Lord of Fire and Ice by Connie Mason with Mia Marlowe Page A

narrow shelf of her collarbone from the hollow spot at the base of her throat to her shoulders.
    When she sneaked a glance up at him, his attention was totally riveted on the bit of her he was drying at that moment. She’d never been scrutinized so minutely. He was completely absorbed by each of her parts, as if he were learning every piece of her.
    Her skin warmed with a rosy glow.
    His gaze drifted lower and stopped at her breasts. The towel hung limp and unused. She held her breath as he stared, his gaze hungry and straining.
    “You’re so beautiful, so perfect,” he said huskily. “If you were made of marble, you’d grace the emperor’s great hall. He displays the work from a thousand lands, but I swear he has no piece of art to match you.”
    Her heart glowed at his words, but if she was going to remain in control of this little adventure, she couldn’t let him think her moved. “A thrall shouldn’t speak to his mistress with the tongue of a skald.”
    His gaze jerked back to her face. “Your pardon, princess. But even a man with no poet in his soul finds one when he’s properly inspired. It’s hard to keep my thoughts to myself around you.”
    His hands found her breasts. Through the linen cloth, she felt his heat as he ran his fingertips along the crease beneath each one. Then he hefted their weight in his palms and dragged his thumbs across her taut nipples. He was still ostensibly drying her off, but his touch was increasingly charged with sensual power.
    She bit her lip to keep from thrusting her breasts toward him. She ached to feel his touch directly on her skin, but she couldn’t order him to do it. Not and remain in control.
    He let the towel curl down to bare her breasts. The naked hunger on his face made a throb start between her legs. Her breath shuddered over her teeth.
    Brandr dropped to one knee before her, drying her ribs. She suppressed a giggle when he brushed over the last one. She’d always been ticklish on her left side. Osvald had avoided that spot because he couldn’t abide laughter in bed.
    But Osvald wasn’t here. So when Brandr raked the tender place with the linen again, she allowed an unrestrained laugh to slip out.
    He smiled up at her. “I like that. You should do it more often.”
    He circled her navel and inserted a cloth-covered fingertip into the indentation. He gently patted down her hips. His warm breath coursed over her belly. The small hairs covering her sex swayed with each exhalation.
    Her womb clenched. His lips were so near. She could order him to pleasure her, to use his mouth on her to relieve the ache, but then her dream rushed back into her.
    The servicing of a slave was no substitute for a lovingly offered act.
    “Spread your feet.” His voice was rough with longing.
    Teeth clenched to keep from crying out with need, she did as he asked. He cupped her sex with his whole hand, and she throbbed into it.
    His fingers alone would probably do , she thought as her head lolled back.
    He teased the cloth between her legs, into her sensitive folds. She was wetter when he moved on down to her thighs than when he first began to gently blot her dry.
    This is foolishness , Katla told herself. She was playing a dangerous game with a man who was the son of her enemy. She ought not be seeping moist warmth over his touch.
    Or wondering if his cock or fingers or tongue would best end her torment.
    When he bent to dry her ankles and lifted one of her feet, she caught a whiff of her own arousal, sweet and musky. He’d used a slave’s task to make her respond to him with a deep, throbbing ache.
    “You smell wonderful.” Brandr stood and dropped the cloth, just staring at her for a moment. He leaned toward her slightly, and she thought he was about to kiss her, but he caught himself and straightened.
    “Order me to kiss you,” he said.
    “What?”
    “I promised I wouldn’t do it unless you ordered me, and I want to kiss you.”
    Brandr slid a hand along her neck and