Frost

by Taryn Kincaid

  “I’ll say.” She inhaled a deep breath. His delicious scent clobbered her again. Her mind filled with steamy, racy thoughts, with visions of their bodies tangled together. She took another breath, trying to calm herself as she surveyed him—already far more aroused by the male before her than one of his paintings. One of those pieces that had her tingling with lust for a week—and already more than a little in love with him.

  Goddess. The man was the absolute epitome of virile manhood, too gorgeous to walk the planet. The universe. Put Maxwell Raines next to Michelangelo’s David and the famous sculpture would vacate his pedestal in embarrassment and shame to run crying back to the little kids’ table.

  Tall and broad, the artist had a swathe of inky hair that curled at his neck and temples. She imagined threading her fingers through the dense, midnight locks, pulling him closer, letting him nibble on her…. She wanted to touch his brutally-carved face, the sharp, high cheekbones giving way to shadowed hollows, the bone-rigid jaw, his full kissable lips.

  This time, instead of fleeing, the annoying voice inside her woke up and called an audible.

  Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me. Make me yours. Fuck my ever-lovin’ brains out.

  He leaned toward her, with the power of an 18-wheeler bearing down on a Mini Cooper, in full and complete control. Goddess, she loved that….

  Then he stopped and came no closer. How many times before had he been through this? Suffered through just such a female reaction to his overpowering sexuality? She tried to steel herself, to toughen up, to call upon her inner smartass. But he made it difficult. Dressed all in black, from T-shirt to jeans, he seemed to fill the room, his dominating presence swamping even his most compelling paintings. Thick bands of taut muscle rippled beneath the tight cotton and snug denim. He needed only the leather biker jacket to complete the bad boy image. Where had he ditched that? No. Wait. The man needed nothing. No help whatever in the wardrobe department. In fact, she wanted to strip every last thread from his formidable body…with her teeth.

  She jerked her gaze higher.

  His eyes bored into hers. Eyes that glowed. Red.

  “You’re a demon.” She sucked in a gasp. Of course. What the hell else would he be? What other type of male could get to her that way?

  He slid his hands from her elbows down her arms and the trail of heat melted her.

  “Yeah. A sex demon.”

  Oh. Happy. Day.

  “So am I.”

  “But I play with fire, little girl.” He stroked her arm again and the sensual burn sizzled across her skin.

  She sighed in delight. Hallefreakinglujah.

  His upper lip twitched into a crooked smile, and her heart performed a grand jeté worthy of a prima ballerina.

  “Heard you liked bad boys,” he said.

  “That’s what you are? A bad boy?”

  “Haven’t been a boy for years.”

  “But bad?”

  “Guess that depends on who you talk to. Context is everything. Like perspective.” He ran a fingertip along her jawline, to her ear and back, down along the hollow at her throat. “Your skin is so cool. Soft. And so cool.” His eyes gleamed, but the red faded to a colder, sootier gray. The color of ashes, of loneliness and despair. Perhaps not such a walking terror after all.

  “Your touch warms me,” she murmured. She’d meant the words as a compliment, as a revelation…but she sensed his instant retreat. Dagney suddenly ached for him. How often did he reveal his vulnerable side? Never, she suspected. Could it be that he needed her as much as she needed him? She wanted to pull the no-longer-quite-so-menacing Maxwell Raines into a smothering embrace and never let him go. But something told her that would be the worst action to take with the mysterious enigma.

  “What did you think a 1Night Stand date with me would be about?” she asked instead. “Why did you even want one?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I try to steer clear of real life encounters. Let my work talk.”

  “Oh, yeah. Your work talks. Like a bullhorn in a library reading room.” A knot appeared between his eyebrows and his lips creased downwards. “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I’ll play whatever games you want. So relax. And tell me why you’re here.”

  “My last painting sucked. My inability to work requires me to get naked.”

  His words—especially get naked— had her all jazzed again.

  Don’t faint. Don’t faint. Don’t faint.

  She put a hand to her spinning head to collect herself. “You’re looking for a muse?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m a succubus. I need sex to live.”

  “I supply it.” He swept his hand toward the opposite wall indicating his largest painting—subdued in the dimmer light but still throbbing with carnal vitality.

  She squirmed, the stimulating effect of the piece enhanced by the illumination below. Perhaps further animated by the presence of the artist himself. She wanted to be pleasured by Maxwell Raines so badly, the pulsing between her legs turned to pain.

  “So I see.” She paused and bit her lower lip, but could not dam back the thought consuming her. “Can you excite someone in the flesh the same way?”

  “Oh, yeah. More.”

  “Me?”

  “Beyond your wildest dreams, probably.” He paused. “But I haven’t been with a female in a long time. Can you deal with that?”

  “Try me.”

  He hesitated again. “My partners have a tendency to burst into flame.”

  The statement would have been comical from someone else. But from Maxwell Raines? She did not doubt his words for a moment. Already fire licked her, from her swollen breasts, straining against her silk blouse in readiness for his touch, to the deep, unquenched ache between her legs—a hunger she suspected only this man could satisfy. The block of ice that let her remain unaffected when she screwed around with others splintered inside her. Would that inner chill be enough to contain—even cool down—the scorching Maxwell Raines?

  “I can handle you.” Her confident promise slipped out before she could think twice.

  “You didn’t tell me what you were looking for from this date.”

  The blush started somewhere in the vicinity of her toes and burst upward, past her thighs and her breasts, until she knew beyond doubt her face matched the color of the glittery hearts glued to the ceiling.

  “A valentine.” She exhaled the words so softly she couldn’t be sure he’d heard her.

  “I’m not usually a hearts and flowers kind of guy.”

  “I didn’t really suspect you were. But your paintings. So much passion. There’s something–”

  “I can do romance,” he interrupted. Glancing away, he looked from one to another of his works hanging on the gallery walls. “I think. I can’t remember. I don’t get too many valentines myself.”

  Once again his words made her wonder about him, the nature of his solitary existence. Her chest contracted. She wanted to hug him. To sweep him into her arms and never let him go.

  “It’s all right, Raines. I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

  Some of the tension left his face. “Then let’s get this party started.” He retrieved the object—a slender bottle—he’d placed on the floor earlier and held it out to her. “You’re into this stuff?” He offered her a skeptical look. “Was told you were.”

  She read the label on the dark amber glass. “Yes. I love ice wine. And that’s a good choice. But it’s sweet. A dessert wine.” She met his eyes. “Maybe not the beverage of choice for a red-hot sex demon.” She nodded toward the refreshment table where the caterers had set up the bar. Max strolled over. The sight of his broad back and thigh muscles in retreat sent a thrill through her. Hella nice ass.

  He grabbed an ice bucket and a couple of glasses and returned to her. “I enjoy dessert.” His eyes glowed again and he smacked his lips. “After a satisfying meal.”

  Satisfaction. Yes. She so wanted that. Not just sexual. She wanted fulfillment. Cra
ved it. Maybe even the type of love that Lily and Campbell shared now. Fuck buddies along the lines of Randy McNeer left her increasingly cold, further frosting her heart. She feared she’d soon be too cold for any male to reach her. And something about the desperate loneliness she sensed in this brilliant artist called to her soul, resonating deep within her. Goddess, she wanted him. Where had he been all her life?

  “Maybe we want the same thing then.”

  He shrugged. “Right now I want you naked. Under me. My dick inside you.” He stroked his index finger across her cheek, pausing to play with her lower lip.

  She swallowed. Holy shit! He’d turn her into a pile of cinders if he kept talking. Touching her. The male arrogance didn’t fool her. She still suspected he searched for something more. But his sexy words excited her.

  “That’s exactly where I want you, too.” She expelled the confession in another breathy whisper.

  “Someplace we can go? Now?”

  Her spacious apartment with its soft, opulent bed was two blocks away. Too far. The black leather couch in her office, only a wall away. But she knew. She wanted him in the gallery. Amidst his startling, thrilling artwork. The work that so turned her on she wanted to jump him.

  Electric anticipation coiled through her at the idea. His gaze followed hers as she sized up the room then fixed him with a pointed stare.

  “Here?”

  “Here.” She unknotted the gauzy scarf at her neck and tossed it aside. “Your paintings have a stimulating effect on me.” As she began to work on the buttons of her blouse, he pushed her hands aside.

  “I do the unwrapping.”

  Chapter Four

  Without warning, he swept her into his arms as if she weighed no more than dandelion fluff, a sturdy arm braced behind her knees. His strength, the way he’d so neatly seized control, nearly made her swoon again. His size dwarfed her. She curled her hand against his neck, sifting her fingers into the black hair at his nape, as she’d been longing to do from the moment he entered the gallery. The inky locks were deceptively soft. Unlike the otherwise hard-as-marble male.

  Raines tilted his head and glanced around the room a bit wildly. “Where?” The single hoarse word burst from his lips.

  “There.” She pointed at the large viewing platform in the center of the room, designed for patrons to sit and gaze at each of the paintings as long as they wished without tiring. Julian and her interior designer had tried to convince her to go ultra-modern with a stark, sleek, white polished stone composite. At the last moment, she’d decided to upholster the top of the large, square bench and, as he laid her back against the cushions, she thanked Goddess for that.

  Clasping her hands behind his neck, she tried to pull him down, to bury her nose against his skin. His scent—part midnight and all naughty— already had her addicted. But he resisted, kneeling on the bench above her, his face tormented, a study in dark shadows and light planes.

  “You’re sure about this, Dagney?”

  “Definitely.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You can’t hurt me, Raines. And I’m pretty sure even your worst will be better than anything I’ve had.”

  He snorted and caressed her cheek. “So trusting. Do you think you can call me ‘Max’?”

  “Maybe. If you’d stop yakking and hurry.” She tugged at his T-shirt, yanking it from the waistband of his jeans and trying to drag it over his head. He grasped her hands to stop her and then relented.

  “You want to see me that badly?”

  “Hell, yeah. And I want to feel you that badly.”

  He bunched the thin material into a tangle of jersey and whisked it off. “Okay?”

  “Okay?” She stared at him, ready to swallow her tongue. “Christ. Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” His lips quirked upward in a sexy grin, revealing deep grooves on each side of his mouth. Her breath hitched. “Is there a picture of you in the dictionary next to ‘awesome’?”

  Tempting bands of rippling muscle knotted his broad shoulders and sculpted his chest. When he shifted position, his thick biceps flexed. Lust bombarded her, blasting into every part of her body like a forgotten cache of dynamite blowing away an ancient mountain. She scraped her fingernails from his clavicle, past his rib cage, enjoying the leap of sinews beneath her hand in reaction to her touch. The heat of his skin upticked with her teasing play. For a moment she concentrated on his nipples, delighting in the way his dark face twisted with hunger as she toyed with them.

  “Can I touch you?” His deep voice rumbled, low and edgy, evidence of his tension.

  “You’d better.”

  He grasped the first button on her blouse and flicked it open, then slid his fingers slowly to the next. “Like unwrapping a present.” He seemed intent on his work, studying each square inch of revealed flesh.

  “This is no time for you to be organizing a color palette.” She wiggled, nearly screaming for him to pick up the pace.

  “I’m going to paint you.” Confident words, more vow than promise. “From your brilliant hair to your rosy—” he unhooked her bra, freeing her breasts, “Tits.”

  She hadn’t even felt his hands there. But he sat back with a hissed intake of breath as her breasts sprang free, her nipples hard and engorged.

  “Holy fuckin’ hell. So beautiful. Berries floating in cream.”

  “You are choosing colors!”

  “It’s how I see things.”

  “How else do you see me?”

  He paused then leaned toward her again, licking his lips. “You’re a red velvet cupcake, and I want to lick your cream.”

  Holy crap. Maxwell Raines might not be a man of many words, but those he selected exploded rockets of lust within her. She ran her hands over his sculpted chest and abdomen. A tantalizing treasure trail of black hair began at his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his snug black jeans. Great Mother. She didn’t need more of a road map. The hard, thick outline of his cock strained against the denim. She wanted to taste him. She wanted him between her thighs. Inside her. His weight crushing her into the cushion.

  Her thoughts whirled and collided. His scent spun her fantasies out of control. She didn’t know which to indulge in first. Him kissing her from breasts to thighs, finding the erotic core of her with his lips, his tongue, licking her, sucking her until she came. Or his cock easing into her, driving her over the edge of ecstasy as he pumped into her again and again.

  “Touch me.” She arched upward from the bench in urgent invitation. “I want you, Max Raines. I want your hands on me. Your mouth. All of you.” They hadn’t even kissed, yet, but she already wanted him more than she’d ever wanted another man. Or demon.

  The look on his face reflected the turmoil she felt. Heat, guilt, anticipation, burning desire. Raw, desperate lust. His brow knotted again.

  “Don’t think so much.” She reached up for him, rubbing his temples, smoothing the lines crinkling across his forehead with a fingertip, then trying once again to tug him down. He continued to resist, but her nipples swept against his chest, the light friction making her belly clench with the anticipation of him petting her into a frenzy. She rubbed her legs together, the crotch of her panties drenched.

  A frustrated moan escaped her. Why didn’t he touch her? He wanted to. The formidable size of his erection, the red-hot desire in his glowing eyes, told her that.

  “Go slower, Dagney.”

  She ignored his harsh warning. Propping up on her arms, she flicked open the top button of his jeans. The head of his cock surged above the waistband of his shorts. Big. Engorged. Delicious. She ran her tongue across her suddenly dry lips. “Take off those pants. Or I will.”

  A vein pulsed in his neck, and she knew he held himself back.

  “Lose control, Max,” she urged.

  Spreading her legs and thrusting out her chest, she offered herself without apology or remorse. What would it be like between them? She had to know. She had to find out.

  “Do it.”


  “Oh, fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “Don’t say I didn’t try.”

  In the next second the rest of her clothes disappeared, torn from her body in a storm of need by a menacing sex-demon now clearly a predator on the prowl. She should be frightened. But she wasn’t. She’d seen the sensitive, vulnerable side of this male. Fear had nothing to do with what she felt for him.

  She squirmed on the bench, desperate for him, holding her breath as he kicked off his boots, his jeans, his boxers. Another moan rumbled from her. Then a purr.

  He loomed before her. Naked. Huge. Striated with sleek muscles. Gorgeous and magnificent.

  “Try what?” Her voice cracked, no more than a shaky squeak.

  “Seduction.”

  “Is this a picture of a woman who needs to be seduced?”

  “No.” Splayed nude before him, a banquet of rare delights, her sexy body swayed toward him and away in a teasing roll of her hips and arch of her back. Hunger claimed him and need so great his fucking cock lay rigid against his belly, ready to explode.

  Yeah. So much for going slow. The scent of her arousal blasted every damn thought out of his mind. Females threw themselves at him, true, but no one blew him away in turn. And it had been so long. But Dagney Night stunned him. Bewildered him. Plain and simple. She talked to him equal to equal. She reminded him of Mardi Gras with her wild red curls cascading over her shoulders and down her back, her full curves lush and beckoning, her skin silky and so cool.

  But, Jesus. Her scent. Rich, dark chocolate truffles spiced with exotic fruits and shots of pure, undiluted passion. Alive with her excitement and the sweet musk of female lust. He wanted to devour her.

  His brain ditched him completely. In its absence, his dick seized the bridge, Mighty Max, captain of the universe, setting one course and one course only.

  All about the flesh.

  Soft, womanly flesh he wanted to sink his painfully throbbing cock into. His blood raced as if he’d run twenty miles at Olympic-record speed. And most of it motored southward, pounding into the stiffest erection he’d ever experienced in his life.

  “Would you get a move on, damn it?”