Hot Ice by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online

the tray.
    “Good morning, Ms. MacAllister.” The young, square-built Puerto Rican didn’t even glance at Doug. His eyes were all for Whitney. With considerable charm, he handed her a pink rosebud.
    “Why, thank you, Juan. It’s lovely.”
    “I thought you’d like it.” He flashed her a quick grin, showing a mouthful of strong, even teeth. “I hope your breakfast’s okay. I brought up the toiletries and the paper you asked for.”
    “Oh, that’s wonderful, Juan.” She smiled at the dark stud of a waiter, Doug noted, with a lot more sweetness than she’d bothered to show him. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”
    “Oh, no, never for you, Ms. MacAllister.”
    Behind the waiter’s back, Doug silently mimicked his words and soulful expression. Whitney only arched a brow, then signed the check with a flourish. “Thank you, Juan.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a twenty. “You’ve been a big help.”
    “A pleasure, Ms. MacAllister. You just call me if there’s anything else I can do.” The twenty disappeared into his pocket with the speed and discretion of long practice. “Enjoy your breakfast.” Still smiling, he backed his way out the door.
    “You love them to grovel, don’t you?”
    Whitney turned a cup right side up and poured coffee. Casually, she waved the rosebud under her nose. “Put some pants on and come eat.”
    “And you were damn generous with the little bit of cash we’ve got.” She said nothing, but he saw she was drawing out her little notepad. “Just hold on, it was you overtipped the waiter, not me.”
    “He got you a razor and a toothbrush,” she said mildly. “We’ll split the tip because your hygiene’s of some concern to me at the moment.”
    “That’s big of you,” he grumbled. Then, because he wanted to see just how far he could push her, he climbed slowly out of bed.
    She didn’t gasp, she didn’t flinch, she didn’t blush. She merely gave him one long, measuring survey. The white bandage on his arm was a stark contrast against his dark-toned skin. God, he had a beautiful body, she thought as her pulse began a slow, dull thud. Lean, sleek, and subtly muscled. Naked, unshaven, half-smiling, he looked more dangerous and more appealing than any man she’d ever come across. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it.
    Without taking her eyes from him, Whitney lifted her coffee cup. “Stop bragging, Douglas,” she said mildly, “and put your pants on. Your eggs are getting cold.”
    Damn, she was a cool one, he thought as he grabbed up his jeans. Just once, he was going to see her sweat. Flopping down in the chair across from her, Doug began to stuff himself with hot eggs and crisp bacon. At the moment, he was too hungry to calculate what the luxury of room service was costing him. Once he found the treasure, he could buy his own damn hotel.
    “Just who are you, Whitney MacAllister?” he demanded over a full mouth.
    She added a dash of pepper to her own eggs. “In what way?”
    He grinned, pleased that she wouldn’t give easy answers. “Where do you come from?”
    “Richmond, Virginia,” she said, lapsing so quickly into a smooth Virginia accent one would’ve sworn she’d had one all along. “My family’s still there, on the plantation.”
    “Why’d you move to New York?”
    “Because it’s fast.”
    He reached for toast, scrutinizing the basket of jellies. “What do you do there?”
    “Whatever I like.”
    He looked into her sultry, whiskey-colored eyes and believed it. “Do you have a job?”
    “No, I have a profession.” She lifted a piece of bacon between her fingers and nibbled. “I’m an interior designer.”
    He remembered her apartment, the feeling of elegance, the melding of colors, the uniqueness. “A decorator,” he mused. “You’d be a good one.”
    “Naturally. And you?” She poured them both more coffee. “What do you do?”
    “A lot of things.” He reached for the cream, watching her. “Mostly