Hot Ice

discovered she was over her head in more ways than one, and she didn’t care for it. Her voice became very cool; her eyes were equally chilly.
    “You don’t really consider we’re in the same league, do you?” Long ago, she’d discovered insults, given coldly, were the most successful of defenses.
    “No, but then I’ve never paid much attention to caste systems. You want to play duchess, go ahead.” He slid his thumbs up, over her nipples, and heard her breath shudder in, then out. “As I recall, royalty always had a penchant for taking commoners to bed.”
    “I’ve no intention of taking you to mine.”
    “You want me.”
    “You’re flattering yourself.”
    “You’re lying.”
    Temper flared. The warm liquid pull in her stomach battled with it. “The water’s getting cold, Douglas. I want to get out.”
    “You want me to kiss you.”
    “I’d sooner kiss a toad.”
    He grinned. She’d practically hissed at him. “I won’t give you warts.”
    Making up his mind on the instant, he covered her mouth with his.
    She stiffened. No one ever kissed her without her consent, and without jumping through the hoops she tossed out first. Who the hell did he think he was?
    And her heart pounded against his. Her pulses raced. Her head swam.
    She didn’t give a damn who he was.
    With a spurt of passion that rocked them both, she moved her mouth on his. Tongues met. His teeth scraped her lower lip while he slid his arms around her back to mold them closer together. Surprises, he thought as he began to lose himself in her. The lady was full of them.
    He tasted cool, fresh, different, so excitingly different. Passion took them beneath the surface. Wrapped together, they came up again, mouths fused, water cascading off skin.
    There’d never been anything like him in her life. He didn’t ask, but took. His hands moved over her body with an intimacy she’d always doled out stingily. She chose a lover, sometimes impulsively, sometimes calculatingly but she chose. This time, she’d been given no choice. The moment of helplessness was as exhilarating as anything she’d ever experienced.
    He’d bring her madness in bed. If he could take her so far with a kiss… He’d take her, up, over, beyond, whether she wanted to go or not. And oh, now, with the water lapping over her, with his hands stroking and his mouth growing hotter, hungrier, she wanted to go.
    And then, she thought, he’d give her a salute, a cocky grin, and slip off into the night. Once a thief, always a thief, whether it was gold or a woman’s soul. Perhaps she hadn’t chosen this beginning, but she’d hold on long enough to choose her own end.
    She pushed regrets aside. Pain was something to be avoided at all costs. Even if the cost was pleasure.
    Whitney let her body go limp, as in total surrender. Then quickly, she lifted her hands to his shoulders and pushed. Hard.
    Doug went under without a chance to gulp in air.
    Before he’d surfaced, Whitney was at the side of the lagoon and climbing out. “Game’s over. My point.” She grabbed up her blouse and pulled it on without bothering to dry.
    Fury. He’d thought he knew precisely what it felt like. Women. He had thought he’d known what buttons to push. Doug discovered he was just learning. Swimming to the side, he hauled himself out. Whitney was already pulling on her slacks.
    “A nice diversion,” she said, letting out a quiet, relieved breath when she was fully clothed. “Now I think we’d better have that picnic. I’m starving.”
    “Lady…” Keeping his eyes on her, Doug picked up his jeans. “What I’ve got in mind for you is no picnic.”
    “Really?” On solid ground again, she reached in her pack and found her brush. She began to pull it slowly through her hair. Water rained out in gemlike drops. “You look like you could use a bit of raw meat at the moment. Is that the look you use to scare little old ladies out of their purses?”
    “I’m a thief, not a mugger.” He snapped his jeans, and tossing wet hair out of his eyes, approached her. “But I might make an exception in your case.”
    “Don’t do anything you’d regret,” she said softly.
    He gritted his teeth. “I’m going to love every minute of it.” When he gripped her shoulders, she stared up at him solemnly.
    “You simply aren’t the violent sort,” she told him. “However…”
    Her fist connected with his stomach, hard and fast. Gasping, he bent double.
    “I am.” Whitney dropped her brush