Melting the Ice
Page 8

“Oh, those. Got anything for me to try on?”
A thought hit her. She hadn’t put any clothes on her models, hadn’t brought any of the designs to life yet. That might really spark her creative juices . . .
“Actually, yes I do. Could you stop by my place tonight before you go home?”
“Sure.”
“I have a few things I’d like you to try on. They’re not exactly finished, but if I could get your measurements and fit you, it would help propel me forward in the process.”
“Happy to do anything I can to help.”
“Great.”
Heath brought their sandwiches and they dug in. Suddenly in a hurry, Carolina wasn’t even embarrassed about wolfing hers down. One, she hadn’t realized how much time had passed since they’d last eaten, and two, with the promise of inspiration on the horizon, she was eager to get Drew into her designs.
Unfortunately, he seemed to savor every bite of his sandwich. After that, there was the pie, which he seemed to delight in slowly sliding into his mouth bite by bite, while she tapped her foot and looked around the room.
“We should probably hurry so Heath can give this table to people who have reservations,” she said.
“You just want to leave so you can get me back to your place and out of my clothes.”
She gaped at him, then scanned the tables nearby to see if anyone had heard. Thankfully, the people at the other tables were too engrossed in their families to eavesdrop. “You do realize we’re in a packed restaurant.”
“So? Did I say anything that wasn’t true?”
“Yes.”
“What did I say? Aren’t you going to get me out of my clothes when we get back to your place?”
“I am not going to be taking your clothes off. You’ll be taking them off.”
He took a sip of coffee, then gave her a sidewise smile. “So, you want a striptease, huh?”
She rolled her eyes. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I? Or is this just some nefarious plan of yours to see me na**d?”
“Are you sure there isn’t alcohol in that coffee?”
“Why? Do you think I need to be drunk to tease you?” He wiped his mouth and signaled to Heath. “We’ll take the check.”
“Let me pay.”
He gave her a look. “Why would I do that when I’m the one who invited you out to eat?”
“You’ve been paying every time we’ve gone out.”
“And?”
And . . . she had nothing, other than him buying all the time made it seem very much like they were dating. Which they weren’t. At all. And never would be. As far as she was concerned, Drew was nothing more than a mannequin.
A very hot, extremely sexy, breathing, human mannequin.
Heath brought their check, Drew paid, and they left through the front door. The car pulled up and they climbed in.
“This poor driver has been at your beck and call all day. What a terrible Thanksgiving for him.”
“Jason has been very well paid for it, too, haven’t you, Jason?”
“Yes, sir. Making all my Christmas money off you today, Mr. Hogan.”
Drew laughed and leaned back in the seat.
When they got back to her apartment, Carolina took off her coat and stared at Drew, pondering what she’d like to see him in.
“I suppose the first thing I need to do is measure you.”
His eyes gleamed and she could read the dirty thoughts in his head as if he were telegraphing them from his brain directly to hers.
“No, not that. Already seen it.”
“Yeah, but one, you haven’t seen it in a very long time. And two, have you ever measured it?” He waggled his brows.
He was such a . . . guy. “Not necessary. But you could strip for me.”
“Now you’re talkin’.” He undid his belt and reached for the zipper of his pants.
If he thought she was going to balk, he was in for a surprise. In fashion, she dealt with na**d or near na**d models of both sexes all the time.
“I’ll go get my tape measure.”
She went upstairs and grabbed her supplies. As she came down the stairs, Drew was out of his boots and slipping out of his jeans.
She stopped midway down the stairs, a sudden vision of that drunken night at the dorm flashing into her head.
Her on the bed, watching as Drew took off his clothes, and vowing to remember that moment forever as every inch of his skin was revealed.
Just like now, as he pulled off his shirt, revealing a body she had spent hours exploring, and years remembering.
Except now that he’d stripped down to his boxers, she realized how much he’d changed since the last time. He’d been gorgeous then, a young man just waiting to fulfill his destiny.
Now he was the man she’d always known he’d become. His body had filled out, become leaner in spots, more muscled in others. And as she forced herself down the stairs and came closer, she realized he bore scars he hadn’t before, because she still remembered mapping that body all those years ago, touching every part of him, committing every inch of his skin to memory.
The scars only added to his attractiveness, made him seem more grown-up, and so much more a man.
He had a tattoo now as well, on the inside of his upper right biceps. Two hockey sticks, crossed, with a puck in the middle and flames shooting out from the sides. That hadn’t been there before. It added a very badass appeal to a very badass body.
She couldn’t help the sigh of pure feminine appreciation. And as her hand curled over the tape measure, she realized how very much she wanted to lay her hands on him.
Her hands trembled as she forcibly relaxed her fingers and straightened the tape measure.
How foolish she’d been to think she could dress him, that Drew was like any other model she’d measured—like any other man she’d had in her house—and that she could be oblivious to his male form as she touched and turned him in every conceivable way so she could get his measurements.
She could have had him come in for measurements when one of her assistants was here to deal with him, instead of now, at night, when they were alone together in her apartment, and he watched her with that predatory gleam she remembered all too well.
But he was here, and unclothed, so she’d just have to suck it up and deal with it.
She ran the tape measure across his shoulders. For someone whose body was so . . . hard, his skin was smooth as she pressed the tape from one end to the other. She remembered that night when the two of them were in a room alone together, both of them na**d, his arms coming around her as he tugged her close.
The tape measure slipped from her fingers.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
She shook it off. “Yes. Just fine.”
It wasn’t fine. It was every memory she’d tried so hard to erase, except she couldn’t move in and press her br**sts to his chest. He wouldn’t slide his lips across her neck, kissing his way across her throat. He wouldn’t touch her breasts, awakening her sexuality to raging life.
Not that her sex drive was having any problems at the moment. Her breath came out ragged and heavy as she fought with the tape measure, feeling flustered, this normally easy task taking longer than it should.
Best to get it over with as quickly as possible so Drew could put his clothes back on. Then everything would get back to normal again.
She sized both arms, jotting the measurements down, ignoring that tattoo even though she wanted a much closer inspection. She wanted to ask him when he’d gotten it, and why. But that would be a personal question, and she wasn’t going to get personal. Not now. Not ever.
“Lift your arms out a little so I can measure your chest.”
He held very still, the room so quiet all she could hear was the sound of his breath, feel the rise and fall of his chest as she wrapped the tape measure around him.
She drew in closer, breathing in his scent. Some soap he used that made him smell just as she remembered. It was crisp and clean, reminding her of wintergreen and the outdoors. She wanted to linger, to slide her lips over that spot on his neck that had given him goose bumps that night. She’d spread her tongue over his neck to get a taste of him, and it had made his c**k pulse.
And now she was the one with goose bumps. Her ni**les hardened, her sex quivering as she recalled how he had surged forward when she’d shyly wrapped her hand around his shaft and stroked him. He’d given her instruction, had told her how good it felt when she touched him, put her mouth on him.
He’d been her education that night.
And her downfall.
Drew cleared his throat. “Everything going okay, Carolina?”
No. It was a disaster. She let the tape fall from his chest. “Just fine.” She wrote down the numbers.
“What’s next?”
A hard shot of whiskey, maybe? Followed by a double shot of regret?
“You’ll need to spread your legs apart a bit so I can get your legs and inseam.”
“Sure.”
She couldn’t look at him. He had to know how uncomfortable she was. No, uncomfortable wasn’t even the correct word.
Lost in the past, and utterly and completely ready to throw herself at him and repeat the same mistake all over again.
She held the tape measure at the top of his hip, then ran it down his leg, quickly standing to make the note on her pad before doing the outside of the other leg.
Almost done. All she had to do now was his inseam. This time, she started at the bottom, sliding the tape measure up toward his thigh.
“I’m going to have to . . .”
She lifted her gaze to his and he smiled down at her. “I’ve been measured before, Carolina. I know what you’re doing.”
He was so nonchalant about it. So why was it suddenly so damn hot in here?
Because she brushed his balls and his c**k as she measured. And because he wore tight boxer briefs, and the unmistakable bulge grew noticeably bigger.
She decided to ignore it, jotted the measurement down and moved to his other leg.
She could get through this. One more time, and she’d be done. They’d be done. He could get dressed and leave.
And then she was going to have one hell of a glass of brandy to calm her shattered nerves.
She laid the tape down at his feet, lifting it slowly upward, conscious that the bulge hadn’t dissipated. In fact, it had grown larger. And when she reached his inseam, once again brushing her knuckles against him—against it—she shot him a glare.
He gave her a smirk. “What? You want me to apologize for getting hard? You’re touching my dick.”
“In a purely nonpersonal way.”
“Honey, any time you touch me it’s going to be personal.”
She whipped the tape measure away, finished the last of her notes, and took a step back.
“We’re finished.”
“That took awhile. Were you nervous?”
“Of course not.”
He crossed his arms and grinned at her. “You sure about that? I’m pretty sure your hands were shaking.”
How nice of him to notice. She glared at his penis. “Is that ever going to go down? It’s hard to have a discussion with you when you’re . . . like that.”
He laughed. “Yeah. It’ll go down. Eventually. But seeing you all flustered, your cheeks pink and your ni**les beading against your sweater, isn’t helping.”
She crossed her arms. “Damn you. This is all your fault.”
“How could it be my fault? You said undress. I undressed. You said hold still. I held still.”
“I did not tell you to get an erection. So do something about that.”
“Okay, fine.”
He took two steps toward her and pulled her into his arms. She opened her mouth to object, but his lips covered hers, his tongue sliding inside to tangle with hers.
As if they had a mind of their own, her arms twined around his neck, his hand gravitated toward her butt, and every hot fantasy she’d had about him all these years came rushing back to her.
EIGHT
DREW HADN’T EXPECTED THIS TO HAPPEN, BUT AS soon as he felt Carolina’s surrender, as soon as she kissed him back, his dick got harder, his heart pumped faster, and he was fully in the game. He wrapped an arm around her, his fingers sliding down to find that sweet spot just above her butt. He didn’t want to scare her off, but it felt damn good to hold her again after all this time.
She tasted as amazing as he remembered, the softness of her lips brushing over his a reminder of just how long it had been since he’d held her and kissed her. Only it was different now—they were both adults, and he was going to try really hard not to screw it up this time. She might have been reluctant, but the way she kissed him told him she wanted this as much as he did.
And he really did. Having her hands on him as she measured him, the soft glide of her fingertips along his skin, had been torture. He’d tried to be good, to treat it as her doing her job, but his dick had other ideas.
He’d planned to ignore it, but apparently Carolina couldn’t.
And when she’d told him to do something about it, the only natural conclusion he could come up with was to kiss her, to see where this would go.
Now, her heart beat wildly against his chest, and he raised the back of her sweater so he could feel her skin. She was still as soft as he remembered, and he wanted more.
She moaned against his mouth, nipping at his lips. He groaned, tunneled his fingers in her hair and backed her up to the sofa, both of them falling on it. He held tight to her, keeping his balance as she landed on top of him.
She raised up, her eyes glazed pools of deep blue.
He caught the indecision in her eyes.
“Don’t think about all the reasons we shouldn’t. Just think about how good it feels between us, Carolina.”