, there were plenty of more onerous duties she’d had to perform while at Roper et al. She could perform this one if she had to.

But she knew the drill. They weren’t going to get to the business she’d brought until the social amenities were covered, and with Texans that could take hours.

“You mustn’t mind Peter,” he repeated. “He’s an Aries, with a very auspicious birth chart or I wouldn’t keep him around. April twentieth, as a matter of fact. He’s too damn gloomy by half, but he gets the job done.”

“Has he worked for you a long time?” she asked, wondering when Harry was going to take his hand off her knee. Good hands—big, tanned, perfectly manicured. There could be worse hands touching her. Like the slimy Peter Jensen’s.

“Oh, it seems like forever, though in fact he’s only been with me for a few months. I don’t know how I managed without him—he knows more about me and my life than I do. But you know how men like that are—they get a little possessive of their bosses. Look, I don’t want to spend the afternoon talking about Peter—he’s about as interesting as watching grass grow. Let’s talk about you, pretty lady, and what brought you here.”

She started to reach for her briefcase, but he covered her hand with his big one and gave an easy laugh. “To hell with business. We have plenty of time for that. I mean, what brought you to an oldfart law firm like Roper and company? Tell me about your life, your loves and hates, and most of all tell me what you want my chef to prepare for dinner.”

“Oh, I can’t possibly stay. I have a plane to catch to Costa Rica.”

“Oh, but you can’t possibly leave,” Harry mimicked her. “I’m bored, and I know your associates would want you to make me happy. I won’t be happy unless I have someone to flirt with over dinner. Those oil wells aren’t going to dry up overnight—nothing will happen if I don’t sign the deeds of transference till later. I promise, I’ll sign your papers, and I’ll even see that you get to Costa Rica, though why you’d want to go to that pesthole is beyond me. But in the meantime, forget about business and tell me about you.”

Genevieve let go of the briefcase, and after a moment he let go of her hand. She should have been uneasy, but he was such a simple puppy dog of a man, wanting someone to play with him, throw a ball for him, that she couldn’t feel edgy. He was harmless, and she could play along for a while. As long as he didn’t start humping her leg.