Black Ice (Ice 1)

“This is a mistake,” he said quietly.

And before she could ask what, he kissed her, his long fingers holding her face still as he covered her mouth with his.

They didn’t call it French kissing for nothing, Chloe thought in her last coherent moment. He was an absolute master at it, starting with just a featherlight brush against her lips, followed by his tongue, just touching them gently. She knew she should push him away, but she opened her mouth anyway, knowing she was being beyond foolish.

But what harm would a kiss do? Especially from someone as gifted as Bastien. There wasn’t much more they could accomplish in the tiny cockpit of the Porsche, and once they were back in the château she could keep out of his way if she made an effort. So there was no reason she couldn’t just sink back against the leather seat and let him kiss her, slowly, using his teeth now, a tiny, erotic tug on her lower lip that somehow made her utter a quiet moan.

He lifted his head, his eyes glittering down in the darkness. “You like that, Chloe? You could always kiss me back.”

“I—I th-thought we agreed this isn’t a w-wise idea,” she stammered. She decided to blame it on the cold, when in actuality she was beginning to burn inside.

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed, pressing his lips against the curve of her jaw. “But wise ideas are so boring.”

He kissed her harder this time, no longer just a sweet seduction. He was making demands now, demands she wanted to meet.

His hand was on her thigh, moving up under the ruined silk skirt, and his touch was like flame, licking at her. She put her hands down to stop him, but she couldn’t move him. All she could do was press him against her thighs, which was hardly an improvement.

He pulled away again, catching his breath, as she caught hers, and she tried to rein in her fast-departing sanity. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded in a whisper.

“Stupid question. Because I want to. Because I want you. And all you have to do is say ‘no.’ But you’re not going to. Because you want this just as much as I do, no matter what you tell yourself. You want to taste my mouth. You want my hands on you. Don’t you?”

She wanted to deny it, to tell him how delusional he was, how conceited, mistaken, arrogant, wrongheaded…

“Kiss me back, Chloe,” he whispered. And she did.

She liked kissing. Loved kissing, in fact. But with Bastien it was bordering on orgasmic, and he didn’t have to move his hand any higher under her skirt to bring her almost to the point of exploding. All he needed was his mouth—moving, touching, tasting—hers—deeper, harder—and she could feel a dark shiver run from her throat to her womb. She reached out her hands to touch him.

The car came out of nowhere, headlights spearing into the windscreen, horn honking, tires sliding on the narrow road. It narrowly avoided hitting the parked Porsche, and then it drove off. But Chloe had jumped back, from him, from temptation, moving as far away from him as possible.

She wished the light wasn’t on, that she didn’t have to see him. But then, if they were in the dark maybe they wouldn’t have stopped. He was looking at her with a calm, speculative expression, seemingly unmoved by the last few minutes. “If you move any farther you’ll be hanging out the

window,” he said.

“Maybe that would be a good idea.”

His smile was faint. “Not in this rain. Sit back and relax. I told you I wouldn’t touch you if you didn’t want me to. All you have to do is say so.”

“I don’t want you to touch me.” It was an out-and-out total lie. Or at least it was a lie of the flesh. Her body wanted him. Longed for him. Her brain still realized how bad he was for her, but it was fighting a hard battle against her melting body.

“If you say so, petite,” he said easily. “Fasten your seat belt.”

If she’d been clumsy from the cold it was nothing compared to how shaken she was now. He watched her fumble, making no effort to help her, as if he wanted to find out just how much he’d managed to disturb her. Finally he reached out and did it for her, his long fingers brushing against her stomach, so that she jumped nervously.

“Not unless you ask, Chloe,” he said in a soothing voice, flicking off the overhead light and putting the car into gear again. The heat had finally come on, at a time when Chloe was already feeling overheated despite her wet clothes, but she didn’t complain.

At least they hadn’t gone any further, though God knew what else she might have given into, if she’d had half a chance. She could still feel the imprint of his hand on her thigh, the long fingers against the soft skin, so unbearably close to the center of her. She needed to drive that from her mind, wipe the taste of his mouth from hers, bring a wall of ice between them, one that wouldn’t melt in the heat of her body.

“You’re very good at this, Monsieur Toussaint,” she said in an admirably cool voice after they’d driven for a few minutes. “I don’t know why you bother. I imagine it’s simply a matter of male pride or too much testosterone. It must be unbearable to think that a woman doesn’t want you.”

She could see his profile from the lights on the dashboard, but he was giving nothing away. “Are you wanting to convince me that you aren’t attracted to me? I know women, chérie, and I know when they’re interested and when they’re not. I don’t understand your hesitation, but I am always one to accept my dismissal gracefully. There are other women. There are always other women.”

This wasn’t going the way she had planned. But then, nothing with this strange man had gone the way she wanted it to.

“And I’m sure they’ll be a lot easier to seduce.” Her voice was scathing.

“Oh, I imagine I could seduce you fairly easily if I set my mind to it.”

For some reason she found that insulting. He couldn’t be bothered to make a real effort? Why? Was she that unattractive?