Melting The Icy Tycoon

For Julie Broadbridge

You know grief better than I, my listening friend, and still you bolster us all with your smile and optimism.

Where would we be without you?

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Coming Next Month

Bang! Bang! Bang!

So hot…what is that noise?

“Hello! Anyone there?”

So tired…

Bang! Bang!

Eve reared into a sitting position, her heart pounding. Seconds behind, her mind drifted up through a handful of faraway voices and a swirling crescendo of Tchaikovsky.

And a tremendous thumping. Her upper body swayed in a dizzy spell. The banging continued.

Disoriented, she pushed to her feet. She’d fallen asleep on the couch. The fire had gone out but she was burning up.

“Hang on.” It was the first she’d spoken in days and her throat was shocked into a coughing fit. She took just a couple of steps before she cracked her shin on one of the boxes still to be unpacked. Swallowing a swear word, she staggered toward the door.

“Who’s there?” she called out.

“Your neighbor” came the terse reply.

Neighbor? Where was she? Oh, yes, the new house on Waiheke Island, where she’d moved a few days ago.

Eve leaned on the door, fishing in her pockets for a tissue. The knocking started up again, crashing through her head. She put her hands to her head—but that wasn’t her hair, it was too short. Then Eve remembered. She had cut it off a couple of weeks ago. New beginning, new hair. Cut out the bad stuff—the divorce, losing her job—snip snip.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Coming…” The ancient key was stiff and her wrists weak as spaghetti but finally the door creaked open. Eve swayed with the exertion of the past two minutes, hot and sweaty under her baggy sweatshirt. Even her feet were hot in their thick striped socks.

She looked down. They were half-off, she thought with disgust, then was distracted by enormous shiny shoes and the scissor-sharp creases of slate-gray pants. The jacket matched the trousers. Her eyes roamed up the body—there was a lot of body. Legs that went on forever, the torso just as long but broad, too. Eve paused at her eye level, seriously woozy.

She moved her head back as far as she dared and zoomed in on a somber maroon tie around a lighter shade of smooth collar. Strong chin, wide lips with a definite bow in the center. Lovely green eyes frowned out of a high, wide forehead. The whole attractive parcel was topped with an expensive cut of rich-brown hair, complemented by neat sideburns.

Funny how her mind was fogged with sleep and flu drugs, yet the stranger’s features were indecently clear, as if molded in a lustrous gold.

“Whoa…” Eve succumbed to another dizzy spell. She lurched and caught the door frame.

The man snapped into action and steadied her arm. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t!” she croaked.

He jerked his hand away but did not step back.

“Contagious,” she added, holding the door frame with one hand. She dragged the tissue across her nose and wondered if it looked as raw as it felt.

The stranger appeared concerned but not friendly. At least, she thought, the way she looked and sounded, rape was probably not an option. And if murder was on his mind, she decided death would be a blessed relief.

He stared, and Eve waited for the shock of recognition.

“You’re—Eve Summers.”

“Drumm.” She licked lips that felt like gravel. “Divorced.” New beginning, new name. Technically new-old name, maiden name. Since the divorce was just a few weeks old, it took a bit of getting used to, even for her.

He squinted at her. “You look—different.”

A growing pressure on the bridge of her nose indicated a potential sneeze. “My makeup crew and stylist aren’t unpacked yet,” she rasped.

He peered over her shoulder, frowning. The classical piece blaring out of the national radio program wound up to a revolutionary climax. “Have you seen a doctor?” The question was almost a shout.

Eve flinched. “It’s flu.” Standing in the chill of the open doorway was not helping, but she couldn’t invite him in. The place was a train wreck. She was a train wreck. “It just has to run its course.”

Yet even loaded up with antihistamines, she could still appreciate a fine form of a man when she saw one.

“There are doctors in the village,” he said.

“A doctor would only prescribe bed rest and fluids.”

“And quiet, perhaps.” He obviously did not like Tchaikovsky. “I saw you move in three days ago. Since then there has been no sign of life.”

Eve’s eyes were gritty and dry and she felt hollow. If she didn’t sit down soon she would fall down. “Did you want something?”

Not the friendliest question for a new neighbor, but she would make it up to him some other time. Now she just wanted to be left alone to die in peace.

The man straightened, frowning at her lack of manners. “I was concerned,” he said shortly.

He must be let down to see her like this, a million light-years from her normal public appearance. But Eve was barely surviving a bad enough couple of weeks without someone staring at her as if she was a bug he’d like to squash. “Look, I’d ask you in, but—” she gave a listless wave “—I haven’t unpacked and the place is—” another wave “—and I’m—” dying, burning up, homicidal…take your pick.