Melting the Ice

SIX

DREW WATCHED THE PLAY OF EMOTIONS CROSS Carolina’s face as they climbed into the car. One of the things he’d always liked most about her was how smart she was, how she was more than what you saw on the surface. In college, he’d often run into her on the quad, and she was always sketching, or had her nose in a book.

Beautiful women were a dime a dozen. He knew, because he’d had plenty of them chasing him through college. But try to have a meaningful conversation with some of them and it was like coming up against a brick wall. A lot of them wanted to get their hands in his pants, and hey, as a young stud, he’d let them. But after you got out of bed, you had to have something to talk about besides where the next party was.

A beautiful, intelligent woman? Now that was something special.

He’d always kept his distance from Carolina because she was Gray’s little sister, and that had made her off-limits.

Until the night of graduation, when he’d had a little too much to drink—okay, he’d had a lot to drink. And Carolina had given him an invitation that had been too hard to resist. He’d forgotten all about her being his best friend’s sister then.

He hadn’t known then that she’d never been with a guy before. He figured as beautiful and as smart as she was, that she’d had a boyfriend or two.

Stupid move on his part, but he couldn’t say he regretted being her first. He’d only regretted turning tail and running after that. One of the most cowardly moves he’d ever made.

Now that he’d run into her again, this was his chance to maybe do it all over—the right way this time.

When they pulled up to her apartment, she turned to him. “Thanks for the ride.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for coming along to help today.”

She got out, and so did Drew.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he moved in step beside her.

“Walking you up.”

“Again, this is not necessary.”

“Do we have to have this conversation again? I’m walking you to your door, and you know why.”

He could tell she was bugged that he walked with her to her door. Admittedly, he enjoyed this aspect of annoying her, liked seeing the high rise of color to her cheeks.

She fished her keys out of her bag, then whipped around with her back to the door. “Thanks for taking me ice skating.”

“You’re welcome.”

She was guarding the door like a wolf protecting her young. In other words, she wasn’t going to invite him inside.

Good thing he enjoyed a challenge, because he’d promised her mom and Gray that he wouldn’t let Carolina work today.

“How about you show me what you’re working on?”

“How about you let me actually get some work done?”

“I’d like to see what your plans are for me.”

She arched a brow. “Why?”

He laughed. “What do you mean, why? Because if I’m going to be involved in this line, I’d like to know what it’s about.”

“You saw some of the sketches.”

“Not all of them. Show me what you have in mind.”

With a resigned sigh, she turned around and unlocked the door.

“If I show you the line, then you’ll take off, right?” she asked as she stepped inside.

He followed her in. “Absolutely.” Not.

“Okay.”

“Have I mentioned how much I like your place?” he said as he shrugged off his coat.

“No, you haven’t, but thank you. I like it, too. Good thing, since I spend so much time here.”

“So you’re a hermit.”

She laughed. “Sort of. Designers don’t exactly get out much.”

“I’ll have to change that.”

“Uh, no, you won’t. Not if I want to be able to show my work for Fashion Week.” She went to the kitchen and put on the teakettle. She automatically went to her coffeemaker and added water, then turned it on.

He smiled. It meant she was thinking of him. He liked that.

She handed him a cup and took her own.

“Come on up to the workroom with me.”

Her apartment had a loft, so he followed her up the stairs. Here, it was open, with a wide floor-to-ceiling window. Lots of white, from a wall-to-wall desk to a drafting table and a bulletin board that covered one entire side of the room. Tacked onto the bulletin board were sketches of clothes. All different kinds, from men’s to women’s, fancy attire to casual. On the desk were more sketches, but all in order, like Carolina had placed them that way.

“You do it all on paper?”

“It starts that way. My mind works best in freehand. Then I transfer each sketch to a digital notepad so I can add color and refine the shape.”

“Show me how you do that.”

She sat at the table. “For example, when I went to the game the other night, I did this sketch.” She pulled out one of the sketches of him skating. “I liked the movement, the fluidity of it. It made me aware of a man’s body. The way a man is in motion.”

She turned on her notepad and scrolled through several designs. One was a suit, another slacks and a long-sleeved shirt, another casual wear. Different colors, patterns, and styles, each more impressive than the last.

“You got all these from going to a hockey game?”

She looked up at him. “Inspiration comes from amazing places.”

“Do you show these to anyone?”

“Only my assistants who are helping me create the line.”

His lips curved. She frowned.

“So why show me?”

“I . . . don’t know. Because you asked, I guess.”

“Thanks. Your process is fascinating to me.”

She pushed up and he straightened. Drew walked along and stared at each sketch, Carolina staying right by his side as he perused each one.

He looked to her as he reached out for one. “Is it okay if I touch?”

“Yes.”

He picked it up and studied it, a penciled drawing of a man wearing casual attire. Workout pants, a henley, and tennis shoes. He looked relaxed, dressed in something Drew would wear on a weekend.

He tilted his head to look at Carolina. “I like this.”

“Really?” She worried her lower lip, which pulled Drew’s attention to her mouth.

“Yes. I’d wear it.”

“Are you just saying that so you don’t hurt my feelings?”

He laid the drawing down. “I don’t say what I don’t mean, Carolina. The reason I picked it up was that it caught my eye. It’s something I’d wear on the weekend.”

He saw the joy on her face. “Thank you. I haven’t shown my work to anyone, outside of my assistants, of course. And I pay them. It helps to get an outside opinion.”

He moved along the other sketches. Women’s clothes, of course, didn’t mean a whole lot to him. But the men’s did. She had a definite feel for men’s clothing. None of it was stuffy or buttoned up. It was all casual.

“I like all of it. I’d wear all of it.”

She laid her hand on his upper arm. “Seriously. You’re not just saying that?”

“I’m serious. I think you have an eye for what makes a man comfortable, and for what looks good. Maybe in my college days I didn’t mind looking like shit, but now when I go out I’d like to look put together.” He motioned to the sketches. “These would make me feel comfortable and fashionable. It’s a marriage of both.”

She threw her arms around him. “That’s exactly what I’m going for. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that.”

When she pulled back, she wore an excited grin on her face. “And you’re not even a fashion critic. You know nothing at all about fashion.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Your observation was wholly without prejudice. That makes it even more wonderful. You’ve made my entire day.”

“Awesome. We should celebrate.”

“Yes. I should celebrate by getting to work.”

“Or . . . we could go get some pie. I didn’t have pumpkin pie earlier.”

She rolled her eyes. “And whose fault is that?”

“Mine. You didn’t have pie, either.”

“I had hot chocolate. And a giant plate of food at the shelter. That’s plenty of calories for me for the day.”

He gave her the once-over. “You do have to eat again today.”

“Nothing’s open.”

He laughed. “There are tons of places open today. I know the perfect place. And they have pie. Come on.”

“Drew. I have to work.”

“Not today, you don’t. It’s Thanksgiving. And I promised your mom.”

“Seriously?”

“Come on. We can go get a sandwich and pie. And by the time we get back, it’ll be late, the day will be over, and you can sneak in some work if you feel you need to. I won’t even tell your mom.”

She gave him a look, as if by glaring at him she could get him to back down.

Not likely.

“I cannot believe I’m agreeing to this,” she said.

“It’s because you’re hungry.”

“No. It’s because of my mother. She was disappointed that I wasn’t going to be with the family for Thanksgiving. And she’s worried that I’m working too much.”

He leaned against her desk and crossed his arms. “Probably because you are?”

“No, I’m really not. I’ve got some very tight deadlines. I should be working today.”

Her gaze scanned the sketches.

“One day won’t matter that much, will it?”

With one last lingering look at her desk, she lifted her gaze to his. “I suppose it won’t. Let’s go eat.”