Fire and Ice: A New Adult Erotic Romance Read Online Free Page B

release those thoughts. I don’t want to think about that, about her, at this moment. Not with George holding me so close, his body so warm.
    His thumb strokes my throat, explores the hollow between my collarbones. “Problem is, I keep picturing pigtails and braces, not a woman who speaks three languages.” His mouth moves from my ear, along my cheekbone, to where, at last, his lips meet mine.
    We kiss, tongues meeting, exploring, slow, intimate, heat building, a longing centering deep inside me. And I think: yes, we should take this slow if this is what slow feels like.
    “Also, you know your way around a French kiss,” he adds, his voice barely above a whisper.
    “The advantage of being trilingual,” I say.
    “And then, of course, you landed on my lap.” He curves his hands over my hips. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking of that, what you feel like against me.”
    “I haven’t either,” I confess.
    “If you’d stayed three seconds longer.” He pulls back, just enough so I can see those dark eyes, then presses his hips into mine. “It would’ve been embarrassing, for all.”
    He is hard against me. The trousers of his tuxedo are expertly tailored, and there is very little I need to imagine. I reach a hand down, stroke, and I’m rewarded with his groan.
    “Embarrassing like that?”
    “Just like that.” In retaliation, his hand inches lower and soon his fingers find the slit in my bridesmaid skirt. It’s a daring look, the slit reaching to mid-thigh, the style that Athena chose specifically for this sort of occasion.
    “If you can’t have fun at the reception in this,” she told us. “You’re not trying hard enough.”
    The skirt falls away, exposing the top of my stocking, the lace band that holds it in place—just barely—and the bare skin above that. Further up, he’ll discover red silk bikinis. Some of the other bridesmaids have gone commando, but this is not something I plan to tell George.
    His mouth finds my throat the moment his fingertips meet skin. He inches his other hand up the bodice, beneath the bolero jacket, and discovers my nipple is already hard beneath the velvet that covers my breasts. And that swath of silk between my legs?
    Already wet.
    “Jesus,” he murmurs against my ear, his fingers toying with the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. “Do you want me as badly as I want you?”
    I manage a nod. When he brushes between my legs, he knows I’m not lying. His touch is so hot; I’m so hot. At last, like all the ice inside me has melted. I can’t help it. I whimper.
    “Peri.” He eases his hand away.
    “No!”
    And now he chuckles, his palm against me, an easy back and forth that will drive me to distraction.
    “It’s just … been a while, is all,” I say.
    “Oh. I see.” His hand stills, his words grow more serious. “Mr. dark and gloomy?”
    I give a halfhearted laugh. “Yes. Him.”
    “He’s the past.”
    It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Very much.”
    “Did he hurt you?”
    This is a question, and one my mouth is unwilling to answer. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
    “Then we won’t,” he says. “We’ll pretend he doesn’t exist. We’ll pretend the reception doesn’t exist, although I’m pretty sure I have some sort of best man obligations I haven’t fulfilled.”
    “I’m probably supposed to be helping you with those.”
    His lips find my temple, his words spoken against my skin, his lips unbearably hot. “Do you think they’ll mind if we slip away for a bit?”
    “I think they’re expecting it.”
    George laughs again, quiet, controlled. “We think alike.”
    He adjusts my skirt, straightens my jacket. His fingers are laced with mine, and we have taken the first steps away from the reception, the music, the chatter, when footfalls echo behind us.
    “There you guys are!” David stands at the threshold of the reception area, light from the party silhouetting his form. He braces an arm against the wall, his