He trailed the melting snow down her belly to the top of her mound. She sucked in a breath when the ice grazed the sensitive flesh between her legs. Frigid cold water dripped down her overheated skin to pool beneath her ass against the frozen cushion. And though she told herself his twisted torture shouldn’t be turning her on, she knew it was. Cold and hot warred with pleasure and torment as he ran the ice over her clit again and again and jolts of electricity lit up her groin with a heat she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.
She dropped her head back and closed her eyes, this time giving in to the sensations and moaning as she lifted her hips. He kept up the assault on her clit with the ice, but his warm fingers slid lower, against her quivering flesh, then finally inside her where she wanted him most.
“Oh, yesssss.” Her elbows went out from under her. Her back landed against the now-damp cushion. She groaned, turned herself over to him, all but begged for more. He stroked her clit with the ice, searched deeper with his fingers until all she wanted was more.
“Definitely enjoying.” He withdrew, pressed back in with a second finger. She gasped at the tight feel and pressed her hips against his strokes. At some point the ice must have melted because she felt his warm fingers against her clit, in stark contrast to the cold, but she was too gone to care how or with what he was touching her. The fiery edges of an orgasm she’d gone too long without hovered just beyond her reach.
Just before it crashed into her, he withdrew. Cool air washed over her skin again, and the cushion at her sides dipped. She opened her eyes, anticipating him climbing over her to take and taste, only when she looked up he was standing at her feet, staring down at her with a self-satisfied expression. One that reeked of victory and shone with distrust.
“You’re good, Siren, but you’re not that good.” He tugged the jacket from his arms, tossed it to her. “Get your stuff together and meet me back in the great hall. And you’d better hope Ghoul Girl’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.”
He made it two steps away before her iced-over brain clicked into gear and instinct took over where logic should reign.
She was on her feet in a flash, tugging her pants back up, her boots clicking on the cold stones beneath her heels as she threw his jacket on the ground. Her ripped shirt slapped open against her sides as she grabbed his arm, spun him back to face her. Surprise erupted in his gray eyes, followed by a shot of anger that tightened his face, but he didn’t intimidate her. She’d seen enough from him over the last few days to know that even with his daemon, he had too much honor to hurt a female. Even one who’d been sent to kill him.
She stepped close before he could block her, twisted around so her back was to his front, held tight to his forearm, and shifted her center of gravity back, lifting him off the ground and tossing him over her shoulder to land on the chaise he’d just had her pinned to.
He landed with a grunt. The legs of the chaise snapped beneath his weight and a splintering sound echoed across the veranda.
She tugged off her ruined shirt, leaned over, and dropped it on his chest. “I am that good, daemon.” She moved to the door and paused with her fingers on the handle, glanced back over her shoulder with her best I dare you look. “And you’re wrong. This time I do intend to follow through. The question is whether or not you’re man enough to deal with it.”
The room was hexagonal. Four walls were solid—two on each end. The two long walls between were made only of glass, separated by thick, intricately carved wooden beams. A wide archway over each window rose to dramatic wooden trusses that lifted two stories to the roof’s peak.
There was more patio furniture in here, stacked against the far-end walls and what looked like a door. Mismatched cabinets and wooden tables were piled against one glass wall. A blackened fireplace and empty bookshelves took up space on the other side of the room, and a series of boxes that weren’t marked had been pushed up against the fireplace as if left there and forgotten.
“Follow-through, huh?” Orpheus’s voice echoed from the doorway. Tingles of anticipation raced down her spine as she turned. He stood in the shadows, a menacing mixture of heat and the need she’d known would follow. “You wouldn’t be playing me again, now would you, Siren?”
She rested her hands on her hips, stepped wider to form what she knew was a very attractive V with her lower body. The cool air tightened her nipples, the moonlight accentuated her curves. She cocked her head and pulled up her sexiest Cheshire Cat grin. “Me? I’m done playing. How about you, cowboy? You said when I was ready to ride to tell you. Well, I’m ready.”
For a heartbeat neither of them moved, and then before she could gasp he was across the floor, tugging her tight against his rock-hard chest, drawing her mouth up to his, and claiming her lips as if they were his own.
Heat replaced chill. Need circumvented want. Electricity jolted through her entire body, forcing out common sense. She grasped his thin henley in both hands, slid her tongue into his mouth to tangle with his, used her grip to lever herself up when his hands rushed down to her ass and he lifted her.
“Orpheus—”