Hot Ice (21 page)

His lips twitched. "I'm sure if one word of that fairy tale were true, that would've been the case."

"Damn." Taylor smiled at him as she curled her legs under her. Lord. How could she resist a man who
got
her? "What gave me away? It was the lions, wasn't it?"

"I'm sure," he said quietly, "that if you truly wanted me to believe that story, I
would
have believed it. You're too damn good to slip up."

"I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing." She was intrigued by the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he was amused, yet he refused to crack a smile. She cocked her head. "Do you ever laugh?"

"If something is amusing."

There was… what? A lessening of tension around his eyes? A warming of the familiar permafrost? "When was the last time you found something amusing?"

A glint flickered in his winter-gray eyes. Intrigued, she suspected he was secretly amused, yet his expression remained grave. "Your story was pretty damn funny."

Taylor leaned back, her smile widening. "I certainly enjoyed it."

"If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?"

Her smile slipped a little. "Completely?" When had she last told the truth to anyone other than a member of Consolidated's Super Hush-Hush Recovery committee? A long, long time ago. She was far more adept at fabrication than truth. "In my line of work the truth doesn't come up that often."

This was the first time in over ten years that Taylor had been tempted to spill every secret she had.
Tempted
. But she wasn't foolish.

"Now would be an excellent time to start," Hunt said, not moving. "And yes. Completely."

"How about
mostly
?"

He inclined his head slightly, dark hair glossy in the muted light. "
Why
do you steal?"
The accent was back. He was back to being annoyed
. "Surely to God you must have more than enough bloody money for fifty lifetimes by now."

Taylor met his gaze with a level look of her own. "I make five percent of what I retrieve."

"Retrieve…" His eyes glittered. "
Insurance
. Jesus bloody Christ. You work for an
insurance
company? You might have
mentioned
—"

"Underwriters. A group of European gentlemen," she told him, "who prefer to remain anonymous. And the job title on my business card reads 'International Real Estate Broker.' "

"How long?"

Taylor shrugged. "Close to ten years now."

He sat up straighter. "And where the bloody hell was this group of '
European gentlemen'
when you were being beaten senseless in a San Cristóbal jail?"

"They aren't responsible for my well-being," she told him, puzzled by his anger. "I was the one who got caught."

She saw a muscle clench in his lean jaw. "You could have
died
in that hellhole."

"Thanks to you," she said lightly, "I
didn't
."

"Do you know how much fu—how much frigging
time
you could have saved by just telling me who you were and what you were doing in Morales's safe?" he asked with lethal fury.

"I didn't know who
you
were," she pointed out reasonably. "I had absolutely no reason to trust you, and plenty of reason not to."

"Do you trust
anyone
?" he asked flatly. "Anyone at all?"

Taylor frowned. "I don't understand you. Why are you so livid? We played the game. I forfeited. You won."

"Answer the question."

"No," she told him, baffled by the question, and his anger. "There's no one I trust." His expression was back to being inscrutable. "About the same amount of people
you
trust," she added lightly. "Right?"

He rose to tower over her, blocking out the light. Taylor's heart leapt into her throat as she looked up at him.

Hunt wanted to strike something.
Hard
. "There might only be a handful," he told her. "But there
are
people I trust."

Jesus bloody Christ. There was
no one
she trusted? No one she could depend on? No one guarding her back when she risked life and limb for some lifeless cold pieces of metal and stone?

Worse. She clearly didn't
expect
it to be any
other
way. She was bloody
fine
with it. With remarkable restraint, Hunt reached down, slid his hand under her silky hair, and curled his fingers around her nape. Her eyes widened as he pulled her to her feet, his gentleness in inverse proportion to what he was feeling. Which was wild. Primitive. Feral.

Anticipation, not fear, showed on her face as she rose on her toes so they were almost eye-to-eye. Air locked in his lungs as he looked his fill. He wanted to put his mouth against the rapid pulse beating at the base of her throat. He wanted to take her down on the floor and fill his hands with her soft pale flesh.

"Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?" she asked, unaware, or uncaring of his mood. Her pretty mouth curved into a smile as she stood on her toes, sliding her palms up his arms for balance. "After
I
tell
you
everything,
I'd
have to kill y—
Mmmph
!"

He took her mouth in a slow, soft, drugging kiss. The kiss was inevitable. Predestined. She let him in, her breath soft on his face. He kissed her lightly. A brush of lips. An exchange of air. He threaded his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head to draw her closer. She felt fragile beneath his hands. Slender bones and creamy skin. Agile, well-toned muscles and a quick-thinking mind. None of which would help her if, no,
when
she was finally bloody well
captured
.

He studied her for a long moment.

"That's a pretty ferocious frown, Mr. St. John," she murmured in a husky contralto, sliding her arms about his neck. "Are you contemplating kissing me properly, or killing me?" She pressed her soft feminine roundness against him, and he struggled to restrain his elemental response to her touch.

"Kissing you… improperly." A shudder of need clawed through him, but he did his best to keep his cravings banked as he wrapped an arm about her waist and bent his head, keeping his exploration of her mouth tender. His tongue dueled with hers. God, she tasted sweet. Fiercely, hungrily, he feasted on her mouth, feeling as though he'd never kissed a woman before.

While one hand tangled in her hair, the other spanned the small of her back, his thumb caressed her smooth skin through tissue-thin silk. He was starving to touch bare skin, but kept his hands where they were. Silky hair and the promise of satiny skin. He had to be satisfied with those. For now.

His lips trailed a path across her cheekbone, then he traced a pattern with his tongue around the shell of her ear. She trembled. Her skin heated and warmed as he moved to her closed eyes and pressed a kiss to each lid. Her lashes fluttered against his skin, and the scent of her skin made his head swim.

Hunger, insatiable and not even close to satisfied, made him take her mouth again. A little deeper this time. Slow and deep until she shifted restlessly against him, pale eyes hazy and unfocused…

Chapter Nineteen

Taylor had never experienced anything as profoundly exciting as Hunt's kiss. A sharp, sweet spear of sensation pierced through her entire body as his mouth continued to move over hers.

The lights in the cabin were dim, and the unobtrusive hum of the aircraft surrounded them in a quiet, protective blanket. She loved the heat and taste of his mouth, loved the texture of his tongue playing with hers. The pleasure of touching him, of him touching her, made her shiver with heat. Taylor tightened her arms around him.

Every part of her participated. Lord. It was like drowning. Or being reborn.

In a move so coordinated it could have been choreographed, Hunt started maneuvering her backward without breaking the kiss.
As long as he holds me in his arms, and I stay on my toes
, Taylor thought fuzzily,
I won't fall
.

A door opened behind her. She lifted heavy lids, then blinked to bring her surroundings into focus. A bathroom. A quick flash of bronzed mirror-covered walls, plush carpeting, and soft, golden light. Like the rest of the plane, it was sinfully luxurious despite its small size.

Hunt freed the hand he'd used to cup her skull and reached out to push the door shut, closing them inside. The absolute control he used to close the door
that
quietly was so obvious she almost expected to feel the vibration and hear the sound of it slamming. Instead it closed with a quiet
snick
.

Her heart raced. Knife-edge anticipation. She had a quick flash of all those old black-and-white movies where they lit just the villain's eyes. She shivered, but was too mesmerized to be scared. Although some small, sane part of her brain warned her that she should be. Sizzling mutual awareness rushed in to fill the air between them with heat.

Taylor reached out to touch the pulse beating in his lean, unshaven jaw. He trapped her gaze. She wondered how she had ever thought his gray eyes cold.

"This is what you want." It wasn't a question.

Her "Yes" was soundless. Was there any doubt? She couldn't breathe as electricity arced between them. Want unfurled in her belly, and her pulse throbbed unevenly all over her body.

His mouth caught hers again in a kiss so carnal, so devastating, she went blind and deaf as he ruthlessly used his skill to arouse her to fever pitch. He stroked his tongue into her mouth, slow and deep, until she reciprocated.

They broke apart, breath ragged. His eyes, glittering like fancy black diamonds, pinned her in place as he settled large hands on her hips. Bunching the thin silk of her dress in his fists, he backed her against the counter. Then slowly drew the fabric—inch by maddening inch—up her thighs.

She said his name in a hot, restless, urgent whisper as she clutched his arms for support. The tile was cool against her hips, but Hunt's body was scalding hot as he crowded her. The ridge of his erection pressing against the cleft of her thighs made her dizzy. Fire danced in her veins as his hands skimmed across her bare skin, pulling the bit of red silk over her head and tossing it aside, forgotten. It floated to the floor.

She stood before him wearing two small scraps of sheer red lace and felt a flush of pleasure suffuse her skin at the hot look he gave her.

"God," he said reverently, tracing the upper swells of her pale breasts with the back of his fingers. "I've never seen anything this perfect." His deft, elegant hand moved lower, fingers skimming,
too
gently, as if learning every curvy inch of her.

Taylor's head dropped back as his fingers glided down the damp valley between her breasts, then stroked the blue-veined skin beneath the edge of the demicup bra.

Her nipples, drawn tight and hard by his touch, ached. She fumbled to reach for the clasp.

"Porcelain—" His English accent was back in the ragged, hoarse tone.

"About to shatter," Taylor said brokenly as he took his sweet time undoing the front clasp of her bra, then slowly drew the straps down her arms. It too landed somewhere on the floor. He cupped one breast, moving his thumb cleverly back and forth across the hard distended peak of that nipple until she had to bite her lip not to cry out.