From the Heart Read online

  She sat on the arm of a chair, sipping champagne and laughing with Simon Germaine, the head of one of the top publishing houses in the country. J. R. Richards hung over her shoulder. He was on his fourth in a string of best-selling novels, each of which had made the transition to the screen successfully. Beside her was Agnes Greenfield, one of the toughest agents in the business. She had represented Jordan for ten years, and he decided this was the first time he had seen her grin. She’d smiled, sneered, and snarled, but never grinned. As he watched, Kasey laid a hand on Germaine’s shoulder and said something that made him throw back his head and roar.

  Kasey’s eyes lifted and found Jordan’s through the crowd. She smiled slowly as she brought up her glass for another sip. A shaft of desire shot straight through him, nearly settling him back on his heels. How does she do it? he demanded of himself. How can she make me want her when I’m still warm from having her? When am I going to get enough? He pushed the questions aside and wondered how long it would be before they could slip away and he could have her to himself again.

  “The widening schism between elitist and popular literature has made it difficult for the average person to enjoy light, entertaining reading without feeling guilty.”

  Kasey lifted her brow at J.R. as Jordan approached. “I’ve read all of your books, and my conscience is clear.” She sipped her champagne and smiled at Jordan.

  It took J.R. a moment before he began to chuckle. “I think I’ve just been put in my place. I’m tempted to begin collaborating, Jordan, if I can find a partner like this.”

  “I’ve been trying to convince Kasey to write a book of her own.” Germaine gulped down his straight scotch without a blink. He had a wide, florid face and a stone-gray moustache above his lip. Kasey thought he looked a bit like a children’s TV show host she remembered from her own girlhood.

  “I appreciate that, Simon.” Kasey pushed her curls behind her ears and crossed her legs. “But I’ve always felt that being a writer meant being frugal with words. I’m very lavish with mine.”

  “You tell a hell of a story, Kasey.” He patted her knee companionably, and she caught Jordan’s lifted brow. “I’ve got editors to deal with the excess.”

  “And I’m temperamental.” Kasey finished off her champagne and was immediately handed a fresh glass. “Thanks.” She gave J.R. a friendly smile.

  “What writer isn’t?” Germaine huffed and pulled out a thick cigar. “Are you temperamental, Jordan?”

  “Periodically.”

  “I’m difficult to work with all the time, which at least makes me predictable,” Kasey put in.

  “The one thing I’ve found you are not, is predictable.” Jordan lifted his own champagne.

  “The perfect compliment. Jordan, there’s some fantastic looking caviar over there. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t stuff myself.”

  They moved across the room to a sumptuously prepared buffet. He watched Kasey heap beluga caviar on a thin cracker. “You and Germaine seem to have hit it off nicely.”

  “He’s sweet,” Kasey said with her mouth full. She was already reaching for another cracker. “God, I’m starving. Do you realize what time it is, according to west coast time? Did we eat on the plane? I can never remember anything that happens at thirty thousand feet.”

  “Sweet?” Jordan repeated, ignoring the rest. The adjective, applied to Germaine, was enough to arrest his attention. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard him described quite that way before.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard the stories.” Kasey began to forage for something else and found a bowl of iced cocktail shrimp. “Heaven,” she muttered, spearing one with a toothpick. “He’s supposed to be tough as old leather and mean as a starved dog. What is this?” She pointed toward another platter.

  “Beef tongue.”

  “We’ll just skip over that,” she decided. She helped herself to another shrimp. “I like him.”

  “Apparently, the feeling’s mutual.”

  Kasey smiled and paused long enough to drink some champagne. “Your sensibilities were offended when he put his hand on my knee. You’re terribly cute when you’re reserved and conventional, Jordan. Would it embarrass you terribly if I kissed you right now?”

  She was baiting him, and he knew it. Firmly, he put his hand behind her neck and pulled her close. Her eyes laughed at him before he gave her a long, hard kiss. She carried the strong, exotic flavors of the buffet. When he drew her away, she was still smiling.

  “Caviar’s good, huh?”

  “It seems I have a taste for it.”

  She turned and piled another cracker high. “Have some more,” she invited with a grin. “I can’t ever get enough of it myself.”

  He took a bite of the cracker she held up to his mouth. “I want you out of here,” he told her quietly. “I want you alone, where I can take those clothes off you piece by piece.”

  “An interesting proposition,” Kasey murmured, touching a finger to his tie. “Am I allowed to do the same to you?”

  “Required.”

  “Jordan!” A woman glided up to them—sturdy, fortyish and unashamedly blond and busty. Kasey flipped through her memory file and drew out a newspaper picture of Serena Newport, highly successful novelist who wrote books stacked with swashbuckle and sex.

  Serena kissed Jordan heartily on both cheeks. “You don’t show up at these things often enough,” she complained. “I like to be seen with classy men.”

  “Serena. It’s good to see you.”

  “And who’s this?” She gave Kasey a strong look. “Good God, thin as a rail and positively stunning. If I stand here for too long, I’ll wind up looking like an albino elephant. Are you a writer, dear? And who colors your hair?”

  “A fan, Miss Newport, and I was born with it.”

  “God, it’s disgusting.” She put her hand on an ample hip and shook her head. “Not the fan part, dear, the hair. Born with it? Dreadfully unfair. And whose fan are you, Jordan’s or mine?”

  “Both.” Kasey was liking her more with each passing minute.

  Serena laughed in one short boom. “That’s unusual. Not too many people read both Last Abstinence and Passion’s Victory, do they, Jordan?”

  “Kasey’s unusual, Serena. Serena Newport, Kathleen Wyatt.”

  “And what do you do? I know.” She held up a hand before Kasey could speak. “Don’t tell me—you model.”

  “Model what?” Kasey asked, enjoying herself.

  “Clothes. No—an actress,” she stated, changing her mind. “That’s a very expressive face.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t act professionally. Only in day-to-day encounters.”

  “Quick, too,” Serena murmured. “You’re not an agent trying to lure Jordan away from Agnes?”

  “Not if I value my life,” Kasey replied.

  “Well, my dear, I’m fascinated and totally baffled.” Serena hailed a passing waiter and grabbed a glass of champagne. There were chunks of precious stones on her fingers, and her nails were a brilliant red. “What are you?”

  “I’m an anthropologist.”

  “You’re joking.” Serena looked at Jordan for confirmation. “Is she joking?”

  “You wouldn’t ask if you questioned her on the tribal rituals of the Sioux,” Jordan replied and finished off his drink.

  “You don’t say.” Serena drew out the words.

  “Kasey’s collaborating with me on a book.”

  “Hmm.” Serena took a healthy swallow of champagne. “You don’t happen to know anything interesting about the Algonquins, do you, dear?”

  “Originally a North American tribe who were dispersed by the Iroquois in the seventeenth century. Most found new settlements in Quebec and Ontario,” Kasey countered.

  “Fate!” Serena exclaimed and grabbed Kasey’s arm. “Do you believe in fate, dear?”

  Kasey shot a look at Jordan and grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “I’ve just started a new book. The first half is in England, but
the second half has my now-penniless aristocrat off to the colonies. He’s half-starved and all but beaten to death when he comes upon a party of Algonquins. They wouldn’t have scalped him or anything dreadful like that, would they?”

  Kasey grinned. “Many of the Algonquins were friendly to white settlers for some time. It depends upon which tribe you are talking about. However—”

  “Perfect. Wonderful.” Serena folded Kasey’s arm through her thick one. “I’m stealing her for an hour, Jordan. It’s too good to miss. Have some more champagne.” She gave his cheek a motherly pat. “I’ll send her back to you when I’m done.”

  Kasey looked over her shoulder and shrugged as she was propelled away.

  “It’s the first time,” Kasey said later, “that I’ve met anyone who can outtalk me.” She leaned against the back seat of the cab, tucked into the curve of Jordan’s arm. “I’m suitably humbled.”

  “I gave serious consideration to strangling her after the first hour.” She was close, and the scent of her hair wafted over him. She was warm and a little sleepy, a little high on champagne. He wanted her. “She drilled you for two hours and ten minutes.”

  Kasey laughed softly. “She’s a marvelous person.”

  “I’ve always thought so, until tonight.”

  “She’s very fond of you.” Kasey smiled up at him. “She told me you were a wonderful writer, a marvelous man, particularly when you forget to be polite.” She laughed at his lifted brow. “I had to agree with her.”

  “If Serena’s books are a barometer, she prefers a more—earthy type.”

  “Oh, Jordan, I just love it when you’re dignified.” She took a nip at his ear. “Why don’t you kiss me again the way you did at the party? Sort of macho and domineering.”

  “Damn you, Kasey.” He was laughing as he pressed his lips to hers.

  “Mmm, swear at me and I’m yours,” she murmured.

  “Be careful,” he warned, finding his hunger growing despite her teasing. “I ran out of patience an hour ago.”

  Kasey laughed again and laid her spinning head on his shoulder. “And he burned for her, burned with a white-hot heat that only she could satisfy.” She sighed and snuggled. “Serena Newport, Chesterfield’s Woman.”

  She was more than high on champagne, Jordan realized. She was three-quarters drunk. “Kasey, you’re smashed,” he said, amused.

  “Well put,” she agreed. “You writers have a way with words.” She lifted her mouth to just beneath his. “Are you going to take advantage of my condition?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Oh, good.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Start now.”

  The cab pulled over to the curb, and Jordan untangled himself. “Why don’t I pay off the cab first?”

  “Details.” Kasey stepped onto the sidewalk with the help of the doorman. The cold air, still smelling of snow, whipped over her cheeks. It did nothing to clear her head. “Jordan.” She tucked her arm into his when he joined her. “It’s just occurred to me, something you said in the cab about Serena’s barometer. Does that mean you read her books?”

  “Of course I read her books.” He steered Kasey through the doors and across the lobby. “Does that surprise you?”

  “I stand astonished.”

  “It’s astonishing that you can stand at all,” he countered, pressing the button for the elevator.

  “But Jordan, I have a difficult time picturing you reading Chesterfield’s Woman.” Kasey allowed herself to be drawn inside the elevator.

  “Why?” He pushed the button for their floor, then pulled Kasey into his arms. “To quote Germaine, she tells a hell of a story.”

  Then he was kissing her with a quick, desperate hunger that had her rocking on her feet. She would have been dizzy without the help of champagne. The silk pressed cool against her skin as his hand ran down her back. The heat kindled in her slowly, until she was utterly pliant in his arms. Passion licked by wine simmered under his touch. Her mouth was soft under his, and his tongue moved inside to seek hers. Her thighs throbbed with need, and her head swam. She was reeling and heating and floating all at once. She could no longer cling to him but went limp in her first total surrender.

  “God, Kasey, I’ve never known an elevator to take so long.” He buried his face in her hair and tried to draw back his own sanity. She was so fluid, so totally willing to have him love her; he felt incredibly strong. He hadn’t known he would find even her weakness an excitement when it had been her strength that had drawn him to her.

  The elevator door slid open, and he guided her out into the hall.

  “Jordan.” Kasey turned to him again, leaning against him with her face lifted to his. Her eyes were misted, but the smile reached them.

  “What?”

  “Do you remember what Chesterfield does to Melanie in Chapter Eight right before the ship is attacked by the British frigate?”

  He grinned, remembering very well. “Yes, as it happens, I do. Why?”

  “Well.” She put her arms around his neck again. “I was wondering—a purely academic thought—if fiction could be translated to fact. I’m thinking of doing a paper on the subject.”

  “And you’d like me to help you test your theory?”

  “Exactly.” She ran her hand through his hair. “Would you mind?”

  “In the interest of academia, I might be persuaded.” He swept her into his arms. “Didn’t it start something like this?” He slipped the key into the lock and carried her inside.

  9

  She was still asleep when he woke. Jordan immediately felt her warmth and the light tickle of her hair on his shoulder. The room was still dim, with the heavy curtains drawn over the windows, but a glance at his watch told him it was morning. He had a meeting scheduled in just over an hour. With a sigh, he looked down at Kasey.

  He’d never known anyone who slept so deeply. He brushed the hair away from her forehead. She didn’t even stir.

  He thought of how she had been the night before—the sleepy sexuality, the husky laugh, the heavy eyes. If he had been a fanciful man, he would have thought her a witch. There was something other-worldly about her. Every time he thought he had power over her, he found himself caught in hers.

  But now, as she slept, she might be any woman. Now she was just a woman sleeping off a night of champagne and loving. So how was it, he wondered, that she still pulled at him? As she slept, she couldn’t dispense her cockeyed charm or send out those looks that both invited and challenged him. And yet he was drawn to her, even as she lay there. He lowered his mouth to hers.

  Jordan kept his lips gentle, and Kasey didn’t stir. He had wanted this—to wake beside her. To wake her. Her lips were so soft, he felt he could sink into them. He murmured her name and kissed her again. Her face was pale without makeup, and there was a light sprinkling of freckles over her nose. He kissed her cheek, and his hand sought her breast. She didn’t wake, didn’t stir, but sighed in sleep as though she dreamed of him. He found the pulse in her throat with his lips and felt it beat slowly. His own was already beginning to race.

  He stroked gently, feeling his passion build. Knowing the thrill of possession, he ran his hand down the length of her. The skin on the inside of her thighs was water-soft. He moaned, shattered by his need for her.

  He took his mouth to her ear, to her temple, then back to hers to part her lips urgently. Her response was slow as he pulled her from the dream, then her lips moved under his with a quiet moan. Her heart was suddenly pounding under his hand. He entered her before she was fully awake, spinning her into passion as delirious as his own.

  She was curled against him again, her arms tight, her head resting in its favored spot in the curve of his shoulder. She sighed and kissed where her lips could reach easily. “Good morning,” she murmured.

  She brought out something primitive in him which he wasn’t certain he was comfortable with. He’d never experienced the degree of passion she could draw from him. The laughter in her voice was irr
esistible. “Good morning. How do you feel?”

  “Mmm, wonderful.” She snuggled closer. “And you?”

  “Fine, but I wasn’t teetering on my feet last night.” He shifted away just far enough to look at her. Her eyes were clear. The dimple at the corner of her mouth appeared as her lips curved. “No hangover? You’re entitled to one.”

  “I never have hangovers.” Kasey kissed him lightly. “I refuse to believe in them.” She rolled over until she was leaning on his chest looking down at him. “Do you realize how much trouble could be avoided if we simply didn’t believe it?”

  “An interesting theory.”

  “I have dozens of them.”

  “I’ve noticed.” He smiled and ran a finger down her cheek. “Your theory last night was particularly interesting.”

  Kasey laughed and dropped her forehead onto his chest. “It worked.”

  “Beautifully.”

  “Shall we tell Serena?” She lifted her head again, and her eyes were bright with humor.

  “I think not.”

  She kissed him again, lingering. “Do you remember I once told you that you had a terrific body?”

  “Yes. I recall being surprised at the time. But I didn’t know you as well then.”

  She sighed as she felt his hands lower to her hips. “I still think so.” Kasey rested her cheek on his chest. There was a contentment in her she had never felt before. “You have meetings today, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I’ve one in . . .” He lifted his arm to glance at his watch. “ . . . in about half an hour. I’m going to be late.”

  “If we were in Fiji,” she murmured, “we could stay like this all day, and you wouldn’t need that watch.”

  “If we were in Fiji,” he countered, “you wouldn’t have had your snow.”

  Kasey sighed again and closed her eyes. “You’re so logical, Jordan. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

  He said nothing for a moment. She hadn’t mentioned love to him since the first day she had confessed it. He had wanted to hear it again so that he could explore his own reaction. Now he could feel her beginning to drift back to sleep.