Page 216 of Heart of Frost and Scars

“Put your hands on me.” I bend in, dragging my nose through her hair. “Feel what you do to me.”

A second passes. Then she lowers her gaze—we both do—to the jutting, swollen erection in my gray sweatpants.

The thin material doesn’t confine or restrain my ravenous hunger. Instead, it reveals every stiff inch, every angry ridge, every twitch. My goddamn cock isn’t idle. It throbs and drools and jumps like a rabid animal under her scrutiny.

Touch me. Put me out of my fucking misery.

Her chest rises and falls as she shifts her hand. Not to wrangle my dick. No, she hooks a finger under the hem of my T-shirt, gathers it, and tugs it upward.

I reach behind my shoulders, yank the garment over my head, and drop it.

“Damn.” She swallows a breathy inhale. “You’ve always had the body of a thirty-year-old athlete. I miss looking at you. Touching you.”

My lungs seize. My heart strokes out. I grip the doorframe above her head, angling closer, lower, until we’re at eye level.

Fucking touch me.

Her gaze dips to my lips. Then she does. She puts those tiny, delicate hands on my chest and begins an exploration that draws up my balls, lengthens my hard-on, clenches my ass, and has my fingers gouging the wood doorframe.

She caresses the slab of my chest, traces each individual stomach muscle, and follows the trail of hair down, down, down…

And stops.

“Fuck!” I kick my hips, unable to control myself. “I need inside you.”

Like a bomb, the moment shatters.

“Oh, God.” She drops her hands, her eyes round with horror. “What have I done?”

“Frankie.” Panic spikes as I cup her face and bring our foreheads together. “We’ve done nothing wrong. I’m your husband. I love you.”

“Monty.” She shakes her head. “We have to stop. You know why.”

“I can’t, darling.” I kiss her pretty mouth, coaxing her to kiss me back. “I’ll never stop loving you.”

Why won’t she kiss me back?

Something stirs in my periphery. Predatory movement without sound. Not the creak of a floorboard. Not the rustle of a breath. But feral energy singes my skin.

I pull my lips from hers, and we turn our heads toward the stairs.

My gaze locks with the two men I consider my brothers.

Their eyes blaze with primal, untamed fury. Their broad, taut postures promise pain. Their fists flex with pure, unadulterated destruction.

A noise reaches my ears. The low, lethal, guttural growl of something that isn’t human reverberates through the hall, sending Frankie into a frenzy.

Shoving and twisting, she jolts out of my embrace and scrambles into the path of war.

“No!” Arms stretched out at her sides, she tries to make herself bigger, taller, a barrier between them and me.

Protecting me.

From them.

Leo prowls forward, jaw clamped, muscles bunched and ready to kill.

“Stop! Listen to me.” She swings her hands forward, smacking her palms against his heaving chest. “Don’t blame Monty. Blame me. Hate me.”

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