A Taste of Ice (The Elementals)

by Hanna Martine

  At last he released her, rolled to one side, and ran a hand down her thigh, his skin so pale against her Florida tan. When he came to her foot he slipped off her shoe and she moaned. He quirked an eyebrow up at her.

  “You like that?”

  She laughed languidly. “No. It just feels amazing to finally take those ridiculous things off.”

  Glancing down, he saw the angry, red marks from the shoes. He bent her knee and slipped the other shoe off and gently palmed her feet.

  He sat up and set the shoes neatly at the foot of the bed, and when he turned around, torso half bent over her, she was staring at him.

  “You were wrong,” she said on an exhale. “You’re the one who’s beautiful.”

  No, not beautiful. Never him.

  She ran a hand down his arm. “When you’re ready, I want you inside me.”

  He looked down, where he was nearly hard again. “I don’t know.”

  “Please.” Her fingers tightened on his biceps. “For me, Xavier. For me, if that’s what you need to hear.”

  He turned fully toward her then, coming to his knees over her. She saw his erection, then looked up at him with gleefully shocked eyes. “Wow. So soon?”

  That’s my boy.

  He went still, cringing at the shredded voice coming from the hall as much as at her surprise. Was getting hard again that soon unusual? It was all he knew, how he’d been conditioned. Get it up, get it inside a woman, do it all over again. Squeezing his eyes shut, he slid his body up hers and kissed her fiercely.

  “You make me hard.”

  She smiled against his lips. “Good.”

  God, she was so happy. She made him happy, and not just because he was cradled between her thighs, the tip of his cock brushing her wetness.

  Taking his face in her hands, she said what he needed to hear. “I want you inside me.”

  Anything for her. He started to push inside.

  “Wait. Stop.” She pushed lightly against his shoulders. “I can’t believe we didn’t cover this already, but do you have condoms?”

  Dread turned his blood to sludge. How could he have forgotten? That could have been a disaster of the biggest kind, given what his body could do.

  Did he have any condoms? He remembered a shoe box, reluctantly brought from San Francisco, that contained a long string of square foils. He’d considered throwing the box out, but like an alcoholic hiding his bottles, he’d shoved the box into the farthest reaches of his closet, thinking that maybe if he fell off the wagon, at least he’d be ready.

  He lunged for the closet and rummaged around, the mess he was making niggling in the back of his mind. He’d clean it later. Tomorrow.

  There. On the top shelf, the tattered shoe box. When he brought it down his hands were shaking. The box fell to the floor but in his hand dangled a rope of silver-wrapped condoms. He ripped one off and opened it with his teeth.

  Out in the hall, the Burned Man said, Nice to see you back. Get this one done, then move on to the next.

  On the bed, Cat lifted herself to an elbow with a wry grin. “Excited or something?”

  “Tell me again,” he said softly.

  Her grin faded and she gazed at him in all seriousness, with so much desire it made his heart ache. “I want you. I want you inside me.”

  That want filled his ears and his body, nudged into the places where he’d cracked over time. For the first time in years—maybe ever—he felt whole. He swiveled, marched to the bedroom door and stared out into the hall. The Burned Man stood there, sneering.

  Go the fuck away, Xavier told him. And slammed the door.

  Cat jolted off the bed. “What was that about?”

  Xavier went to her, unfettered. Gathered her in his arms and kissed her. She softened, reaching between them to stroke him. With a groan he pulled back, rolled on the condom. She lay back on the bed, her hair streaming over the pillow he slept on every night. He covered her with his body. Instantly she went soft and open.

  Now. Yes, his body screamed. And he obeyed, nudging himself inside her. The heat and tightness of her drove his eyes shut. This was more than good. This was the best he’d ever had, ever felt, and it had everything to do with the sounds she made, the little words of encouragement, the greedy clutch of her hands on his back. With the fact that it was his Caterina beneath him.

  He rocked into her, inch by glorious inch. Then suddenly it wasn’t enough. It was too slow and too gentle and if he didn’t fuck her as hard as he could—as hard as the desire demanded—it wouldn’t satisfy. He only knew how to do this one way. He hadn’t lied before; she deserved better. She deserved worship, and he didn’t trust himself to give that to her.

  His eyes flew open. Sweat broke out all over his body. He stopped moving altogether. She swung her drug-lidded eyes to his.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  He didn’t want to stop. His hands and mouth were one thing—they were virginal and they could be trained—but his hips and cock had minds of their own, and he was scared to death of unleashing them on her.

  He rolled to his side, wrapped an arm around her slim waist and swung her up on top of him. “I need you to do it.”

  She looked at him only for a moment, then bent to kiss him on the mouth, her tongue touching his in understanding. She rose high and lovely above him, slid a hot hand around his dick and fitted him inside her. Deep, all the way, until he couldn’t be inside her any deeper…

  “Oh God,” he cried out, that prayer again.

  She began to move. Slowly. Up and back, up and back, creating a rhythm she loved.

  “Take what you want,” he croaked. “I’m yours, Cat.”

  She threw back her head and moved faster. It was the most perfect sexual experience he’d ever had. Tonight was a night of firsts, and this, by far, was the best. To be at her mercy, to let her ride him, pulled out the most primal of sensations inside him. He watched her until he simply couldn’t anymore; it was like staring into the sun. Even when he closed his eyes and just felt, he could still see her body undulating on top of him.

  When he came, he almost bucked her off the bed. He couldn’t control the pump of his hips, the stroke of him upward inside her. His eyes flew open. There she was again, a goddess with her hair swinging in front of her face. Her body collapsed under the power of her orgasm and he caught her as she tilted to one side.

  He laid her alongside him, got rid of the condom, and the world went right on its axis again.

  He wrapped her in his arms, as though shielding her from the ghost outside, when really it had been the other way around. She’d protected him. He smiled into her hair, so she couldn’t see how grateful he was.

  What surprised him most was the strength in Cat’s return embrace. No woman had ever held him so tightly. He stroked the length of her hair, smoothing it down her back as she curled one hand around his neck, her thumb running along his jaw. Her cheek rested against his chest. Another first.

  He watched the green digital clock in the corner click past three, then three thirty.

  Her breathing slowed. Her muscles relaxed. Seconds away from sleep, she murmured, “What happened to you?”

  And to chalk up another first, he actually had the urge to tell her.

  He listened to her breathe in sleep for a long time. Only as he finally drifted off himself did he realize that Cat’s pleasure truly had been his as well, and the whole time he’d been inside her, the Burned Man hadn’t forced his way into the bedroom…or his head.

  SEVENTEEN

  Foggy gray sunlight fell over Cat as she woke up in Xavier’s bed. In Xavier’s bed.

  She rolled over to find him lying on his side, one arm propping up his head, already watching her. The blanket covered him to his waist, and she let her eyes wander down the lean, chiseled body she’d run her hands all over last night. The urge to touch him again overtook her, but the pensive look in his eyes stilled her hands.

  “I’ve never slept with a woman before,” he said.<
br />
  She smiled. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “I meant I’ve never woken up with one.”

  So he’d been one of those guys. Suddenly a lot of his behavior made sense. A “mimbo” trying to reform or redeem himself, trying to stay away from women. Maybe he’d played the field for so long that when he finally met someone he really liked—that tourist girl, perhaps—and she hadn’t returned the infatuation, he’d just given up altogether.

  “I’m glad I was your first.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “So what’s the protocol here? I’m flying blind.”

  “Wellll”—she stretched a hand across the cool expanse of sheet that separated them—“it feels like something died in my mouth, so kissing’s out of the question, but if you pull me to you and wrap yourself around me, you won’t hear any protests.”

  He reached out those strong arms and did exactly as she said, all that naked skin sliding against hers and making her sigh. She buried her face in his warm neck and wrapped one leg around his hips. There was confusion and satisfaction in his touch. One moment he clenched her tightly, the next he loosened as though he was about to let go.

  “Make you breakfast?” he murmured into her hair.

  “Absolutely.” She kissed his neck. “That’s really why I came over last night, you know. To trick you into cooking for me again. All this sex? Just a ruse.”

  When he pulled back and gazed into her eyes, his close-lipped smile made her fall just a little bit harder for him. Because that’s definitely what had started to happen last night.

  He rolled out of bed, his long legs striding for the dresser that had seen better days. He stepped gracefully into boxer briefs and then gray sweatpants. Though last night he hadn’t believed that she wanted to see his body, in reality he wasn’t at all shy about moving around without clothes.

  “Can I borrow a T-shirt?” she asked.

  He popped open the top dresser drawer an inch. What a strange thing to bring out his secret smile, but it did. “Help yourself. Take your time.”

  Before he left the bedroom, he stood for a few seconds with his hand on the doorknob, staring at the wood. As though preparing himself for something that might be waiting on the other side. She recalled that odd moment last night when he’d slammed it. Now he opened it fast. His torso contracted as he exhaled heavily, then he walked down the hall and disappeared into the kitchen.

  With a reluctant glance at the digital clock, she realized she didn’t have much time at all. She was supposed to have a lunch meeting with Helen to debrief last night’s event. No Michael, thank God. It was ten thirty now. Only an hour left with Xavier.

  By the time she washed her face clean of last night’s makeup and padded out to the kitchen wearing one of his plain black T-shirts, Xavier had set the table and was at the range, hair tied back in a bandanna like he did at Shed, flipping pancakes that smelled like apples and cinnamon.

  He looked at her over his shoulder, pancake balanced on a spatula. His eyes drew a hot line from her face to her bare legs, and back again. “Hope you don’t have a lunch meeting.”

  “Nope,” she lied, because she wasn’t about to miss this.

  Breakfast was, as with everything he cooked, careful and wonderful and all the more delicious because he’d made it for her. She ate until she was full, and then she kept eating because he’d rocked back in his chair and was studying her, and she loved the way it felt. She made him talk more about Shed, about the daily grind and a bit about Pam. He told her how Pam wanted him to be her competition, to have a kitchen of his own, but that he was comfortable where he was.

  “Too much responsibility?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  “Wouldn’t the money be better, though?”

  He swept a gaze around his house and frowned, then started to pick at the edge of the kitchen table where the veneer was peeling away. “Maybe. But I don’t really need any more than I already have.”

  She liked that. He was never going to use her to make more money, or to get what he wanted, like Michael.

  She pushed aside the plate and took a long drink of water. Setting the glass down, she stroked its sides. Xavier looked at the motion of her hand, and the way his expression heated, the way his chair slowly came back down to rest on all four legs, told her he, too, was remembering how she’d stroked him like that last night.

  “I loved being with you,” she murmured.

  One of her fingers dipped into the water, started to swirl it around, the clinking ice cubes the only sound in the kitchen.

  “I, uh, loved it, too.”

  He’d trusted her with something last night. That much was wonderfully clear. He’d let go of something menacing—even if only for a little while.

  She’d never done this before: this prolonged, mutual stare, lips twitching in dazed smiles, completely lost in the other person.

  The water churning around her finger in a good, swift hurricane added something else to the experience. An undercurrent of heightened sensation, a feeling of exposure. It buzzed through her blood, making it pulse harder, warming her. This was nothing new; it was what she felt every time she nudged a toe into the surf or trailed her fingers over the side of a boat. Except that she’d never felt it while with Xavier, and the experience very nearly unhinged her.

  The water had always filled her soul, but with Xavier now consuming her vision and most of her heart, the water was getting some stiff competition. His lips parted, as though he’d just come to the same conclusion. As though he, too, felt that swelling in his chest, the need racing across his skin. He stretched a hand across the table to touch her and she automatically leaned into him. She removed her finger from the water glass to take his hand.

  He glanced down. Gasped.

  “What?” she asked, confused.

  Xavier jumped up like she’d drawn a gun on him. His chair tipped backward, clattering to the tile. He stared at her water. The little hurricane she’d created inside the glass had turned itself inside out. A tiny funnel of water spiraled above the lip of the glass, stretching for her finger that now hovered just above.

  “Holy shit.” He stumbled away, stopping only when his back struck the wall next to the phone.

  She didn’t know which shocked her more: the way the water spun toward her, or Xavier’s dramatic reaction. “Wow,” she breathed, and the water collapsed back into the glass with a gloop. It looked like any old glass of water now, leaving her to wonder if she’d imagined it all. Except that Xavier’s pale skin, unblinking eyes, and horrified expression left no doubt that it most certainly had happened.

  “What did you do?” His voice was hoarse. “How did you…”

  “I don’t—”

  The phone rang, a scream cutting through the tense room. He startled, his shoulder jostling the phone from its receiver. It crashed to the linoleum, dangling from an honest to gosh cord.

  “Xavier?” A woman’s desperate voice crackled in the receiver. “Xavier? Are you there?”

  Cat might have asked him the same thing. He looked beyond spooked; he didn’t even look present. What the hell was going on?

  “Hey.” She rose from the chair, started to circle around the table to him.

  “It’s…you’re…” he stammered. He threw out a hand to ward her off.

  “Xavier, oh thank the stars you’re there,” came the disembodied woman’s voice from the phone on the floor. “I can hear you. Can you hear me?”

  He crouched, snatched up the phone, and slammed it back into the cradle. His hand remained clenched around it, his stare fierce on the hunk of red plastic.

  “That sounded important,” Cat said. “She sounded scared.”

  Emotions warred on his face. One second he looked ready to punch the wall, upper lip curling. The next second he looked lost. The next on the verge of tears.

  This was the hardened, hurting man who’d shoved her away on the steps after their first kiss. He was alive and well, thank you very much.
And now she knew for sure that girls were the least of his problems. Everything they’d gone through together last night disappeared. Vanished into thin air like a stupid rabbit pulled out of a hat.

  Her frustration started to morph into anger. “I’m trying to understand. You don’t just snap like this and not tell me why. Or if I can fix it. It’s unfair. And immature.” Still nothing. “Xavier, what on earth—”

  His scared eyes found her. “Just. Go.”

  Screw you, she thought as she backed out of the kitchen. You didn’t sleep with a woman and treat her like this the next morning. Not after what they’d shared.

  But she didn’t say any of that, because instinctively she knew that Xavier’s reaction had nothing to do with them as a couple. Something had triggered a terrified—and terrifying—response in him, and whether it was that weird water thing or the phone call from the scared woman, she couldn’t be sure. She just knew she had to get away, to give him space right now. Or maybe forever.

  That last thought made her ill. Was this enough for her to walk away for good? Could she handle this manic behavior, if it kept going on? And really, their “forever” was only a week more. Until she went back to Florida.

  Except that she’d already seen the beauty inside him and she couldn’t, in all faith, abandon him. Still, if he wanted her to leave, she would.

  She turned, giving the kitchen, and Xavier, her back. There, still crumpled on the living room floor, lay her fabulous orange dress. Sitting there, mocking her. She snatched it up and went into his bedroom.

  The mess of the sheets, his jeans still lying in a puddle, her shoes perfectly aligned at the foot of the bed, made her heart twist and her gut ache. What the heck was going on? He didn’t get to wrap himself around her, kiss her senseless, ignite something intense inside her, then shove her away. What gave him the right? Who taught him it was okay to treat people like that?

  What kind of pain made him do something like that?