Melody Anne - Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Foreplay.

Her eyes widened.

She couldn’t stop looking at those lips, wondering if they’d feel the same or she’d be in for a huge disappointment. After all, it was a decade ago, and she’d changed. So had he. Innocence and illusions were gone. The kiss had probably been blown up in her memory as something untouchable. Right?

“Do you believe me, Riley?” His voice caressed her name in a low, deep rumble. Her breath hitched, and suddenly she was burning up in her chair, desperate to touch him.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Those beastly erotic eyes burned across the table and held her captive. “You know a lot of fighting is well documented to be an indicator of repressed sexual attraction.”

Usually she’d treat him to a withering remark, or a derisive snort. Instead, her tongue remained glued to the roof of her mouth. She sat helplessly still in her chair, unable to move.

Because he was right.

There was some type of attraction between them. Maybe lust. He may not be suited to be her husband, or fit in her box, but Dylan McCray made her want. Bad things. Dirty things.

They were stuck together overnight, while a blizzard raged outside. She was a bit tipsy from the wine. They dined in a gorgeous room with a cozy fire. All the pieces slid together, and in that one blinding instant, she wanted to give herself this one night. If she offered, would he take her up on it? Was every step of banter up to now leading to this?

One night of reckless passion and abandonment. Her skin tingled from the thought. Did she dare? Her mind spun with the possibilities, caught on the precipice of impulse and reasoning, and then the final, irrevocable element locked in her decision.

The lights went out.

Something was happening.

The lights snuffed out and Dylan was left in the dark, sporting a mental fog and a massive erection. She completely entranced him with her quick-witted dialogue, more intoxicating than whiskey and more of a turn-on than a Sports Illustrated cover model.

The memory of her as a young girl was a faint shimmer of the woman she’d become. Magnificent. How many dates had he been on and been disappointed? Too many to count. Always needing more . . . wanting more . . . yet not able to figure out what the elusive element was.

Until now.

Riley was spit and vinegar, smart and sassy, and he wanted her. Under him. Over him. In his house, and his bed.

Tonight.

Dylan finally managed to speak. “Guess those candles were a good idea after all.”

Her husky laugh stroked his ears and other places. Shadows fell on the wall and played. Her silhouette from the fire and candlelight illuminated her in a fiery glow. The thoughts of what he wanted to do with her, to her, made his gut clench and his dick stretch uncomfortably against his jeans. Now he just had to convince her to play.

Dylan rose, taking one of the candelabras to the other end of the table. “Are you okay?”

She tilted her head. God, she was beautiful. The burgundy in her hair, the soft violet of her eyes, the redness of her lips. The deep V neck of her sweater tempted him to taste the tender flesh there, pull down her sweater to bare her breasts. Suck and bite her nipples until she grabbed his shoulders and cried out his name.

She seemed to catch the vibe in the air and trembled. So close. Her barriers were shifting, opening, allowing just a tiny access point where he intended to jump right in. Timing was everything.

Yes, she was just as aware of him as he was of her. They’d always had a strange physical chemistry that battled with their verbal and mental clashes. Maybe that’s what made it so damn hot.

“For being trapped in spook mansion with no lights in a blizzard? I’m peachy.”

“I have a backup generator. Need to go put it on.”

She stretched out her legs with a languorous air and propped one elbow on the table. “I don’t know. It sets the mood.”

Dylan stiffened. Was she flirting? He’d planned on trying to seduce her, but Riley Fox always seemed to switch things up. He got off on trying to anticipate her next move. “Mood, huh? We spoke about everything else. Maybe it’s time we talked about the kiss.”

Ah, he’d managed to surprise her. His skin tingled with anticipation. They’d been dancing around each other all night, and it was finally time to get honest. The tension tightened a notch. Her scent enveloped him in a mix of exotic musk and a touch of jasmine—kick-ass and powerful—and not the least bit subtle. Just how he liked it.

He wanted her. There was a reason she was trapped in his house on the night of a blizzard. Kinnections had matched them. It was a sign, and he’d spent most of his life listening to his gut to balance the logic in his head. Too much logic and control caused mistakes. Too much impulse and freedom caused sloppiness.

Balance equaled success.

Riley had it all along or she’d never been able to build her business. Somewhere on her journey, she trusted her gut to make bold decisions that didn’t make sense on paper. He knew well the ugliness out in the world when dealing with money and power, and no one came away without disillusions. She’d taken hers and made herself stronger. Every part of her fascinated him, and he intended to plumb the depths tonight.

She tapped a finger against her glass. “Surprised you remembered.”

“What if I told you I still dream about that kiss?”

“I’d say I barely put a blip on your radar. You were always happy to move on to the next pretty face and good set of boobs.”

“You’re right. I was too young, raw, and ambitious. I wanted to savor every flavor life threw at me, suck the nectar dry, and have no regrets. And I don’t, Riley. Except for one.”

“What?”

Without breaking her gaze, he dropped in front of her, his hand resting lightly on her knee. Slowly, he parted her legs and knelt between them. Her harsh indrawn breath drifted to his ears in a symphony. Dylan reached out and grabbed a tendril of hair, sliding it between his fingers from root to tip, enjoying the feel of raw silk wrapping itself around him in a tight bind. The thought of her gorgeous hair wrapping around his dick as she pleasured him made a low groan rumble from his throat.

“You,” he said simply.

Shock mingled with an arousal she couldn’t hide, evident in her wide eyes, the tightening of her nipples, the way she squeezed her thighs together mercilessly, as if desperate to keep him from scenting the truth. Dylan bet if he slipped his hand beneath her panties he’d find her wet and willing to do whatever he wanted. The key was getting her mind on board with her very delectable, sensual body.

He sunk both hands into her hair, holding her firmly at the nape of her neck. “That kiss haunted me. Do you know how many times I jerked off to just the memory of your lips over mine, your taste against my tongue? How badly I ached to lay you naked on my bed and take everything you’d give me? Bring you so much pleasure you’d scream and beg me to stop? To continue? To fuck you so thoroughly there’s not another man on the planet you’d be able to touch without thinking of me?”

A shudder wracked her body. He waited for her reaction. Would it be retreat? A scathing remark meant to barb and push? A flirtatious, frustrating cat-and-mouse game?

Instead of retreat, she leaned in, so her breath struck softly against his lips. The heat between them pulled and tantalized. Dylan clawed for control, when all he wanted was to take her mouth, strip her naked, and see how many orgasms it would take to finally get her to surrender. He hoped a lot. He planned on it.

“What makes you so sure I remember it?” she drawled against his mouth.

His dick wept for mercy. The primitive male in him roared to take her and show her the truth. Instead, with an inch between their lips, he smiled real slow.

“I’m betting you thought about that kiss, too. Late at night. Under the covers. Wet and aching for me. Let’s finish what we started. Let me take you to my bed.”

In his wettest, wildest imagination, Dylan never would’ve believed the woman could raise the stakes so high and so fast. Yet, in typical fashion, she managed to blow him away.

Her voice was a husky whisper of smoke and temptation. “Why? I see a perfectly good table in front of you.” His hands tightened brutally in her hair. “Do you have the guts to use it?”

Dylan waited a full beat. Two.

Then slammed his mouth over hers.

The world tumbled in slow motion, then stopped for a brief moment. Her blood rushed in her veins, wetness seeped between her thighs, her pulse pounded with a mad glee, and then he kissed her and it was all over.

She was lost.

A low moan ripped from her throat at contact and his tongue plunged deep. Completely raw, with little finesse and all dark hunger, he invaded her mouth.

The past and present blurred together, but this time, there was no retreat. Meeting him halfway, their tongues tangled and fought in a sensual dual she was happy to lose. He claimed and plundered, pressing her back over the chair until she was stretched out and he loomed over her. His other hand cupped her breast, flicking the tight bud of her nipple. She gripped his shoulders and arched against him, asking for more, and without breaking the kiss, his hand slipped underneath the V neck, under the lace of her bra, and hit bare skin.

Oh, God. It felt so good, his fingers tweaking, causing a lightning bolt to hit straight to her clit, which was so full and desperate for pressure. Never had her body lit up so fast, with just a kiss and simple touch. Usually it took awhile for foreplay to get her going, but holy crap, she was going to come right now if she could just lift her hips a bit and rub—