Page 6 of Cold as Ice

He didn’t know Jane well, but she’d made an impression in the half dozen times they’d talked—or whenshe’dtalked athim.

She’d chattered much like Elliott had, but while he’d found that overconfident, cocky idiot not worth a breath or any of his brain molecules, he’d kind of liked the way that Jane chattered at him, never minding if he barely answered her.

Mal approached her carefully, telegraphing his intentions way in advance, settling down on the floor next to her.

He had at least a foot on her, and two years to boot. Nevermind a whole wealth of bitter experience.

She hadn’t said that to him, of course, but he’d seen the innocence glowing in her light brown eyes, the excitement in them as she’d told him about the party she was going to tonight and the guy who’d invited her.

Mal wished he’d been paying more attention.

“Hey,” he said gently, touching her briefly on the arm then withdrawing his hand. “You okay?”

She glanced up at him. “Malcolm,” she murmured, slurring a little, “I think I’m drunk.”

Shit.

“Yeah, honey, I think so,” he said, and she sighed.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said.

“I warned you.” He had. He’d paidthatmuch attention, at least.

“I know. You were kind of right.” Her voice went wry, and the humor there relieved him more than he wanted to admit. She wasn’t bleeding. Violated. Or in some ways worse and some ways better, bitter like him. Over it, like him.

“Party not so great?”

“Alex kept trying to get me to drink more.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn’t really want to. I just wanted to flirt with him a little, you know?”

“I do know,” Mal said gravely.

She laughed. “Do you though?”

He almost told her that someone had flirted with him tonight—or hadtriedanyway. That young stupid peacock who seemed like a chip right off the Ramsey block. But Ramsey’s antics hadn’t been as much of an issue because he gave a shit about what they did on the ice. Never hit on him, either.

Ramsey had instinctually seemed to understand that Mal didn’t want him to, so he didn’t. For which Mal wasverythankful.

“No, not really. You caught me.” He laughed, a gravelly sound, which told him—and probably Jane—that he didn’t laugh enough.

“There you go,” she said, sounding very satisfied with her analysis of the situation.

“We should get you up, into your room. Drinking some water.”

Jane giggled. “I know. I knew I should unlock the door but . . .” She pulled her keys out of her pocket and jangled them, trills of laughter still escaping from her pink-painted mouth. “I couldn’t find the right key.”

Malcolm plucked the ring from her fingers and shifted through the keys, easily finding the right one, because he’d seen her mark it a week ago with red glitter pen.

“You’re so smart,” Jane said, sighing with resignation.

“Thanks,” he said dryly. “But I think it’s more sober than smart.”

Suddenly, she turned to him. Petite nose upturned. She looked like he imagined a little sister might look, if his mother had ever stuck around to make another “mistake” with his father. And if any of them had ever had blond hair.

“What’syourkey?” she demanded to know.

“What do you mean?” For a split second, he was terrified thatshewas hitting on him too. And that had been bad enough with Elliott, who at least possessed parts he was interested in. Jane did not.

“I mean,” she said, patting him insistently on the chest. “You’re so . . .so . . .so . . .”

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