Frost

by Taryn Kincaid

  The woman agreed with Mighty Max, apparently. Her command jerked his attention to her face. To her lovely kissable mouth. From which startlingly tart words fell, so at odds with her delicate complexion, the softness of her welcoming body. She pulled no punches, this one, let him get away with nothing. Maybe he’d finally met his match.

  He’d barely touched her yet. The thought of singeing her fair skin tore him apart. He couldn’t come inside her without scalding her and even a latex condom would disintegrate before he shot his wad. But he couldn’t remember wanting anyone more. She gazed on his body like she’d made a pilgrimage to some arcane holy land.

  Jesus.

  He didn’t see the usual vacant adoration in her expression. This was…something else. Some instant, instinctual connection between them. He’d felt the tug of their bond the moment he’d walk into the gallery. A woman who loved his work? And got him? Who accepted both the man and the demon? Hell knew he craved her already. Could he actually have some sort of near-normal future with this woman?

  He shook his head, trying to clear his insane thoughts. Not if he couldn’t screw her.

  “Damn it, Raines. Would you just kiss me already? Or do you need me to draw you a picture first?”

  Draw? Yeah. He wanted to sketch her. He wanted to drag his mouth up and down her body, painting her with his tongue, tantalizing her with strokes of flame. Later. He just wanted to fuck her now. Which was impossible.

  Kissing then. He cursed and dragged his knees across the cushions, until he’d drawn close enough to her to capture her lips. But as he bent toward her, the head of his cock grazed the wet folds between her legs. He groaned at the sheer pleasure of the contact, squeezing his eyes shut, grappling for composure. So easy to glide into that slick, inviting channel as she undulated beneath him, pumping in and out of her until…. His dick thrust forward, stabbing at her inner thigh with a mind of its own.

  She sucked in a tremulous gasp and he pulled back in horror.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “Why? I’m in total bliss. I want more of that. Much more.” She shivered beneath him.

  Shivered? Gooseflesh pebbled her arms. That couldn’t be happening. He’d almost lost control. She should be ablaze. Instead, she writhed with unabashed pleasure. Her skin remained unsinged as she took him in her hand, closing her fingers around him and stroking him from balls to the tip with a loving caress. He clamped his jaw shut. Talk about bliss. But no fuckin’ way he’d come in her hand. With supreme effort, he pried her fingers away before he lost all reason.

  Shifting his hips, he bent his upper body toward her, pressing a kiss to her lips.

  “Finally.”

  He felt, more than heard the word, as a stifled laugh vibrated against his mouth. She opened to him, drawing his tongue inside. She responded to every twitch of his lips, every flick of his tongue, demanding more and more from him, until he ravaged her mouth with his own, and she pulled on his tongue the way he wanted her sucking his dick.

  He jerked away with effort and propped up on his elbows to stare into her eyes. They glistened, glazed with lust. But behind the desire, in the depths of her moss green irises: sadness. Encouragement. Wistfulness.

  Something more.

  “I can be your valentine,” he promised. Where the fuck had those words come from? He couldn’t gauge his effect on her. And he sure didn’t understand hers on him. For the first time in his life, he foundered, totally at sea.

  “It’s all right.” The breath of her whisper brushed his cheek. “I want you, Max. Goddess, how I want you. I don’t need a box of chocolates. Or even foreplay. If you can’t give me that….”

  He sat back, stunned. “I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

  “I want you to fuck me. I want to be with the most brilliant artist I’ve ever seen, the sexiest man alive, the hunkiest guy who’s ever hovered over me. Yeah. I think I know what I’m asking.”

  “That’s not what you said you wanted out of this date before.”

  “It’s what I want now.”

  He shook his head. He couldn’t be that selfish, that unfair to her.

  She clamped a hand on each side of his face, gripping him, forcing him to look into her eyes.

  “It’s what I want, Max,” she repeated. “Melt me. Turn me into a puddle of sticky goo. No one ever has.”

  But he couldn’t just ram into her, much as the rapacious sex beast inside him wanted to throw the flames. The restraint made him a man, even if not human. Hell’s bells. She’s a succubus and this isn’t her first rodeo. She sure as fuck seemed to know what she wanted. And so far, he didn’t seem to be hurting her.

  He leaned forward again to drop a light kiss on her mouth. Cool lips, sweet as grapes. Reminding him of the ice wine she favored. Tempering his heat. The taste of her thrilled him. And gave him an idea.

  He ran his hand over her legs, up her thighs, across her abdomen to her breasts, loving the way she reacted to his touch. She didn’t flinch—she reveled. Her muscles clenched and relaxed beneath his hand, and her legs fluttered apart in invitation. Her skin remained cool. His fire hadn’t burned her yet. Maybe he could make her flesh cooler still—and remove the danger.

  He bent over the side of the platform, groping blindly for the ice bucket until he grasped the neck of the wine bottle.

  “Let’s do dessert first.”

  “I’m game.”

  Pouring some of the Riesling over her breasts, he swooped over her and took one coral nipple into his mouth, cupping her other plump tit with his palm. Delectable. Sweet. So fuckin’ sweet. As he’d known she’d be. Good so far. He had not yet reduced her to a pile of ash. The little noises she made turned the beast inside him possessive. A first. The demon growled and prowled, hungry for more, eager to stake a claim.

  Max swirled his tongue over one small erect peak. She smelled of dark chocolate and spicy flowers and went to his head like a fruity tropical drink served frozen with dark rum, pineapple and cherries. Every bit as intoxicating. Would he ever have enough of the taste of her? He tweaked her nipple with a light graze of his teeth then soothed the puckered flesh with his lips, latching on and sucking at her, a man gone mad. She writhed and her moans of delight became whimpers of need. The sounds of her excitement shot straight to his groin.

  “Burning.”

  He pulled back at once, furious with himself. Could he have misinterpreted her sultry groans so badly?

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s fabulous.”

  He rubbed a soothing hand across her breasts, leaning down to examine them more closely. Creamy. Beautiful. Soft and inviting. “I haven’t left any marks on you.”

  “You’re not trying hard enough.” She tilted her head, sweeping a mass of red hair away to expose her neck. “Care for a nibble? Want to give me a hickey?”

  “You said I’d burned you.”

  “No, you idiot. I’m on fire for you. Big difference.” She looped her arms around his neck and tugged him down to her. “Come back, Max. I’ll try to watch the heat terminology.”

  “Maybe we should have a ‘safe word’ anyway.”

  She pursed her lips and stared at the ceiling before scrunching her eyes. “Okay. ‘Cupid.’ That’s my safe word.”

  “You’re never going to say that, are you?”

  “No. Not on your life. Now get back to work.”

  “You like me licking your breast?”

  “Goddess, yes. More. And don’t forget the other one.”

  “Hell, no.”

  He poured more wine and lavished his attention on her other breast, savoring the taste of her as much as her reaction. Good to know. She was okay with the heat. Better than okay, she enjoyed it. Maybe she even neutralized his demonic fire in some way. Soothing aloe after the sun’s rays.

  “Max,” she whispered, thrashing her legs beneath him. “Max, I need you.”

  She gripped his fingers and guided his hand to her nearly hairless mound. He
shook at the idea of her waxing or shaving there, or someone doing that for her. Once again, his inner beast roared. Pressing his thumb against her clit, he massaged a pattern of lazy circles that had her arching up off the cushions, crying out with need. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he struggled for control.

  He couldn’t wait to sample her. This time, he’d lick and suck her without the wine, just her sexy scent and the taste of pure, aroused woman on his tongue. He groaned again, torturing himself. His tight, aching balls and twitching cock put up an argument. But he couldn’t just shove his dick into her, invading her without first making her come.

  Taking a couple of swigs of the wine, he placed the bottle back on the floor and returned to her. Nudging her legs wider, he settled between them. She thrust both hands into his hair, twining her fingers through it, silently directing him. Clasping him between her thighs, she urged him on with erotic moans and whimpers.

  The scent of her arousal hit him again. “By all that’s demonic,” he mumbled. Rolling his tongue over her swollen clit, he delved inside her silken folds before returning once more to her clit. Her hips undulated in waves as she reacted.

  “Max. Max.” She quaked and came, over and over again. Her erotic cries, the taste of her, the feel of her contractions, nearly sent him around the bend. She collapsed against the cushions, as if utterly boneless. He sat up and pulled her into his arms, holding her in his lap until she recovered. She ground her awesome ass against him.

  He groaned, knowing he couldn’t last another second. The surge of an orgasm began in his groin. His cock thrust against her tailbone.

  “Fuck me,” she begged. “Fuck me, Max. I can’t take anymore.”

  Only so much he could take himself.

  “What color are my eyes, Dagney?”

  She tilted her head, rubbing her cheek against his neck. “I’m not sure. Grayish, I think.”

  “Grayish? Or reddish?”

  “Glowing.”

  He huffed out a frustrated breath. He couldn’t take the risk of harming her. He’d break his own heart before he destroyed hers.

  “I can’t tell.” She whimpered and tried to tug him closer, conveying her displeasure that he’d drawn away. “And I don’t care. I want you inside me.”

  He snatched her by the hips and lifted her, then flipped her over, dragging her to her hands and knees as if he might mount her and take her from behind.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Oh, yes. Make me yours.”

  But instead of driving into her, he patted her hair, loving the springy silk texture. He’d always remember the night he’d finally met a woman with whom he could be himself—at least for a little while. Loving that he’d brought her to multiple orgasms without hurting her, without burning her. Without doing something irrevocably dangerous. Or stupid.

  He could not do that to her.

  Brushing her wild mane aside, he planted a kiss on her shoulder. Her neck. The top of her spine.

  Parting kisses. Not claiming, branding kisses.

  “I can’t, Dagney.” He kissed her ear and whispered one word into it.

  Cupid.

  Then he snatched up his jeans and boots and fled.

  Chapter Five

  Damn Max Raines and all the things he’d made her want.

  He’d used the safe word?

  He’d called Cupid?

  Without giving her what she’d wanted most?

  Dagney stared dry-eyed at the ceiling, with its splashy, glittery red Valentines, frilly lace doilies and fat, naked cherubs. She wanted to grab their stupid arrows and shoot each one in the heart. Early morning light streamed through the glass windows of the gallery, and she squinted against the glare.

  She supposed she couldn’t really loll around on the cushions where they’d been together too much longer. If anyone scurrying about on the sidewalk this bright Valentine’s Day happened to peep inside, they’d think her a madwoman.

  Valentine’s Day. She offered up a curse guaranteed to curl even the wretched ears of an impervious fire-sex demon. Had it really been so much to ask? Just one hearts-and-flowers day out of all the days of her life?

  Goddess, how stupid of her.

  Oh, sure. He’d told her straight off the bat he wasn’t a ‘hearts and flowers kind of guy.’ But he’d also told her he could do romance. That he could be her valentine. He’d lied. She wondered if she could get a refund from Madame Evangeline. But she supposed she’d had her near-perfect night of passion. Until Max had disappeared.

  First, when she’d realized he’d gone, she’d cried. Then she’d finished the bottle of ice wine all by herself, surprised to find she no longer had any need for the alcohol-induced buzz. Maxwell Raines had taken care of that. He’d melted what remained of her inner frost. Heated and liquefied everything inside her. She didn’t need a mirror to know she reflected a radiant glow.

  At last, she’d thrown on his discarded T-shirt, snuggling in the loose cotton folds, breathing in his masculine scent, knowing he’d ruined her for any other males. During all her future sexual encounters, it would be Max’s weight on top of her, Max’s arms around her, Max’s lips ravishing hers, Max’s deep, rumbling voice whispering into her ear.

  Calling Cupid.

  At some point, she must have fallen asleep. In the middle of the gallery, where anyone could see her and know how pathetic she was.

  She jumped up, snatched the empty bottle and dripping ice bucket off the floor and placed them on the ravaged refreshment table. Then she plumped up the cushions, where she’d lain with Maxwell Raines, and hurried to her office.

  Flowers filled it.

  Boxes of chocolates covered every spare surface. Bottles of ice wine stocked the bar. No cards. There didn’t need to be any. Only two people in the world knew her secret heart’s desire. And she doubted Madame Evangeline would so cruelly taunt her with the splashiest gifts of the day.

  Goddess, Max. I wanted you. I needed you. Not all this…stuff.

  There, in the center of her desk, rested a page torn from a large sketch pad. Covered with bold, charcoal strokes and feather light shading. A drawing of a woman with wild hair fanned across her neck and spread over the pillows on which she lay, curled on her side, asleep. A woman wearing a man’s oversized black T-shirt, which hung off one shoulder and rode high on her thigh, exposing generous curves. A woman who, through the artist’s eyes, looked sated and radiant. And beautiful.

  Despite the track of a tear, plainly evident on her cheek.

  Dagney’s eyes stung and her throat tightened. She blinked away tears as she glanced down at the lower right-hand corner of the page. There it was: the boxy, stylized Raines she recognized from his other work. Probably from habit, not even realizing he’d signed the piece. She flipped the page over. He’d titled it “Valentine.”

  A wail escaped her. A hiccupping sob. Tears cascaded like Niagara.

  Powerless to stop them, she dropped the sketch and snatched blindly for the box of tissues on her desk. Grabbing a handful, she sniffled and gave in to the pity party. So girlie, to snivel and mewl over a male. The Queen of the Succubi would drum her out of the organization. Next she’d be scarfing cartons of Haagen-Dazs for breakfast.

  But he’d come back! Max had come back. He’d watched her sleep, sketched her, filled her office with candy and roses. He’d made her beautiful.

  So very beautiful.

  “You are.” The soft rumble came from behind her.

  Had she said the words aloud? She whirled around to see him standing in the doorway to her private bathroom, barefoot, bare-chested, dressed only in his jeans, his inky hair mussed and rumpled from sleep.

  “You didn’t go very far.”

  “I’d have looked like a lunatic.” He shrugged. “Bryce sent a car for me. But….” He opened his arms to her, as if words failed him.

  She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think twice. Bounding around her desk, she leaped into them, and he enveloped her in his strong embrace.

  “You
didn’t leave?”

  “Leave my one and only Valentine? Why the fuck would I do that?” He tightened his arms around her. She nuzzled her nose against his throat, inhaling the scent she loved.

  “You tell me, Max.”

  He tilted her chin with two fingers. “What color are my eyes?”

  “They’re gray. Kinda frosty.”

  “Ashes?”

  “I’d say dirty snow.”

  He laughed and squeezed her until she gasped for breath. “Last night I was afraid they were red. You said they glowed.”

  “They did. They’re glowing now.”

  “Different.” He groaned. “They’ll always glow for you.” He jiggled her higher and planted a sweet kiss on her lips. “I wanted you so much last night, Dagney. I thought my head would explode. Not to mention….”

  “Points south.”

  “Yeah. I wasn’t sure I could control the fire. But…you’ve done something to me. Somehow managed to tame the fire beast. I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror a long time. Desire held me in its grip, but my eyes didn’t burn. When I returned, you’d fallen asleep. Didn’t want to wake you, so I just held you all night. Until it got light.”

  “And you could sketch me.”

  “And order in a few things.” He indicated the bouquets and chocolates.

  “How’d you manage it?”

  “Plastic. And a telephone. I’m a demon. Especially when it comes to you. And this is the City that Never Sleeps.” He kissed her again.

  She glanced down at the drawing one more time. “Goddess, that’s incredible. You’re amazing. Is that how you see me?”

  He nodded, his eyes grave. And gray.

  “My perfect model. My muse. When I get you back to Sleepy Hollow, I’m going to paint you. Nude. An entire private collection of Dagneys. For my eyes only.”

  “You want to take me home with you?”

  “You’re mine. My valentine. Three hundred sixty-five days a year.”

  If he hadn’t been holding her in his arms, she most definitely would have swooned.

  “Do you accept this grovel?” he demanded.

  “I accept.”