Hot ice - By Nora Roberts Page 0,61

he’d known. He wasn’t entirely sure of his moves.

Instead, he equated her to a job, a high-class, luxury apartment complex that took careful casing, meticulous planning, and intricate legwork before he took it down. Better that he be the thief with her. He knew the rules, because he’d made them.

“Sure.” He opened his palm so that she had to slide the wet cake of soap from it. In response, she tossed the bottle high, laughing as she retreated. Doug plucked it inches above the water.

“I hope you don’t mind a touch of jasmine.” Lazily she lifted her other leg and began to run the soap up and down her calf.

“I can handle it.” He poured the shampoo directly on his hair, rescrewed the cap, then tossed it on the ground beside the lagoon. “Ever been to a public bath?”

“No.” Curious, she glanced back over. “Have you?”

“I was in Tokyo a couple years back. It’s an interesting experience.”

“I usually like to keep the quantity in my tub down to two.” She ran the soap up a thigh. “Cozy, but not crowded.”

“I’ll bet.” He ducked under to rinse off, and to cool off. She had legs that went all the way up to her waist.

“Convenient, too,” she said when he’d surfaced. “Especially when you need your back scrubbed.” With a smile, she held out the soap again. “Would you mind?”

So she wanted to play games, he decided. Well, he rarely turned one down—as long as he’d figured the odds. Taking the soap from her, he began to run it over her shoulder blades. “Marvelous,” she said after a moment. It wasn’t easy to keep her voice even when her stomach had begun to tighten, but she managed. “But then I suppose a man in your line of work has to have clever hands.”

“It helps. I suppose all that ice cream could buy million-dollar skin.”

“It helps.”

His hand ran lower, down her spine, then slowly up again. Unprepared for the jolt it brought her, Whitney shuddered. Doug grinned.

“Cold?”

Just who had she managed to push anyway? she wondered. “The water gets chilly unless you move around.” Telling herself it wasn’t a retreat, she gently sidestroked away. Not that easy, sugar, Doug thought. He tossed the soap onto the grass beside the shampoo. In a quick move, he grabbed her ankle.

“Problem?”

Effortlessly, he pulled her back toward him. “As long as we’re playing games—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she began, but the sentence ended on a quick gasp as her body collided with his.

“The hell you don’t.”

He found he enjoyed it—the uncertainty, the annoyance, and the flare of awareness that came and went in her eyes. Her body was long and slim. Deliberately, he tangled her legs with his so that she was forced to grab his shoulders to stay afloat.

“Watch your step, Lord,” she warned.

“Water games, Whitney. I’ve always been a sucker for them.”

“I’ll let you know when I want to play.”

His hands slid up to just under her breasts. “Didn’t you?”

She’d asked for it. Knowing it didn’t improve her temper one whit. Yes, she’d wanted to play with him, but on her terms, in her own time. She 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

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