Frosty Relations

by Tara Quan

  Her throat closed up as possessive tenderness coiled around her, the intensity so palpable she sensed it as heat. Everything about the way she defined her relationship with him threatened to unravel. Not ready to face a truth that became clearer with each passing second, she turned her face and broke contact. “I don’t think you know.”

  He chuckled. “That sounds about right.” Releasing her, he stepped to the side, swept out his arm, and took a bow. “My white horse awaits, Ms. Mao.”

  ***

  “I’m sorry, but that monstrosity’s got to go.” His nose wrinkling, Jack motioned at her coat from the driver’s seat as the Lamborghini’s scissor doors lifted. “Aside from being butt ugly, it touched those gross people. I don’t want gangster cooties on my baby.”

  Relieved he’d reverted to his usual difficult self, she undid the buttons before pulling her arms out of the polyester-wool blend garment. With a cap-sleeved modified cheongsum underneath, she had a hard time combatting hypothermia. “You need to put the top up if you don’t want me to turn into a Popsicle,” she muttered through chattering teeth, thankful for the leather boots that reached just under her knees.

  For some reason, her companion seemed frozen in place, his quicksilver eyes glued to her chest area. Concerned about a possible tear, she surveyed her front and noted nothing out of place. The red dress had a mandarin collar that buttoned under her chin, so no cleavage showed. The silk hemline brushed the top of her knees, which were covered in black cotton tights. A re-appropriated bridesmaid’s outfit, it was on the fitted side since it had been tailored to her measurements. Given a choice, she’d have chosen something with more breathing room, but Tony had stolen most of her clothing. Thank goodness for the few garments she’d forgotten to retrieve from the dry-cleaner’s.

  Shrugging off Jack’s odd reaction, she rolled up her coat and placed it next to his briefcase on the floor under the glove box. Sliding onto the soft leather seat, she blew into her hands. Having short legs meant she had plenty of room left. “Umm…. Can you get a move on? I’m dying here.”

  “Where am I taking you, exactly?” With the push of a button, the doors lowered and the convertible’s metal roof projected out of the rear compartment to form a seal on the windows and windshield.

  “Home, of course.” Where else would she go? “Or do you still want to go for drinks at the Castillo?” She couldn’t wait to shower, change, and sleep, but she’d persevere if he insisted. She doubted he would. After all, he’d come here expecting sex, not a platonic chat with a friend and co-worker. It would make the most sense for him to drop her off and go try his luck with someone else.

  The engine purred to life. Since the seat and backrest emitted a welcome heat, she sighed with contentment. Once she warmed up, she grabbed her coat and rifled through the inner zippered pocket to unearth some wet wipes.

  “I wondered why you didn’t have a bag.”

  Grateful nothing other than her face and hands had been exposed to her assailants’ grasping fingers, she scrubbed the problem zones in an attempt to banish tonight’s memory. While she’d never doubted she’d get out of the jam safe and sound, being pawed at by those men left an icky psychological residue. “Purse snatching is back in vogue, and my neighborhood is in the beginning stages of up-and-coming. The big breast pockets are why I bought this coat.”

  As the car careened onto Pennsylvania Avenue, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Since I got distracted by all the Chinese cuss words, I missed some of the conversation. You’ll have to fill in the gaps.”

  Her spine snapped straight. “Since when did you learn Mandarin?”

  “I went through a Firefly addiction phase in college. Joss Wheedon had all the characters swear weird, so I read up on the translations.”

  “Cool. What did you think about the movie—?”

  He took a sharp turn, the momentum launching her against the door. “Stop stalling and tell me what kind of trouble Tony got you into.”

  Buckling the seatbelt, she clutched the damp wipe in her hand. “It’s none of your business. Everything is under control.”

  “Like fuck.” He’d never used a tone this harsh with her before. “You got a magical boost by accident this afternoon. If not for me, you would’ve been in over your head. Let’s skip to the part where you tell me how your deadbeat brother screwed shit up.”

  Until tonight, she’d seen him annoyed, irritated, and peeved, but always with a dose of nonchalance. The pure cold rage lacing his voice took her by surprise. “You know Tony. He’s had problems ever since I first turned into a kitten. It’s why he’d never finished high school, gotten a job, or moved out.”

  He rounded the next corner several miles too fast. “So he wasn’t born with magic. Boo fucking hoo. He has no idea how lucky he is. So what happened—he moved on from alcohol and Ecstasy and graduated to heavier shit?”

  She hadn’t known the Frosts had been aware of her family’s problems. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know about any of the drugs until a year ago. Mamā found white powder in his room. He swore it was nothing—some stuff he’d held onto for a friend. My parents asked me to come over and make sure he told the truth.” An empath served as a walking lie detector. Emotion betrayed the verity or deceit of each answer.

  “Since the bastard’s been popping pills for over a decade, I’m guessing they gave him the boot.”

  Sinking into the cozy hot seat, she shook her head. “I should have known they both wanted me to lie. He’s their only son—the offspring meant to carry on their name. They didn’t want to hear or see the truth. When I told them he was a two-faced drug addict, he turned the tables on me—said horrible things about a mistake I made in the past, proved that I’d disobeyed and dishonored my family.” Remembering the pain of rejection, the disappointment on her parents’ faces, she closed her eyes. “They disowned me, not him. I haven’t seen them in eight months.”

  When her audience burst out laughing, her burning lids popped open. “What about my messed-up life do you find so hilarious?”

  His shoulders heaving, he slowed the car down. “Let me guess—he told them you have a boyfriend and that you’d slept with the schmuck.”

  She puffed out her cheeks. “I had a boyfriend, and how did you guess?”

  He blinked away tears of mirth. “Colorful vocabulary aside, you’re the most obedient, conscientious, straight-laced person I’ve ever met. It had to be some stupid asinine rule that no one but your medieval father would care about. You know what your problem is? You didn’t tell your parents to get stuffed enough growing up. If you disappoint them consistently, regularly, and in ever-increasing orders of magnitude, you’d have to be guilty of murder to get them to bat an eyelash. Trust me, I’m living proof.”

  And, like magic, the guilty weight lifted from her shoulders. Part of her had always believed her parents’ unrealistic expectations bore a significant portion of the blame for their estrangement, but to have it articulated by someone she cared about brought unexpected relief. “Well, it’s too late for me to follow in your footsteps. By the way, you missed the turn to my side of town.”

  He snorted. “Sweetheart, this car is not going anywhere near Capital South. You’re staying at my place.”

  Her breath didn’t quite make it to her lungs. While she could stare down criminals and keep her fear in check, the thought of spending the night with Jack triggered her flight-or-fight response. Logic commanded she put her foot down and insist he drop her off at the nearest Metro stop. But then she remembered him enveloping her in those strong arms, how the mere scent of him had driven away all traces of terror. Though any more time together might upturn their precarious balance, she couldn’t stand being home alone. “I’ll go stay with some friends. You can drop me off—”

  “Do those friends of yours live somewhere with round-the-clock security? What about an alarm system? Those thugs must have followed you from your place—if they’ve been watching you, they might know who you hang o
ut with.”

  She had a sinking suspicion there might be a grain of truth to his argument. Sweets had stayed with her all afternoon, and they’d walked to the Metro together. If not for her friend’s presence, the attack might have occurred much sooner. With the situation escalated, she wasn’t so sure going to her pal’s place would be the best of ideas. “I handled the situation, didn’t I?”

  “Like you handled the break-ins?” The sneaky little eavesdropper sounded far too smug. “While we’re on the subject, owning hideous cheap shit is not a solution for a recurring burglar. You should have called the cops.”

  He must have been listening in for quite some time. “And send my brother to prison?”

  “He’ll end up there soon enough.” They turned into the underground parking garage of a Georgetown condo building. “And your dad’s not as dumb as you think. He must have cut off your brother’s funds if Tony bothered robbing you.”

  She’d come to a similar conclusion. Her father was too proud to apologize, but in the spirit of Christmas, she might give him a call tomorrow. They pulled up right in front of the elevator bank. The location had plenty of clearance on either side. “Wow. This is a prime parking spot.”

  “One of the perks of owning the penthouse. Come up and check out the view, at least. We can discuss the rest of the night over some drinks—or Perrier, in your case. A glass of wine on an empty stomach might knock you out cold.”

  Curiosity got the better of her. She wanted to see where he lived, what he’d done to make this place his home. Intuition told her something had changed between them when he wrapped his arms around her tonight—something she might not be ready for. But he’d reverted to his usual self, so what was the harm?

  Stepping out, she grabbed her coat and hung it over one arm. “How can you afford this place on a junior associate’s salary?” The attorneys made a decent amount, but nothing that’d pay for Italian sports cars and luxury condos. Frost Senior had a reputation for stinginess.

  Grabbing his briefcase, Jack walked to her side. By the time he reached her, the doors had shut. “I came into my trust fund six years ago. I descend from a long line of ancestors who liked making money more than spending it. I’m the black sheep.”

  She followed him into a private glass elevator. As the numbers on the digital screen increased, he placed an arm around her shoulder. Detecting an undercurrent of anxiety, she turned to face him. “What’s wrong?”

  He shrugged. “You’re my first houseguest. I should warn you—I haven’t had much time to go furniture shopping.”

  Chapter Five

  Stepping through the thick doors into the dark, freezing foyer, Mina struggled to fill her lungs. Bouncing from foot to foot, she rubbed her hands over her upper arms and tried to stay warm. The low temperature inside the dimly lit apartment rivaled the chill outside. Taking her coat, Jack marched past her and turned on a light. What she saw rooted her to the spot. “Oh hell.”

  He hooked her garment on a hatstand created out of ice. His briefcase landed on the small table beside it—a polished cube of frozen water the size of large suitcase. He pulled off his shoes and socks, placing them in a cubby carved into the entryway wall.

  Ignoring her, he padded to the center of the penthouse to stand by a giant pillar comparable in size to a large closet. A moment later, the gas fireplace within it blazed to life. Encased in a clear gleaming column, the dancing orange flames reflected off the various translucent creations in his home.

  Responding to the black remote in his hand, more overhead lights turned on, bathing the penthouse in an eerie white glow. Acting on autopilot, she peeled off her boots, her gaze flitting back and forth to take in one marvel after the other.

  In stocking feet, she inched forward over the frigid expanse to join him on the white sheepskin rug in front of the fire. By the time she got there, she thought her toes might freeze off. The floors were covered in a thick layer of ice but dusted with powdery snow to minimize slippage. Every single piece of furniture she could see seemed conjured from a combination of the two forms of solidified liquid.

  Standing by the flames, she had an unimpeded view of the kitchen area. Aside from the appliances, he’d encased every inch of the expansive space in frost. Huge blocks of ice formed the countertops and island, with transparent cylindrical trunks serving as stools. Closer to where they stood, a rectangular glacier acted as his dining table. Hollowed balls of packed snow surrounded it like a phalanx of egg-shaped chairs.

  Boxy ice sofas bordered the rug they stood on, their seats covered in the same white sheepskin. On the other side of the fireplace, open internal doors framed a frozen slab the size of a king-sized bed, which was topped with a thin mattress pad and two pillows, all encased in smooth ivory sheets.

  She cleared her throat. “Okay, well this has been fun. Before I touch something and get frostbite, I’m going to go….”

  “Don’t be such a scaredy cat.” He grabbed her wrist and pressed the back of her hand against the wall next to the hearth. To her surprise, it felt cool, but not freezing. “I figured out a way to fluctuate energy levels so the surfaces warm on skin contact. If you take off those tights, your little toes won’t be as cold.”

  Stunned by the extent of his control, she freed her hand so she could trail it over the ornate glacial mantelpiece where two white-eyed dragons faced each other at the pinnacle of the fire. Though flames blazed within, the giant smooth pillar showed no signs of melting. “So you’re the Ice Maestro.”

  Placing the remote by her unsteady fingers, he splayed one hand over her nape before bending down to brush his lips against her cheek. A sense of rightness seeped through his hold, along with staggering certainty and the rush of possession. His chest warmed her back, his free arm snaking around her torso. His fingers gripping her waist, he turned her to face him.

  The flames lent his angular face an eerie luminescence. In a black shirt and charcoal suit, surrounded by evidence of the power he wielded, he’d never appeared more dangerous. But he was still Jack—her Jack. And she could never be afraid of him.

  Guiding her to the chilly surface beside the fire, he crowded her until she flattened her back against the pillar of ice. She marveled at the dichotomy—her bare arms and neck were comfortably cool, while her torso came close to freezing under the silk. His hand still at her neck, he bent down to nip her earlobe. “Did you like my Godzilla? I didn’t get to see your reaction.”

  The barrage of arousal pouring through the contact threatened her already precarious balance. Too confused by the sudden change in his demeanor, she kept her tone casual. “Please tell me you didn’t make those sculptures to see how I’d react?”

  He tugged down her collar and kissed her neck. “Not the first one. I needed an outlet, and the Datagate scandal was all over the news. But then I heard you laugh when you saw the photo. I liked the sound.” He pressed his teeth against the sensitive skin below her ear. His tongue pulsed over the spot before he sucked.

  Moaning, she threw her head back against the glacial wall. Deep down, she understood what his words meant—what the simple act of showing her his home meant—even if the truth hadn’t yet occurred to him.

  Needing time to think and room to breathe, she pushed at his chest. “Back off for a sec. Why did you insist you didn’t have any magic?”

  Giving her two more inches of space, he loosened his tie. The platinum clip landed on the white fur, the diamond twinkling to catch her eye. Ignoring the accessory, he pulled the loop over his head and tossed it over his shoulder. “I was about to leave for Boston. My father wrote a contract for your parents to sign. He wanted to send you with me as my pet kitten for the low price of your brother’s bail.”

  She bit her lower lip. “So you rejected magic for me?”

  He shrugged out of his suit jacket and threw it to the side. “I try not to overthink things. I told Dad to fuck off because it felt good. That’s all there was to it.”

  When he lifted his wrist and cante
d his head, she reached for his cuff and fumbled with the link. Making sure not to touch him, she used the reprieve to sift through her own emotions. She’d always wanted this, but not now, not yet. Anything she started with him wouldn’t be skin deep. This wasn’t a meaningless hook-up—a night of sex ending in a good-bye kiss and vague plans they’d never keep.

  He wasn’t thinking straight, hadn’t been since she ran into him tonight. With quintessential male arrogance, he seemed focused on the present, acting on a desire so intense it threatened to overwhelm her. She’d come into contact with arousal before, but not from someone she also wanted. Her brief experimentation with sex had been the product of curiosity, an academic endeavor.

  But with Jack, the primitive indefinable urge was mirrored within her, the slow, relentless burn reflecting, echoing, and amplifying until she feared she might go mad. She couldn’t suppress the raging need to have his breath against her pulse, his palms on her skin. Her fingertips itched to learn the texture of his five o’clock shadow; her lips throbbed in an invitation for him to bite and taste.

  She’d thought these desires the product of her empathy and his urges, but this brief moment of respite opened her eyes. He might be brimming with cold fire, but the molten heat driving her to the precipice had come from a part of her she hadn’t known existed. This wasn’t a youth’s hero worship or a teenager’s infatuation. She wanted him with a hunger she feared might never be sated.

  When she managed to get the damn cufflink off, he lifted his other wrist. Repeating the process with surer fingers, she kept her eyes glued to his chest. When she had both sets in one hand, she took a deep breath, met his silver gaze, and turned her palm down to let the metal chips fall.

  Jack reached over Mina’s head and tugged out the metal pins. As he placed them on the mantle beside her, one by one, he filled his lungs with the scent of cinnamon and cloves floating off her hair.