by Vivi Andrews
“Hey, Frost. You’re late.” Her gaze didn’t waver from Little Vic, but the producer began frantically waving the second camera guy to include him in the shot. “And you’re right that I don’t need the gun. It’s just for symbolic effect.” She smiled darkly. “What do you think, Vic? Is my symbol effective?”
Frost had a feeling the gun was more so she wouldn’t be helpless if he froze her powers again—though he could easily freeze the firing pin so the gun wouldn’t fire.
But Vic didn’t know that. And he didn’t seem confident of which side Frost was on. At the moment, Frost wasn’t one hundred percent certain himself, though he was in favor of making sure no one got shot.
“I can’t tell you,” Vic whimpered, swallowing convulsively and staring at the gun—which just went to show he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. The gun wasn’t the deadliest thing in the room.
“What if I guess? You just give me a signal when I’m getting close,” Kim said. “Does this mystery benefactor have anything to do with that bar you went to the other night when you ditched your camera crew?”
“What?” The producer squawked before slapping a hand over his own mouth and waving for them to proceed.
Frost took advantage of the pause to move closer, so he was in range if he needed to grab Kim and teleport them out of there.
“What was that place called?” Kim pressed. “Tony’s?”
Vic was shaking his head, the twitching of his features making him look even more like a weasel. “It won’t do you any good.”
“So not the bar itself. Someone you were meeting there?”
“You can’t get to him,” Vic insisted, growing more agitated.
Kim gasped, triumph gleaming in her eyes. “So there is a him.”
Only years of stoic practice kept Frost from showing his own surprise. Holy shit. She was right.
“Who is he?” she demanded, leaning forward now. If Vic wanted to get rid of her, he’d just royally screwed himself. Kim Carruthers never gave up when she caught the scent of a hot story in the air.
“No way,” Vic shook his head frantically, falling backward off his stool. “I like my life. I like being alive. We’re done.”
Kim hitched up the gun, wagging it before his eyes. “We’re done when I say we’re done.”
Frost sighed. If not for the cameras, he might have been tempted to let her go on threatening Little Vic, see if the little weasel gave up any more information, but what she was doing was wildly illegal and he couldn’t just stand by and let her continue—no matter how tempting the prospect was.
“How about when I say we’re done?”
The metal of the gun was easy to flash to sub-zero temperatures. Kim hissed out a curse and dropped the weapon before the ice could burn her fingers. Frost caught it one-handed as it fell from her grip, his other arm wrapping around her waist as he hijacked her TK and teleported them both away.
He released her waist, her power, and her gun as soon as they arrived, stumbling a little with the landing as he dropped the revolver on the sofa. He’d taken them to his place this time—and he had every intention of keeping her here if that was what it took to keep her out of trouble.
“Damn it, Frost! He was talking!” she shouted, swinging at him as soon as she caught her footing. “Another five minutes and he would have told me.”
“I’m not going to let you shoot him on national television, Kim.”
“Oh please, the gun wasn’t even loaded.”
Irrational anger surged through him as he snatched up the gun and checked the chamber. Sure enough. Not a single round. He spun back to Kim, waving the empty gun. “What the fuck are you thinking, waving an unloaded gun around?”
“You’d rather I wave a loaded gun around?”
“Yes! I’d rather you didn’t wave guns at all, but this isn’t a symbol or a scare tactic. It’s a weapon. You don’t draw until you’re ready to use it. How is it going to do you any good without bullets?”
“It’s not like I need the gun to be dangerous,” she scoffed, pulling a handful of bullets from her pocket. “I can launch these with my mind almost as fast as a gun can anyway. And even if I pulled the trigger, I could stop the bullet before it exited the barrel, bend the trajectory, send it anywhere I want. A gun is just another projectile for me now, but people respond to the threat of the weapon. They’re conditioned to it. Little Vic was folding—”
“You can’t just pull guns on people. Even if you’re just as dangerous unarmed and even if the gun isn’t loaded. It’s illegal to threaten someone with a firearm, Trouble.”
She folded her arms—only Kim would pout when he scolded her for waving a deadly weapon around. “I can’t stalk him. I can’t threaten him. What am I allowed to do?”
“Legal things,” he growled.
“Legal things like teleporting a girl against her will halfway across the city? Not that I don’t appreciate the dramatic exit, but your timing left something to be desired.” She frowned, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. The view from the forty-seventh floor was quite a change from her own cozy little townhome. “Where are we?”
“My place.”
Her eyes flicked over the clean, designer lines of the condo before she shot him an inscrutable look. “Why?”
“Because apparently you need a keeper.”
“And that’s you, is it? I thought you didn’t want a partner.”
“This isn’t a partnership.”
“Then what is it? A kidnapping? Oh goodie. Number twenty-six. I should have you punch my frequent hostage card.”
“I’m not going to keep you here against your will.” Though technically he could. She was a super who’d broken the law. Having witnessed it, it was his duty as a hero to contain her and bring her to the North Courthouse for booking. “You’ll be lucky if Little Vic doesn’t press charges for tonight.”
“If he does I’ll just be sure to hire the same lawyer who got him off for my kidnapping. That seems fair.”
“Look, I understand that you’re angry—” He took a step toward her, but she backpedaled, arms still folded tight.
“Do you? Gosh, that’s comforting. You understand. Well, that makes it all better then. There’s some unknown asshole out there who’s been rewarding lowlifes for kidnapping me for years without anyone ever investigating it and he might still be after me and I’m completely on my own because no one will help me find him, but hey, Frost understands so that’s okay. Yippee.”
“You aren’t alone.”
“Oh? Because you’re here, is that it?” She flung her arms out and the furniture shuddered, though Frost didn’t think she was aware of the TK ripple that buffeted his chest. “You don’t get to be the hero here, Frost. You left me. You washed your hands of me. So stay gone, damn it! Stop jumping into my life and making it impossible to get over you!”
He blinked, suddenly not sure whether they were talking about recent events or ancient history. “I had to—”
“You chose to,” she cut him off, the words brutal and sharp. “You chose to ignore what we both wanted so you could be the noble one. But you know what, Frost? Leaving the woman you love isn’t heroic. It didn’t create some magic bubble around me so nothing could ever touch me. I was just as vulnerable as ever and you weren’t there to protect me. So, no, you don’t get to waltz into my life now with your goddamn hero rules and your goddamn hero superiority and yell at me for finally being able to protect myself.”
Chapter Nine: The Ice Man Cometh
Frost watched her, taking every shouted word without flinching, his expression as frigidly controlled as ever, muscular arms folded beneath the soft grey hoodie. “You finished?” he asked, his voice a rocky growl, when she ran out of steam.
Shit. She hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t meant to say half of it. But damn, it had felt good. All those things she’d wanted to scream at him for years and she’d finally done it. Take that, Iceman. It was amazing how much
anger you could build up over five years of might-have-beens. She hadn’t been aware of it burning a hole inside her until she let it out. She felt cleaner, clearer, as if a two ton weight had been lifted off her sternum and she could breathe again.
Was she finished?
“Yes. I think I am.”
“Good.”
He crossed the room in two long strides, wrapped one hand around her nape, hauled her forward and kissed her.
Oh mercy.
The contact exploded through her, melting her on a wave of lust from the lips down. He hadn’t admitted he was wrong to leave her. He hadn’t sworn never to do it again. Hell, he hadn’t even apologized for hurting her all those years ago, but right now she didn’t care. All that mattered in this moment was his mouth moving expertly over hers, his hand a brand of ownership at the back of her neck, and the electric shock of achy rightness that streaked through her blood.
God, I missed this.
He waited only long enough to make sure she was with him, kissing him back just as hungrily, then he released her neck, gripping her jacket by both lapels and peeling it back over her shoulders. It tangled around her arms, effectively handcuffing her as the kiss stretched on, deepening and dragging her farther and farther from rational thought. She struggled to free herself from the jacket, wanting to be closer to him, to touch all that delicious muscle, but it seemed to have twisted even more securely around her wrists. Frost cursed against her lips and yanked at the knotted fabric as well—not helping.
How many supers does it take to remove a jacket? Kim barely stopped herself from laughing, not wanting to shatter the gorgeous, searing intensity of the moment. But then she realized Frost was shaking, his entire body trembling—Frost, who never showed emotion, finally broke the kiss to drop his forehead onto her shoulder and let loose a guffaw. Her own giggles escaped.
“I’ve been defeated by a coat,” he grumbled adorably.
Crap. She was a goner if even his grumbles were adorable. “It’s a pretty fierce coat.”
He snorted and lifted his head. He brushed her hair away from her face, something strangely tender in his eyes. She didn’t want tender. She wasn’t ready for tender. Not from him. Luckily, at that moment he was distracted by the way her pinned arms thrust her breasts forward, arching her back. His gaze veered south, those glacier blue eyes lighting lustfully. “This position does have potential,” he murmured approvingly.
A delicate trail of frost teased her overheated skin along the path of his gaze. Down the column of her throat, over the knot of her clavicle and into the valley between her breasts—just barely visible in the V of her button down shirt. Kim shivered at the delicious sensation—both of his heated gaze and that cool phantom touch—and flicked open another button on her shirt with her TK. Who needed hands? A shimmy of her shoulders widened the gap as the shirt strained over her swollen breasts.
He hummed his approval, his hands gliding over her shoulders—but instead of going where she wanted them, cupping her breasts or better yet stripping her to her skin, they skated down her sides, missing all the good stuff and framing her waist until his hand bumped up against the holster slung around her hips.
His gaze finally dipped below the girls and he homed in on the gun belt with a frown. “Is that a Taser?”
“I call her Betty.”
“You named your Taser. Of course you did.”
“She’s very reliable.”
“And yet you’ve still been kidnapped twenty-four times.”
“Twenty-five. And don’t blame Betty. It isn’t her fault I’ve never really liked the idea of frying someone first and asking questions later—especially since a super strength Taser can kill a non-super person.”
His frown grew even more ferocious. “How did you get a super strength Taser? You need a permit and a sponsor to even buy one.”
“Justice got it for me after kidnapping number five. It was sort of romantic, actually.”
Frost growled, his hands tightening momentarily on her waist before he quickly stripped off the gun belt and Taser. “New rule. No more talking about Justice. Especially not in the context of romance.”
A secret pleasure gathered in her stomach at his jealousy, but she bit back her smile and just shrugged. Like magic, the movement released the knots of her jacket and it slithered off her wrists to pool on the floor. Freed, Kim brought her hands up to paint the muscles of Frost’s shoulders. He was bigger than he’d been five years ago—the promise of a young man developing into the firm, unyielding strength of a man in his prime. And damn if he wasn’t a prime specimen.
Would it hurt even more when he walked away this time?
Shit. She almost drew back her hands, her better judgment getting the better of her. How had they even gotten here? One second she was screaming at him and the next this? Bad idea, Kim. Really bad idea.
But Frost chose that moment to bend his face next to hers, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he whispered, “Damn, I’ve missed you.” And her best intentions melted away.
He caught her mouth again, quick, rough and perfect.
There was no thought of putting on the brakes from that point on. Their clothes fell away in a frenzy until she was in only her bra and panties and he in his briefs. He lifted her then, his strong, dark hands framing her waist, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him eagerly. His skin had that strange, tingling coolness he’d once confessed he couldn’t control when he was turned on and the contrast was insanely erotic against the burning flesh of her inner thighs, her breasts, the insides of her arms where she clung to him. He shouldn’t have seemed more alive, more searingly vital when he was iced like this, but damn if it wasn’t the sexiest thing she’d ever felt. She arched her back so their stomachs brushed and the jolt of sensual awareness that ripped through her was almost enough to make her come right there.
They were moving, crossing the apartment, and then she was falling back on a fluffy duvet and he loomed over her from the side of the bed, his hands going to the waistband of his briefs. She wet her lips and stretched for him against the sheets, rubbing her thighs together as she unfastened her bra and flung it aside. She ran her hands over her own curves, lifting and caressing them for his hungry gaze.
He drank in the sight of her, groaning her name in what could have been praise or gratitude or just plain worship. Then he hurriedly shucked his drawers, his erection rising in a proud curve toward his stomach, and Kim’s mouth went dry. Damn. Her memory hadn’t embellished that.
She reached for him and he tensed, but he didn’t pull away as she wrapped her hand around his shaft. It was warmer than the rest of his skin, but still held that unique coolness. Both of them stared at her pale hand, working slowly over his dark, blood-flushed erection. Coming up on her knees, she bent to lick the head into her mouth and his hands fisted hard in her hair. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
She pulled back, angling her neck to meet his eyes. “Too much?” As cool as he felt against her skin, she must feel like fire against his, but he shook his head and gently encouraged her back to her task.
She smiled, all wicked promise, and turned her attention back to the delicious length of his cock. She’d always enjoyed this. The way his body would jerk helplessly and he would lose all control—his usual stoic restraint melting into a heated stream of curses, praise, and promises to do whatever the hell she wanted as long as she didn’t stop.
She worked her hands and mouth in concert, drawing deep then easing off, setting a rhythm then changing it right when she felt tension coiling in him. Pulling back, she flicked her tongue over that sensitive spot right on the underside of where his shaft met his bulbous head. His hips jerked and he cursed, gripping her shoulders, hauling her back, his wet cock popping out of her mouth as he flipped her onto her back and yanked off her panties so fast her entire lower body lifted off the bed.
A condom appeared in his hand as if by magic—thank you, telekinesis. He wasted no time rolling it on, though s
he could see the strain as he tried not to go off even from that slight touch. He hooked her knees over his elbows, pressed her legs back toward her shoulders and notched himself at her entrance, ice-blue eyes holding hers mercilessly. He could have plunged into her then. She was so damn ready for him it would have been easy going, but his hands moved between them, searching through her slippery folds until he found that pocket of nerves and pinched it lightly between his fingers before rolling it in a slow grinding circle that made her brain incinerate. She arched and screamed and he drove into her, all the way to the hilt, wrenching another scream from her. He was so big, stretching her just to the right side of pain, so every nerve ending was pulled right to the limits.
Then he began to move.
The pace was fast and brutal, long, driving strokes, his balls slapping her as he hilted inside her, grinding the base of his cock against her clit at the end of each thrust before drawing back and pounding home again. She clutched her own knees and held on for dear life as pleasure ripped higher and hotter. She was helpless in this position, completely at his mercy, and oh god it was so damn good.
Then he slipped his arms beneath her, still deep inside her, and somehow he was lifting her, carrying her over to pin her against the wall, his hands guiding her legs around his waist. She locked her ankles at the small of his back and gripped his shoulders as he rocked into her with slow, shallow pulses. She heard a high-pitched, panting wail and realized distantly it was coming from her own throat.
“So close,” she gasped. “Oh God, Frost.”
He kissed her, his tongue plunging into her mouth as he reached between them and an icy touch teased her clit, the chill hyper-stimulating the bundle of nerves and sending her screaming into orgasm, her inner muscles clenching down around his cock until he released into her, swallowing her screams as she came again, riding hard on the heels of the first orgasm.
When the last wracking shudders eased from her body and he released her lips, Kim let her head fall back against the wall—mildly amazed they were still upright—and confronted the single thought circling like a shark in her mind.
