by Jaci Burton
WINTER ICE
An Ellora’s Cave Publication, September 2004
Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
1056 Home Avenue
Akron, OH 44310-3502
ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0038-2
Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):
Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML
WINTER ICE © 2004 JACI BURTON
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Edited by Briana St. James.
Cover art by Syneca.
A Storm for All Seasons:
Winter Ice
Jaci Burton
Dedication
To everyone who believes in the magic of love.
To my editor, Briana St James, as always…thank you for giving me the freedom to create the characters and worlds that live inside my head.
To Patti and Puawai for your advance read and invaluable assistance in shaping this book.
To Missy for all that you’ve done for me. I’m forever thankful.
And to Charlie, who has a magic about him that calls to me in ways I could never explain. We share a destiny. I love you.
Chapter One
Even in the heat of fucking, Sophie felt the chill Logan emanated. Despite the sweat pouring down his brow, the keening wails coming from the woman’s mouth as Logan fed his cock to her pussy, he was cold, distant, removed from the experience as if it was an out-of-body event.
Sophie hid in the corner of the darkened alley, mesmerized by the sight of Logan’s thick cock thrusting and withdrawing.
The beautiful redhead he was fucking didn’t seem to notice the faraway look in Logan’s eyes, but Sophie saw. And wondered why.
She wondered a lot of things. Like what Logan Storm, CEO of New Orleans’ fanciest hotel, was doing in a dark alley in the French Quarter at midnight. He was casually screwing the woman with such disinterest he might as well be making out a business agenda.
Sophie felt it all, though. Every stroke of his shaft, every kiss, every caress, everything the redhead experienced. The woman was heated past the boiling point. Logan gave it to her with an icy calm.
Yes, he was definitely cold. At least with the woman. He wasn’t giving all of himself, almost as if he’d removed himself from the passion. Yet underneath she felt his heat—so why was he holding back?
“Fuck me, Logan,” the redhead cried. “Give me that legendary cock of yours. Hard and deep, baby.”
Logan grunted, but didn’t speak, just rammed his shaft in and out of the woman’s dripping pussy. Sophie’s cunt contracted as if Logan’s shaft had speared her swollen and aching slit.
What brought him out this time of night? This was her area of town, the alleys and streets she haunted. Definitely not a place she imagined Logan Storm frequenting. He had a fine hotel, and he lived in the penthouse apartments above it. Surely he didn’t need to have sex in an alley.
Maybe he was hiding out, attempting to be anonymous, thinking no one would see him here. Though Sophie had recognized him right away. Who wouldn’t? His face graced the cover of many New Orleans magazines time and time again.
Then again, it was Mardi Gras, and pretty much anything happened in the French Quarter during this time of year. Winters were relatively mild in New Orleans, and Mardi Gras brought out the tourists and the locals alike.
But a big business mogul fucking a woman in an alley? Now that she hadn’t expected.
Yet here he was, in the last place she’d ever thought she’d see him. Men like Logan didn’t travel in the same circles as she did. No, it was highly unlikely their paths would cross here. Although she’d known they were destined to meet, and soon. The visions had been growing stronger lately.
Their meeting had been preordained. She just hadn’t expected it to be like this. Not here, and sure as hell not like this.
Fate sure was funny at times.
The cool February wind shifted, swirling around her feet and lifting her skirts. The bells on her ankle bracelet tinkled in the breeze.
Logan looked up and turned his sharp gaze to her.
Too late to slip away in the shadows. He’d seen her.
Now what? The polite thing to do would be to leave, go back where she’d come from, and allow Logan and the woman their privacy.
But something in his cold stare compelled her to stay put. A challenge there, perhaps? Maybe a trace of heat? A connection? She’d certainly felt it, an invisible line tying her to him. Did he feel it, too?
He hadn’t spoken, and the redhead couldn’t see her. Logan’s body was between Sophie and the woman’s head. Though Sophie could lean to the side and see the woman’s torso, could see Logan’s long cock piercing the folds of her pussy.
Not that it was necessary for her to see. She felt every single one of Logan’s thrusts as if he were fucking her instead.
Her lips parted as she sucked in a breath of the crisp, wintry air. Beneath the thin peasant top her breasts swelled, her nipples aching to be free of the confines of the material. Juices poured from her slit, soaking her thighs with the cream of arousal.
In her mind, Logan was fucking her. In her heart, she wished for it to be so.
Soon, it would be.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, he frowned. She held his gaze and drew her hands up to her breasts, massaging them, caressing the taut nipples through the thin cotton.
He inhaled sharply and grabbed the redhead’s buttocks, lifting the woman’s skirt even higher over her hips as he drove deep and fast, relentless in his punishing thrusts. The redhead cried out and wrapped one leg around Logan’s hip.
“Mon Dieu, Logan. Fuck me harder! Make me come!” the woman begged, bucking her hips and grinding her pussy against his pelvis.
Logan seemed impervious to the woman’s pleas, his gaze still riveted on Sophie. Something compelled her, some calling from Logan. Mental telepathy? She didn’t know what it was, only that it had to be answered. The urge had grown too strong. She couldn’t resist sliding her palm over her belly and lower, lifting the ankle-length gauze skirt to her thighs, desperate to massage the ache between her legs. The agony of arousal called to her and she needed relief only an orgasm could provide.
Her hand became Logan’s hand, her fingers Logan’s shaft as she slipped them between the moist folds and plunged them inside her cunt. Her soft walls quivered, then squeezed her fingers as if they were welcoming a hard cock.
She wished.
Panting, already near a blistering climax, she kept her focus on Logan. His cold blue eyes pierced her, held her captive, demanded her satisfaction as if her pleasure drove him.
Wordlessly, he commanded her and she followed his thoughts, driving her fingers deeper, faster, searching out her clit with her other hand and circling the distended nub, the explosion growing closer and closer.
The redhead screamed, and Sophie leaned her head against the cool brick wall, needing support as her legs trembled and nearly buckled. Logan continued to pound his cock into the whimpering woman, harder and faster.
As if the redhead didn’t exist, as if Sophie was responsible for his gratification, he nodded to her. She let the floodgates loose. Her climax ripped through her and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out. Logan tensed, then groaned and uttered a string of curses as he came. She’d never experienced anything more erotic than having Logan’s clear blue eyes focused on her as he came inside another woman.
She felt it all, the spasms of his cock, the trembling of his arms as he
held the woman tight, the taste of brandy lingering on his lips as he bent to take the woman’s mouth. She felt every single movement as if he was touching her.
She’d never climaxed so strongly from her own hand.
Spent, she could only lean against the building, watching the heat disappear from Logan’s eyes. He stepped back, removed the condom and righted his clothing as the woman smoothed her skirt over her hips.
The redhead smirked, pressed a kiss to his lips and caressed his cheek. “You are an animal, mon ami. I can’t believe you agreed to fuck me out here.”
“This place is just as good as any other,” he replied, no warmth or emotion in his voice. “Besides, you wanted it this way.”
The redhead caressed his cheek. “Oui. And you know exactly what I want, cher.”
Sophie was relieved that Logan’s body hid the redhead from view. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass the woman. Then again, if the woman had been worried about discovery, she probably wouldn’t have screwed Logan in a public place.
“I need to go,” the woman said, squinting to read her watch in the soft light of the streetlamp.
Sophie shook her head, surprised that both of them would consider what had happened as more like a business meeting than a heated exchange of passion. That was the problem. Logan didn’t feel the heat with that woman.
Because he’d been with the wrong woman.
“Later, cherie,” he said, and Sophie inhaled the husky tones of his voice. A mix of Cajun, French and downright sexy, his voice enticed her. Just as she always knew it would. She’d been hearing it in her visions for as long as she could remember.
The woman walked toward the main street. Sauntered actually, her hips rocking back and forth. No doubt for effect. But Logan wasn’t watching. He’d turned and trained his glowering gaze on her, instead.
She waited as he approached.
“Enjoy the show?” he asked, the sarcasm evident in his now cold voice.
“You know I did.”
He crossed his arms across his broad chest, one side of his mouth curling in a sardonic smile. “Glad to be of…assistance.”
“I want to see you again,” she blurted, knowing that if she didn’t do it now, the opportunity might be forever lost.
He arched a raven brow. “I don’t think so, cher.”
“You don’t understand. We share a destiny.”
She expected anger, not the loud roar of laughter as he tipped his head back and howled into the night. When he dropped his gaze back to hers, bitter cold emanated from his icy blue eyes. “Did my mother send you here?”
Before she could respond, he held up his hand. “Don’t answer that. I already know. Look, I enjoyed your masturbation performance, and I’m glad I could help get you off. But that’s the end of it.”
He didn’t know. How could he? Although, she’d always thought he would be aware of her, just as she’d been aware of him. Maybe he did, and was fighting their connection. She wouldn’t be at all surprised. “You will come see me.” She pulled her card from the pocket of her skirt and held it out to him.
Logan shook his head. “Not a chance in hell, sweetheart. This game is over.”
When he refused to take the card, she dropped it on the ground, the wind flipping it toward his shoe.
“You will come to me, Logan,” she said, then turned and walked away, knowing that nothing she could say or do at the moment would convince him. He’d have to mull it over first. Then disregard the pull he felt for as long as he could.
But it wouldn’t do any good.
Soon enough, he’d show up on her doorstep. He wouldn’t be able to help himself.
* * * * *
The woman’s sultry voice lingered as Logan watched her walk away, admiring the soft sway of her hips that was completely natural, rather than the affected swivel Vivian presented him as she’d left.
You will come to me.
Bullshit. No one told him what he would or wouldn’t do. Even if that someone was a gorgeous gypsy of a woman, with waist-length hair the color of a cloudless night and eyes a vivid violet that seemed to sparkle like flowers under a bright sun. Even if she did have buttery soft, mocha skin that he could already feel gliding over his body despite the fact he’d never once touched her.
She was too young for him anyway. Couldn’t be more than her mid-twenties, about ten years younger than him. Even so, her eyes belied her age.
An old soul, his mother would say.
Speaking of his mother, Logan would bet anything that his meddling parent had sent the woman. If there was one thing Angelina Storm never tired of talking about, it was the destiny of her children.
That supernatural crap might have worked on Aidan and Shannon, but it held no appeal to him. He had no destiny, no woman he was “meant” to be with. That was all magic, and he wanted nothing to do with magic, especially not the kind that lived within him.
He’d controlled it for thirty-five years and he’d damn well keep it at bay forever. Whatever the mystery woman wanted would have to remain a mystery.
The cool wind fluttered her card against his shoe. He would not pick it up, no matter what.
But it called to him. Dared him to take a look.
Ridiculous.
Okay, maybe just to see what it said, then he’d tear it up.
The background of the business card was the same color as the woman’s violet eyes.
Her name was Sophie Breaux. He snorted at the verbiage below her name.
Psychic Readings, Fortune-Telling, Tarot Cards and Mystical Spells.
A fucking fortune-teller. A carnival sideshow meant to bilk unwary travelers with mind tricks and voodoo mumbo jumbo.
Did she think he’d run to her so she could tell his future? What kind of idiot did she take him for?
Obviously a big one, considering she’d seemed so confident that he’d be showing up on her doorstep soon.
Yeah, he’d show up all right. When hell froze over. He ripped the card up and tossed it into the wind, then shoved his hands in his pockets and moved down the alley, forcing his thoughts back to Vivian, the redheaded siren who’d tried her best to fuck his brains out.
They’d been casual sex partners for over a year. Suited them both fine to keep things impersonal. Vivian was a divorcée with a ton of alimony coming her way each month. The last thing she wanted was her very rich ex-husband getting wind of her having a relationship, since he was still possessive as hell over her.
And if she pissed off her ex, he might not be so generous with the money he tossed her way each month. Vivian valued her ex-husband’s money much more than she craved a relationship. So they kept things physical. Occasionally, Vivian liked to be naughty and do it in public, though she always pretended to be shocked by it.
Location didn’t matter to him. A fuck was a fuck. Sex alleviated the tension and allowed him to focus on business the rest of the time without having to worry about a woman’s feelings. That’s why he and Vivian got along so well.
The last thing he wanted was an emotional involvement with a woman. Not with what he carried inside him. No way would he fall in love. It was fine for the rest of the Storms, but love wasn’t for Logan.
He’d been told before that he was cold as ice. Unfeeling. Lacking emotion and warmth.
Exactly the way he wanted to be. In control.
He turned and headed back to the hotel, confident that he was in charge of his destiny. When he was younger, he’d struggled against the magic, hating losing control over himself. It took a while, but he’d mastered it, pushed it deep within. As long as he remained cold, removed from anything emotional, the magic stayed hidden.
He was no freak, no sideshow spectacle for people to wonder about, to point and laugh at, or even worse—to fear. He wanted to be a normal, human male living his normal, human life. And he didn’t need love and all the ties associated with it to enjoy his life. All he wanted was to be…ordinary.
Sophie Breaux was the opposite of or
dinary in every way. He’d bet a million she was as fake as any illusionist. A mistress of tricks and chicanery.
A con artist.
No way was he going to involve himself with someone like her, even if she had made his blood boil in ways he considered both good and bad.
Bad, in that for a moment there, he’d felt the magic churning to life. Good, in that watching Sophie bring herself to orgasm gave him the best sex he could remember. When she touched herself, it was like he’d been fucking her instead of Vivian.
Which was all his imagination, brought about, no doubt, by the concept of having a ménage à trois in the alley. Sure, he’d had his cock in Vivian, but he’d also had the pleasure of enjoying a superb mind-fuck with Sophie. He’d been so in tune to her scent, the slight sounds she made while she pleasured herself and the way her body shuddered in climax.
Yeah, it had been good, for a onetime thing. His connection with her had been sexual, and nothing more. The reason it had been so good was just the mental and visual associated with doing it in public and having someone watch. Watch, and get herself off at the same time. His cock twitched to life again visualizing Sophie’s pussy, her dark, swollen pussy lips moistened with the cream of her desire. God, he could even smell her scent—a sweet, musky perfume that had sailed across the alley on the wind.
It had been damn good.
But it would never happen again.
Just like seeing Sophie Breaux. Never again.
Chapter Two
“Mr. Santiago, if you look at what The Rising Storm offers, I’m sure you’ll agree it’s the best hotel for the price and will provide your clients a fantastic stay during the convention.”
Logan waited for the man’s response to Aidan’s pitch, familiar with the game Santiago played. They sat near the window inside a small café in the Quarter, the midafternoon sun casting its warming light across them.
Santiago was a shrewd businessman. Logan had worked with him in the past. Santiago always tried to finagle a bigger discount than what Logan was willing to give. Which was why he’d accompanied Aidan and Lissa to this meeting today. More business was always great, and booking a big convention like Santiago’s company had every year would definitely be worthwhile. But he wasn’t going to give it away for free, either. Bringing Aidan and Lissa in meant more allies in his corner, and the hopes he could eventually turn this pain-in-the-butt client over to them in the future.