The Ice Princess (6 page)

She stared at the table. "I was with him for almost a year before another man, a wealthy merchant, offered to keep me. In al I had five different protectors,

each one more important and richer than the last, and I was able to tel my sister she need not walk the streets of London anymore. That she could retire

from that life because I now had enough money to support us both."

She sounded proud, and he could understand now why she might be.

"Why did you decide to come to Aphrodite's Grotto?" He watched as her fingers brushed over the scar in her right eyebrow.

"My last protector was a very jealous man. A woman—a rival of mine—told him I was seeing other men. He . . ." Her voice trailed away for a moment, and

then she straightened and looked him in the eye defiantly. "He beat me. Quite badly, in fact. I thought he might kil me. After that I came t o Aphrodite's

Grotto. I'd rather be with a different man each night than let myself be under the power of one man." He swal owed, beating down rage at the unknown man

who had hurt her so. "And now?"

She attempted to withdraw her fingers, but he held tight. Damned if he'd let her retreat. "Now? Now I am the Aphrodite o f the most infamous brothel in

London, sir. What else do you think? " He was in no mood for her teasing. "Do you whore yourself now?" Her elegant head reared back and an ugly sneer

twisted her lips. "Of course I—"

He shook their joined hands. "Cut line, Coral. Tel me the truth." Something vulnerable flashed behind her eyes and he wondered if she'd dare tel him the

truth.

Then she sighed, the sound weary and lost. "I haven't entertained a man in two years. I haven't had to—I am the Aphrodite."

"Except for me," he reminded her.

"Is that what I'm doing with you?" she cocked her head, a sad whimsical smile on her face. "Am I truly entertaining you?"

"I enjoy my time with you," he said careful y. This was new ground, fragile and uncertain. He didn't want to make a false move. Didn't want to destroy this

new journey. "I like talking with you, like sitting here with you. In that way I am entertained. Whether or not I am like your customers in other ways as wel , I

don't know. I hope not. I hope this is something different and new for you, but I think that is for you to decide."

She stood, gently disentangling their hands, and came around the table to stand before him. He moved his chair so that he faced her.

"You
are
different." She lifted a hand to delicately trace his hairline. He closed his eyes, feeling her fingers tremble against his skin.

"For whatever reason," she said softly, "when you are with me, you are simply Isaac and I am Coral."

And he felt her lips against his. Lightly, no more than the brush of a moth's wings. Her breath fanned against his mouth, hesitant and sweet. He curled his

hands about the chair's seat, fearful of grabbing her. Fearful of breaking this fragile bond. She grew bolder, pressing her lips, stil close-mouthed to his. He

opened his lips slowly, savoring her, not wanting to frighten her. He licked across her mouth and tasted wine and woman. His pulse beat heavy in his body.

He wanted to take her into his lap, to open her dress and feel al that smooth, pale skin. But when she drew back he made no move to stop her.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, Coral Smythe, this mysterious woman he seemed to know so wel now, and asked the only thing he could.

"What now?"

So the soldier set off for the home of the Ice Princess. He journeyed through
forests and mountains, tundra and bare ice, tramping along with a bag

over
his shoulder and worn boots upon his feet. He was attacked by lions, chased by
bandits, and spent the night with more than one wise hermit. And

as he
neared the Ice Princess' palace he began to hear her song, high and sweet, and
so very, very lonely. . . .

--from
The Ice Princess

Coral glanced into the mirror and smoothed her already perfect coiffure. She'd waited on innumerable men in her career, but for some reason, the wait

tonight for Isaac was making her as nervous as a cat strol ing through a pack of dogs.

She let her hands fal on a sigh of frustration. Oh, why not admit the truth? Isaac wasn't like al the other men she'd lured and ensnared over the years.

Isaac was important.

Which was perhaps why she'd cut short their tête-à-tête last night in an uncharacteristic fluster. She just didn't know what to make of the man. How to act,

how to present herself. He seemed to see right through her usual wiles—
damn
him. He made her feel wretchedly gauche, and at the same time the mere

sight of him caused her heart to jump and skitter, made her lips curve in a sil y smile.

Good Lord, she was turning into a ninny.

A discreet knock came at her door and she whirled, that idiot smile attacking her face. She fought it back fiercely, took a deep breath, and glided across

the room to open the door. The sight of Isaac's grave, handsome face was like a physical blow. He wore his naval uniform—

crisp white, dark blue, black, and gold—and his black hair was pul ed back into a severe queue. Her heart started skittering, whether she wil ed it or no, a

tempo that increased, keeping time with her mounting excitement. She wanted to muss his uniform, take apart that tight queue and run her fingers through

his hair. And why not? Wasn't that the inevitable conclusion to this game they played? Why not simply accept fate?

The only problem would be to keep herself intact as she gave into her urges. She knew she trembled on the edge of an abyss, and if she fel ... wel , there

would be no climbing out of
that
particular pit. But she pushed that thought aside as she stood back to let him in. She'd bedded many men in her lifetime.

He was just one more.

Now, if only she could convince her heart of that.

He threw his cloak over a chair and started to speak, but she was done with their dancing. She stepped close to him and, standing on tiptoe, reached up

to bring his face down to her level.

She kissed him.

Ah, this was better. A part of her calmed at the touch of her lips on his, even as her belly clenched in need. His lips were firm yet supple, yielding to her

pressure without surrendering. She was surprised—

and a little embarrassed—by her own moan. It was the man who was supposed to yearn and lose control. She was the Aphrodite. She was immune to

sexual heat.

Except that with him she was not.

She pul ed back at the thought, suddenly frightened. Isaac looked down at her, his lips a little reddened by their kiss, but his eyes stil alert and watchful. As

if he merely waited for her next move. The sight piqued her. He should not be more calm than she. She'd make him feel, damn him, she'd make him lose

control.

She reached up and pulled his queue forward across his shoulder. Then she unwound the inky black strands, spreading them, sifting them with her

fingers, playing like a cat with string. Al during this he stood silent and stil and let her tease. When she was done she fanned his unbound hair over his

shoulders and examined him. He looked like a pirate—in a naval officer's uniform. She frowned at his clothes and untied his black neckcloth, pulling it

free. She threw it to the floor, prompting a frown from him.

That hint of disapproval delighted her.

She attacked his coat and waistcoat next, throwing the one on the bed and the other perilously near the fire, but he was stubbornly impassive. He began

to crack, though, when she pul ed his shirt off. Unfortunately, so did she.

He was so finely built. She ran her palms over him slowly, unable to suppress the desire to touch him. His shoulders were broad—so broad—and muscled

from years of living at sea. She was used to rich men, men who would rather cut off their hand than do physical labor. Their flesh was soft, white, almost

feminine. Isaac could never be mistaken for a female. His body was hard, the planes of his chest scattered with black curls of hair, and tanned as if he

doffed his shirt to work when at sea. She flexed her fingers, digging her fingernails just a bit into his muscled chest.

"Careful," he murmured.

She looked at him under her eyelashes. "Do you real y want me to be careful?"

A corner of his mouth twitched. "Maybe not."

She gently pushed him, shoving him backward toward the bed. She was under no il usion that she physical y overpowered him--that was impossible—but

he let her play at dominance. He sat on the edge of the bed and she crawled up into his lap, curling there like a cat seeking his warmth. She laid one arm

across the back of his shoulders and used the palm of her other hand to tilt his face toward her. Her heart skipped at his look. With his hair sliding about

his bare shoulders, and his black eyes glittering under lowered brows, he looked a barbarian—

a man who could seize her and carry her away to some waiting ship. He was powerful and male and her chest ached suddenly. She wanted him. Wanted

him forever.

But that was fol y.

So she smiled slowly—a seductive smile she'd first practiced at the age of fifteen—and laid her mouth against his. Her lips were trembling just a bit, but

he made no comment, only sat and let her play her tongue in his mouth. She could become drunk on his taste. Forget time and place and simply live in the

moment—if she dared. She bit his bottom lip and at the same time drew her nails across his chest.

He caught her hand. "Sheath your claws, madam." She pul ed her hand from his grasp and with her eyes locked with his scraped one nail gently over his

nipple.

He sucked in a breath.

She lowered her head, hiding her smile of triumph as she sweetly kissed his other nipple. She could feel him go stil beneath her, so she used the flat of

her tongue to tease that smal part of him.

"Coral," he growled, the sound resonating against her lips. She looked up through her eyelashes and nearly forgot what she was about. His sensuous lips

were slightly parted, his head tilted back, and those black eyes for the moment closed. She pursed her lips around his nipple and sucked.

He swore then, low and foul, and she felt herself contract at the sound. To make a man like this lose control was simply heady. She twisted on his lap

—swiftly and not particularly graceful y. She'd lost some of her own control, but she didn't let herself think about that. Instead she gathered her skirts, pul ing

and yanking, until underneath her bare bottom was against him.

He opened his black eyes, staring at her. His thick brows were drawn together as if he meant to reprimand her, but he seemed distracted. She smiled

and wriggled her hands underneath the froth of her skirts, seeking and finding the fall of his trousers. Delicately—
expertly
—she unbuttoned him until his

flesh surged unrestrained into her hands. She stared into his dark eyes as she held him. He hadn't changed expression, but a muscle ticked on his jaw,

giving lie to his seeming unconcern.

She ran her fingers up his length, measuring, testing, the penis she couldn't see. "I want you. I want your cock inside of me." He blinked and suddenly she

saw sorrow at the back of his eyes.

"Coral . . ."

No.
No.
She would not let him pity her. She rose up on her knees—

braced on either side of him on the bed—and came down unerringly on his penis, taking him into her an inch or so.

He had his hands on either side of her waist as if to stop her—and he could have had he wanted to. But his cock was already lodged within her, pushing

into her sensitive flesh, and she'd yet to meet a man wil ing to disengage at such a moment.

She looked down at him—feeling triumph, feeling loss—and pushed against his flesh. She stil held him upright with one hand, but with one last shove she

took him ful y and her hand fel away. He was inside her—al of him. She nestled against him, sex against sex, in the most intimate of human positions. Yet

she was stil ful y clothed and her skirt covered them both. Had someone entered they would not know for certain what went on under her skirts.

She bent her head and licked his nipple. "Do you like this?" He bared his teeth to her.

Her heart jumped and she laughed—a nervous puff of sound. She braced her hands on his shoulders and rose, just enough, not too much—she knew the

exact
amount—and let him slide from her. His nostrils flared as she reseated herself, swiveling her hips a little, making them both gasp with the force of

their rejoining.

"Do you like this?" she panted, rising again.

He shook his head, but she hardly thought he meant for her to quit. She set a rhythm, fast and sure and entirely unstoppable. He was hard and slick now

with her moisture, and with every downward stroke he widened her, rubbing against her clitoris. Warmth was spreading through her pelvis and she could

feel the slide of sweat down the middle of her back. That part she'd always disliked, but she barely noticed it with him.

This was different somehow from al the other times.
He
was different. And he would not break. Even when she rode him hard, using al her considerable

talent, even when the sweat stood on his upper lip and he grit his teeth.

Why wouldn't he break? "Do you like this?" she demanded. And he arched his hips suddenly, taking her clean off the bed, embedding himself into so

deep she swore she felt him brush her womb. He threw back his head and grunted, the muscles on his arms bunching a s he gripped her waist. He

opened his eyes and stared at her as she felt his semen fil her to overflowing, felt his cock jerk inside her again and again.