From the Heart

large, its walls lined with books. Here a scent of old leather and new polish mixed with tobacco. Kasey much preferred it to the other parts of the house she had seen. Here she could detect signs of production, though it was scrupulously organized production. There were no scattered papers, no precariously piled books.
    Large, dark-framed glasses perched on her nose, Kasey sat by the window reading Jordan’s notes. Her feet were bare, and one swung idly in the air as she scanned the pages.
    She wasn’t beautiful, Jordan decided. Not in the classic sense, at any rate. But her face was arresting. When she smiled, it seemed she lit from the inside out. Her eyes seemed to hold some private joke. She was tall and boyishly slim, narrow-hipped and long-legged. A man, he thought, would find angles rather than curves when he got into her bed. He frowned, annoyed with the turn of his mind.
    There was a coltishness in her moves—an excitement and vibrancy which raced through her conversation as well. Now it was as though she had turned down the power. She was silent. Her features were tranquil. Her only movement was the carelessly swinging bare foot.
    Kasey had been perfectly aware of Jordan’s survey. “You have a fascinating story in the works here,” she said, rupturing the silence and the sudden hum of sexual tension that had begun between them.
    “Thank you.” He cocked a brow. He had felt the tension, too, and was as wary of it as she.
    Pulling up her legs, Kasey picked up a cigarette. She held it absently while she continued to meet his eyes. “It would seem you’re dealing mainly with the Plains Indian. They do seem to most typify our image of the American Indian, though they’re the least typical of all.”
    “Are they?” He rose to light the cigarette she still heldbetween her fingers. “I leave it to you to clear up the misconception and give me an accurate picture.”
    “You could do the same with a few well-selected reference books.” She settled back in the chair. “Why do you need me?”
    Sitting back, he gave her a considering look. His eyes made a slow, complete survey. It was calculated to disconcert.
    “You didn’t have to send to New York for that, either,” she commented dryly. “You’re not going to get maidenly blushes, Jordan.” She smiled and watched his lips curve in response. “I’ll tell you what,” she decided on impulse. “I’ll put an end to your curiosity, then you put an end to mine. I’m a professional anthropologist, not a professional virgin. Now, what, precisely, do you want from me as regards your current novel?”
    “Are you always so frank?”
    “Not always,” she said evasively. It wouldn’t be smart to get too frank with him. “Now, about your book.”
    “Facts; details on customs, clothing, village life; when, where and how.” He paused and lit a thin cigar, then regarded Kasey through a screen of smoke. “Those are things I can get from reference books. But I want more. I want why. ”
    Kasey crushed out the cigarette he had lit for her. Jordan noted that she had taken no more than two halfhearted puffs. There were more nerves in her than she let show.
    “You want me to supply you with theories as to why a culture developed a certain way and why it survived or succumbed to outside pressures.”
    “Exactly.”
    With the storyline he was developing and the right slant, it could be a marvelous book, Kasey thought.
    “Okay,” she said suddenly. With a flashing smile, she dropped her eyes to Jordan’s. “I’ll give you a general outline. We can pick up specifics as we move along.”
     
    Three hours later Jordan stood at his window and gazed down at the pool. Kasey swam alone. She wore a one-piece suit that clung to her. He watched her dive beneath the surface and streak along the mosaic bottom.
    She swam, he decided, as she did everything else—withquick bursts of energy interspersed with moments of calm. She was a sprinter, not a long-distance runner.
    Kasey surfaced, rolled to her back, then floated. She thought about Jordan Taylor as she watched a few stringy white clouds work their way across the sky. He’s brilliant, conservative, successful. Incredibly sexy. Why does that worry me? She narrowed her eyes against the sun and let her mind and body drift. I should be very pleased with myself to have been asked to work with him. I was. It’s probably the house, she decided and closed her eyes completely. There’s no dust in it. How do