Free On Thin Ice by Susan Andersen Page A

another sip of her drink.
    He grinned, flashing those impossibly white teeth at her. “Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” A waitress appeared as if by magic. Must be nice to be a virile male sometimes, Sasha thought sourly. Mick ordered a beer, flirted with the waitress a moment, and then leaned back so he could view Sasha from head to toe.
    Her coat was tossed behind her, carelessly spread open across the banquette, and she was wearing a little nothing of a lace dress that was cut low in a sweetheart neckline between her breasts. The garment was lined from bust to hem but her shoulders and arms glowed lightly golden through the tight black lace of the long sleeves, and scallops of sheer lace edged past the sheath lining to play teasing games on her thighs. Christ. You’d think the impact would have lessened after watching that face and body for the past several hours. And yet . . .
    Mick swallowed dryly but forced a cocky grin and an insouciant tone as he sprawled back, arms stretched out along the banquette. “Killer dress.”
    â€œWhat, this old rag?” Sasha retorted, and both her voice and her face were entirely void of expression. She watched him coolly over the rim of her cocktail glass.
    Okay, so she wasn’t going to give an inch. He’d already pretty much acknowledged that she would be a formidable opponent. “Yeah, it’s a beaut. You just get back from a date or something?”
    He knew where’d she’d been, of course. He’d retrieved the call from the recording in time to follow her to that restaurant downtown where he’d watched from the bar as some old fart had pawed her all night long. It made him grit his teeth every time he thought of the way she’d just sat there and let him. Hell, not only let him, but had smiled while she was allowing it. Smiled and laughed.
    â€œI don’t really want to talk about my evening, Mick, if you don’t mind.” She drained her drink. “This hasn’t been the best night of my life.”
    That caught him by surprise. He hadn’t expected her to admit to any weakness. But before he could take advantage of what might be the only moment of vulnerability she’d ever display to him, she was already getting ready to leave. She pulled her coat off the banquette to drape over her shoulders and collected her purse; then she began to edge around to the far side of the banquette. Due to her skirt’s propensity to climb into the indecent zone with every incautious movement she made, that was necessarily a gingerly process, and Mick took advantage of her creeping progress to reach across the table and wrap his fingers around her wrist. “Wait,” he said, staying her. “Don’t go.”
    Sasha froze in place, experiencing that same zap of awareness she’d felt the night he had held her hand too long backstage. She gazed at him warily. “Why?”
    â€œWhy?” His thick brows drew together. “Hell, I don’t know.” And he didn’t. He knew he wasn’t going to get any more out of her this evening. She was gun shy and not at all receptive to sexual advances, and it was for damn sure she wasn’t going to tell him squat.
    And it wasn’t as if he required her assistance anyhow. He could get all the information he needed on the old sleezebag she’d met without holding his breath waiting for her cooperation. Hell, that part was child’s play: he’d sent the son of a bitch’s name in to be processed the minute it had come off the recorder, and by tomorrow afternoon whatever secrets the old guy possessed would be in Mick’s hands.
    Yet still he retained his light grasp on her delicately boned wrist. “You’re pretty,” he finally said. “You look like you’ve had a rough night. I’m lonely.” He shrugged as if to say, take your pick. “So what do ya say you let me buy you a drink?”
    His fingers