Sexy Beast

by Ella James

  I see his teeth gleam in the dark. It’s first time I’ve ever seen him smile. “Yes, I have a private lift to the house if I want to use it, but I usually climb or have my pilot drop me there. Skiing or snowmobiling is the only way to get down.”

  “That’s amazing.” I mean it. I am in awe of everything he’s built here. So why does it make me sad, somehow, too? I shake my head. Time to get out of the water before my brain cooks.

  I grit my teeth and then surge out of the water at once. I’m released from the heat before it can really scald me, the water sluicing off me in what feel like streams of electric eels. It’s painful and exhilarating at once, and I perch at the lip of the tub, my skin literally steaming. I’m still so heated, though, I don’t feel even a little of the cold air. I pull in deep breaths. The air is so thin and clean up here that my heads feels light.

  “So why the party? Was this week a way for you to venture out, or are you just counting the days before you go back into hiding?”

  “Hiding?” He repeats the word on a cough.

  I smile and pat my skin with the fluffy towel Jillian gave me and look up at the sky. “You didn’t build a resort. You built a fortress. Was that her idea or yours?”

  The stars are twinkling and moving. A little too fast, in fact. I try to plant my hands, but I’m moving, too. I see James lurch forward.

  He catches me up in his arms, and it’s only then I realize I must have gotten punch-drunk and dizzy from the heat of the tub. I feel James’s hands pass over my body, over my suit, carefully probing. Finding no broken bones or soft bits where there shouldn’t be, he sets me on my feet and wraps the towel around my shoulders.

  “Okay, plant your feet and give it a second. Hell of a head rush, climbing out, if you get overheated.” He’s solicitously rubbing the towel over my skin, patting me dry.

  The world has stopped spinning, but that doesn’t mean something’s not still scrambling my senses. Everywhere he touches me feels like an electric shock.

  My light head spins in a heady heightening of my senses. He smells wonderful—masculine and clean, like rich cologne and male—and his hands, cupping my shoulders, are big and strong. Something tightens in my belly, and I want him. Oh God. Days of tension have me drawn so taut, I feel a swelling sensation between my legs, a kind of heaviness—and I know I’m getting wet for him. I want him to peel the towel back and brush a big hand under the fabric of my bikini bottoms. I want his strong fingers to part my lips and dip into that sweet spot…

  “James.” I pant his name.

  His eyes widen just slightly. Then his face darkens. “I don’t pay for sex, Darcy.”

  I run a hand along the nape of his neck. “What bothers you more, James? That you don’t want to pay for sex, or that you want me even so?”

  Because he’s standing so close to my hip, I can feel the effect that little taunt has on the Ice King’s composure. A certain part of him goes stiff as ice, and not from cold.

  My boldness doesn’t go the way of the lightheadedness—now it’s just an excuse to say what I want, to goad him into a reaction. The way he’s holding me to him, and the soft, sensitive feel of my drying skin under the pressure of his wide palms, is just fueling a deep and different heat.

  It’s like watching an out-of-body encounter. I don’t know the drawling, sexy temptress teasing James right now. But for once, the King has nothing to say. I turn and trail my fingertip along his lower lip, and lean in close, still skimming, but not really touching. Not yet.

  “I want you to hear what I’m about to say to you. I want you to pay attention. I know you’re not used to listening to anyone, but I want you to hear me. Are you ready?”

  His gaze flickers to my lips, and then back up to meet mine.

  “You’re paying me to be in this building, not your bed. I know what I’m supposed to do and what you expect of me. But…” I take his hand in mine and bring it to my breast. His hand flexes, and he cups the soft globe in his hand before I rub the center of his palm over my nipple. I jump a little at the sensation, my breath catching. Then I slide his hand down further, leading him to my bikini bottoms, urging his fingertips just past the string tie and over the part of me that’s slick and needy with desire.

  I can feel the moment his control snaps—the way his fingers part my slit. Both of us exhale at the same moment.

  I grab his wrist. “You did that, James.” My voice shakes as he strokes toward my center, skating in the slickness. “You can’t pay for that,” I whisper.

  He teases at my entrance. I want to push his hand against me. God, I want his fingers in me.

  With every bit of self-control I have, I tug his wrist, urging him away from where I really want him.

  My legs are trembling as I watch him suck a deep breath back. “Darcy.”

  “James?” I want to tease, but it sounds ragged. “James—I told you what you’re paying for, and then I showed you what you’re not. Decide what you want and let me know. Good night.”

  I don’t intentionally twitch my ass as I walk away from him, but I can’t promise that it didn’t happen anyway.

  Chapter Six

  The next day there’s no note from James or anyone else slipped under my door. I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or not. Scratch that, I know damn well that I am disappointed there’s no note from him. Still, I know from the printed itinerary there’s a very important black-tie party tonight. I tell myself that I should just focus on doing my job rather than doing my boss. It doesn’t help that my job is supposed to be doing my boss, but whatever.

  My skin feels soft and flushed after the heated bath last night. Even more so when I remember the feeling of his fingers tracing down my slit.

  I was too worked up to really savor his touch, but there was no barrier between his eyes and mine, or the tautness in his shoulders and chest as he pressed me closer. I’ve never reacted so strongly a man—but then James has an intensity I wasn’t expecting.

  I spread my legs under the satin sheets, relishing the smooth feel of the fabric gliding over the insides of my thighs. I shut my eyes and try to feel the weight of his fingers atop my pussy…the way he parted my lips and delved into the slickness. God, how much I wanted him to slide a finger inside… I want to feel full of him, wanted to grind myself against his big hand.

  It’s as if he flipped a switch inside me and now everything that touches me is dialing up the volume, slow but steady. In the light of day it feels less shadowy and complicated than it did last night. I told him that I understood that he was paying me to be in the building, not in his bed. So what do I have to lose by showing him I’m a flesh-and-blood woman willing to act on our attraction?

  You could lose your job, I reason with myself.

  Well, there’s that.

  Filled with sudden energy, I hop out of the bed and stalk to the closet, throwing door open and peering at the wardrobe Rina sent with me. The woman knows her stuff, and almost everything she chose is tastefully tailored, slitted, transparent, or flowing, but all of it, every piece, is chosen and designed to seduce. My job is to be beautiful. If nothing else, I’m going to take pride in that.

  The party is in full swing when I arrive. I see James across the room—that man is impossible to miss—but I smile when I’m certain that he’s seen me too. The heated look in his eyes when I take my first step into the room is impossible to miss.

  I chose a draped gown with a sensual, soft fabric that almost perfectly matches my skin, with a slit so high on my hip that the cameramen are playing a not-so-surreptitious game of “is she or isn’t she wearing…?” every time I step. Answer: I am, but the thong is sheer and an exact match for my skin, too. The back of the dress is also draped low, so that the fabric floats while straps crisscross my bare back. Sexy as it sounds, all the naughty bits are covered precisely, perfectly, and it’s just the illusion of the fabric that makes is seem dangerous. And…well, it is naughty, but who cares? The way James watches me as I cross the room to him—not
just appreciating but tracking me like prey? I’ve never felt this sexy in my life. And with every step, I keep my eyes locked to his to make sure he knows everything about me tonight is for him.

  He takes my arm without speaking, though his eyes don’t leave mine. And, still wordless, he tucks me into his arm as though I’ve always been there. I feel his fingertips brush my skin, and I shiver lightly as we walk together and begin a round of greetings to guests.

  I don’t know how many compliments we field for “how handsome a couple” we look together. Each time, I feel James’s hand drop to my hip and rest lightly before he continues his conversation. There’s no freezing tonight, none of the discomfort I felt in him before. Conversation is light over the music, some people dancing, most mingling. Wherever we go, he tucks me into the hollow of his shoulder or leaves an arm around me. This is the most we’ve ever touched in public, and the feeling is exhilarating and different.

  James shocks me again when a violin begins a slow, sensual melody, and he holds his hand out to me.

  With a few years of social dance lessons and many weddings behind me, I recognize the Latin tune. “The Ice King can tango?” I ask, not quite trusting the hand he’s gallantly holding out to me. He distracts me by brushing his fingers just inside the small of my wrist and then circling it. When I take his hand, I feel the slow, sure pass of his other hand on the small of my back, just inside the fabric that’s draped over my ass. He tugs and, just like that, our bodies press together. His arms are steel bands around me, his hip hard as they brush against mine. Without thinking, I playfully hook my leg over and behind his. He catches my eye, though, serious.

  “Do you feel my hand at your back, Darcy?”

  I’m a little breathless when I answer. “Yes.”

  “When you feel that, it means you move in close to me like this. When I touch you, you come to me. You understand?”

  My mouth goes dry. I swallow. “Yes, James.”

  “Good girl.”

  He moves me across the floor in two graceful turns, and just as he told me, when I feel his hand brush the small of my back, I move in close to him. We move and sway together in another series of slow steps, and then he snaps closer and finesses my body into a low, sweeping dip. When his palms cup my body on either side of my rib cage in a sweeping arch, I’m not the only indrawn breath of surprise in the room. The steps are simple—no springy fan kicks or barrel rolls—just a tight, concise circuit to prove that my body is a match for his. That I follow him and fit him, in every way.

  The music ends, and to my surprise, the entire room breaks into applause. Our little performance has stopped the guests in their tracks. I can feel the deep blush rise in my cheeks; I’m never the center of this kind of attention. And what about James?

  He hasn’t frozen again. Far from it. He gives a playful half-bow then holds his hand out like a showman, urging the crowd to continue the applause for me. It’s not possible for me to feel more self-conscious than I do this minute, but I’m also still smiling. Now he holds a hand up for silence, gesturing to everyone that he has a few words to say. One of the staff rushes over with a mic, but James waves him away and addresses everyone in a booming voice.

  “Thank you all for being here for the opening week at Harrington Ridge. Keep the music playing and the wine flowing, but don’t get too crazy on my slopes.” People laugh good-naturedly as James fake glowers at everyone, and then he holds his hand out once again, to me. “Darcy, would you join me, please?”

  I try to keep my face neutral and smiling as I move out to meet him, but I don’t pay attention to much of anything else when, once again, I feel his palm make contact with the small of my back. James wraps up his short speech, and I smile and wave as everyone applauds, but I only have eyes for him. The music resumes, and his gaze returns to me.

  “Do you feel my hand, Darcy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember what it means?”

  How could I forget? But I still stop, unsure. I don’t want to mess this up and read his signs the wrong way.

  “Does that mean you…that we—”

  He only grins before he takes my hand and pulls me off the dance floor. Our eyes meet and the next second my hip is pressed to his, and we’re gliding out the door.

  Chapter Seven

  I follow him through what seems like an endless maze of corridors. Some of the resort I’ve seen before, other parts I don’t recognize at all. Finally, we step into a small, hidden elevator; when the doors open, he leads me down a broad corridor to a large, oak-paneled door.

  He walks in ahead of me, and I see a cavernous, luxuriously appointed room done in leather and rich burgundies. Rather than the lights coming on, they go out, plunging the room into pitch dark.

  I follow him a few steps in, and the door shuts behind me. I pass a hand in front of my eyes, and I can’t even see it. I still, listening. Unsure in the dark. Turning around, I see and hear nothing.

  “James?” I whisper.

  Off balance, I stop moving. I sense nothing but space and black around me—the ceilings must be twenty feet high. Finally, I hear a small click and muffled whirring sound behind me, and I spin around.

  Floor-to-ceiling panels along the farthest wall are opening, revealing a massive sheet of window glass, through which soft moonlight floods the room. It’s only a half-moon, but the gentle glow is reflecting off the sparkling snow outside. The panels continue rolling open, and everything in the room is lit with an ethereal light. The view is breathtaking. I’m drawn to it, staring out into the frigid beauty of the mountains. Only the glass separates me from the ice that’s glistening like diamonds. I reach out and touch my fingertips to the glass, feeling like I’m floating alone in the light.

  Then suddenly, I feel James’s body press behind mine. He must have shed his jacket, because I can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. He presses his right hand to the back of mine until my palm is flat against the glass, and then I feel his left arm steal around my waist, his shirtfront teasing my bare back, the hardness of him pressed against my backside.

  I shudder at the tickle of his breath on my skin, at the scrape of his barely-there beard as he buries his face into the soft hollow between my neck and shoulder. I’m trapped between his body and the glass, and the only reason my legs don’t buckle is because he’s holding me up.

  The high slit and low back of my dress is perfect access for his hands. He’s still pressing my right hand to the glass with his own, pinning me at that one place while he explores my body with his left, his hand darting in briefly to pinch my nipples through the lace cups, then out and down to trace the line of my thong panties high on my hip. I feel him nudge my feet further apart, his warm palm on my belly, positioning me so my bottom is cocked up higher. Propped just so, I can feel his thick erection straining at the layers of our clothes. I can’t help myself: I grind my ass against what feels like a rock ledge in his pants.

  “Fuck.”

  His low groan makes me bolder. I slip my left hand behind me, cupping him through his dress pants. With a sharp hiss, he traps my arm between our bodies and opens his mouth on my neck, ruthlessly pressing me into the glass as he tongues my sensitive skin. I feel him grind against my ass, and I push back. My pussy throbs, swollen and needy behind the thin strip of my panties. I want him inside me. God, I’ve never felt like this before.

  It’s like he reads my mind when his hand slips back through the slit of my dress and finally, finally dips between my thighs. My body is still for a moment, enraptured by his touch as he pushes my panties aside and drags a thick finger between my swollen lips. I hear his breath catch as he finds my slickest spot. My legs shake as he presses two firm fingers into me, making me pant.

  I feel his teeth sink into my earlobe. He gives it a gentle suck, and at that very moment, his fingertip strokes the hot bead of my clit.

  I jump. “Oh!”

  I rub myself against his hand, and with his finger trailing ci
rcles around my clit, he pushes the other two deeper into my cunt.

  “Oh God!”

  I clamp my thighs together, moaning as I come undone atop his probing hand.

  I wrestle my arm back and clamp my hand over his as he continues fucking me with magic fingers. God, he knows just where to press, just when to tease and when to thrust his fingers so deeply I grunt. I have the thought “of course he never pays,” before I’m crying out against the glass, clutching his shirtsleeve with one hand as I thrust my hips desperately, driving him deeper.

  “James.” I whimper his name, and he laughs, the sound a dark rasp.

  “Yes, Darcy?” His breath is hot against my nape as, deep inside, his fingers stroke my G-spot.

  “I’m going to…I’m going to come.” I don’t know what I’m doing. Pleading? Warning?

  “Oh, I know you are, sweetheart.” At that moment, his fingers in me still. I cry out as he dips his tongue into my ear and draws a long lick down my neck.

  “You teased me,” he breathes against my skin. “You shook that perfect little ass in front of me last night to make me want it. Did you want to keep me up all night, fucking my hand and dreaming of that wet cunt?”

  His finger inside me curls, and I gasp. He strokes my clit gently. I can’t stop panting.

  “Now who’s moaning? Now who’s gonna come, hmm?”

  As he murmurs in my ear, his fingers in my pussy surge still deeper. I’m stretched wide and filled so deeply that I’ve lost my mind. I can feel his cock against my ass, making my cunt spasm around his hands as I come so hard that I lose track of time and space and only know the overwhelming bliss of coming on his long, strong fingers.

  Dimly, I feel his cheek against my hair as his cock rubs against my ass. I feel another pulse of desire even as I’m shaking, my cheek pressed against the glass.

  “So fucking sexy...” I catch only a little of what he’s saying, words whispered low behind me as I come back to my senses. Both his hands are roving now, over my breasts and hips, inching the dress higher on my legs so he can stroke my thighs. I turn slightly and reach behind me, arching my back as I sink my fingers into his hair and jerk him closer. Twisting back over one shoulder, my lips go seeking and find his. And I realize, dimly, and then with a shock, that this is our first kiss.