Hot Ice by Cherry Adair Page A

her. "You've had a busy night. Get some rest. We'll talk again in the morning." He almost sounded paternal.
    "Sure." Only if you have long distance service from San Cristóbal to the States . Right this second she didn't have a clue how she'd pull off a speedy escape. But she sure as hell wouldn't be here when this guy woke up. Taylor rolled over as best she could and whimpered because he deserved it." 'Night."
    "You're safe here," he said quietly into the darkness.
    She was annoyed to feel the prick of tears behind her lids. "Thanks," she said, meaning it. She couldn't remember when, in twenty-seven years, anyone had ever said those words to her. It would be stupid to believe him of course, but just for that moment in time, the saying of the words made her feel safe.
    She waited an eternity for his breathing to regulate and even longer before she felt the mattress give as his large body relaxed in sleep.
    The headache had faded to a dull memory. Taylor turned onto her back in the surprisingly comfortable bed. She opened her eyes and stared at the orange drapes as she considered how long she should wait before she snuck o-
    Blinked. Looked again.
    Yes! Oh, God. Yes ! She could actually see the limp fabric illuminated by the lamp on the table across the room. Her vision was a little fuzzy around the edges, but she could see. Thank you, Jesus .
    She took a lightning-fast inventory of the room. Two doors. Bathroom. Exit door. One window.
    They lay on a queen-sized bed with tangled white sheets and a brightly colored cotton cover. A couple of bedside tables, a cane-backed chair, two mismatched lamps, and a hideous hanging lamp near a table by the open bathroom door. Drapes hung over a narrow window in the far wall. The wooden floor, while bare of rugs, was spotlessly clean and polished to a dull sheen.
    If she ever visited San Cristóbal again, she'd stay here, she thought with amusement as, noting escape routes and possible weapons, she turned her head to look at the sleeping man beside her.
    Oh . What a fascinating face. She'd brailled the uncompromising jaw, rough with stubble. Seeing his features with her fingers, but now she could see him. Slightly hazy, but who was complaining? A strong Roman nose rose proudly from a face far too austere to be considered handsome. Deep-set eyes weren't in any way softened by the brush of those short, straight black lashes. Man, oh man . This was one serious-looking guy. She couldn't picture a smile breaking across those firm straight lips.
    Taylor's gaze lingered on his mouth before she tried to roll over. She was pulled up short by the cuff on her wrist.
    She gave a small huff of amusement. As if—And freed her right wrist with barely a sound. Very carefully she held on to the cuff, still linked to the headboard, so it didn't clatter. His hand was conveniently flung over his head. It would be a bit of a stretch, but she could snap the free bracelet onto his wrist in a heartbeat. She considered the necessary choreography for a few seconds. No. Her gut told her he'd be wide-awake and on her like white on rice if she so much as made a move in his direction.
    Of course, there were moves and there were moves… Carefully, she rested the cuff against the headboard, then shifted to run her fingers lightly up Hunt's chest, enjoying the crisp silkiness of his hairy torso. Yum. He didn't stir. She leaned over and open-mouth-kissed his rock-hard six-pack, when she really wanted to take a big, painful bite out of him.
    He hummed low in his throat, confirming her gut's warning. His large hand came up to cup the back of her head. She nibbled her way up his chest to the steady throb of his pulse at the base of his throat, sliding her body over his like a blanket. She lay her cheek over his heart, listening to the slight elevation in his breathing.
    His skin felt scalding hot beneath hers.
    His penis rose to meet her.
    She rubbed her chest against his, enjoying the friction against her nipples. His lashes