Page 65 of Breaking the Ice

Family.

Feeling suddenly restless at the thought, she wandered over to the old double-hung windows and absently watched the street life outside. A young couple stopped under one of the oaks, the guy playfully pushing the woman against the trunk and kissing down her neck.

Oh…get a room.

Suddenly everything went dark as the lights went out, and Samantha dragged her eyes away from the window to find Nick advancing slowly, illuminated by a cake ablaze with candles. He had eyes only for her as he sung her a surprisingly tuneful ‘Happy Birthday’.

Samantha stayed rooted to the spot. There was something so intimate about the scene she found it hard to breathe. As ifhewas the one pushingheragainst a tree and kissing her neck.

He finished the song as he drew level with her. The candlelight gave him a mysterious edge and he looked more pirate-like than ever.

“Blow ’em out, birthday girl.”

The candles blurred into one as tears pricked her eyes, but she dutifully leaned forward and puffed them out in one hit. Theroom became dark again and she was glad for it and the cover of candle smoke as she blinked away the moisture.

“Make a wish.”

She shut her eyes and wished Nick would throw the damn cake against the wall, sweep her up in his arms and take her to his bed. Demographically suitable or not. Smart or not.

She opened them a few seconds later, disappointingly with both feet on the floor. A sign if there ever was one…

“I have a present for you,” he said, still holding the cake as the ambient light from outside threw a low gloom over everything.

Sadly, there was only one present she wanted from him and Samantha knew this was it, her opening. All she had to do was ask. And hope like hell she hadn’t been misreading the chemistry between them.

“Actually, Nick.” Her voice was breathy in the semi-darkness, her pulse thrumming like tropical rain on a tin roof. “I was wondering if you might grant me a birthday wish, instead?”

He frowned, clearly not expectingthis. “Okay…”

“Just don’t say anything, okay? Not until I finish because otherwise I’ll chicken out or vomit and as you’ve seen me do that already, I’d rather not go there.”

His gaze zeroed in on her mouth. “Just say it, Sam.”

Samantha inhaled a ragged breath.Here goes nothing.“You told me once that you had a 100 per cent success rate… and I know that you’re leaving soon and you don’t want babies and that’s absolutely fine but you did tell me to knock on your door when I was sober and so… here I am… sober… reasonably, and I was wondering if birthday sex might be… doable.”

Silence filled the room, her proposition sparking between them like a live wire as Nick stared at her. And stared some more. As if he was formulating his let-her-down-gently speech.

Damn it – she’d blown it…

But then he gently placed the cake on the windowsill and yanked her close.

22

Okay, so they’d kissed before. But not like this. Not full of the promise of what was to come and Samanthawas notprepared. Every cell in her body quivered at the onslaught of his mouth, the insistent thrust of his tongue, the rough clasp of his hands caging her hips, holding her where he wanted her as hegrinded.

Her heart pounded and her breathing turned heavy. She moaned and squirmed, trying to get closer. The hard press of his chest was exquisite torture against the taut pebble of her nipples. She was burning up in his arms and she wanted more.

Then suddenly he was sweeping her close, their lips still fused and she wound her arms around his neck both to hang on and pull him even closer. She didn’t know how they got to his room without crashing into everything but they did and then his bed was at her back and his weight was at her front and the room was flooding with light from the bedside lamp.

Startled by the sudden intrusion to her retinas, her mouth broke from his to find him breathing hard, raw animal heat blazing from his eyes.

Shehad done that to him.

Samantha watched, her breathing just as hard, as he sat up, straddling her body, and lifted his shirt over his head, tossing it behind him. His chest was just as she’d seen in countless tabloid photos, only better.

Because tonightit belonged to her.

A tattoo of a Chinese dragon decorated his right pectoral muscle and she ran her finger from it all the way down the puckered perfection of his abdomen to where his jeans denied her further access. Her fingers went to work on the button, popping it but he shook his head and said, “Let’s not load that gun any further right now.”

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