Page 17 of On Thin Ice

“Not that I know of. I couldn’t find much on any of the artists—and one I only know his or her last name.”

He frowned. “Well…maybe your upcoming education can help you with that.”

“Do you think so?”

“Absolutely.”

Suddenly, I felt inspired. I deepened my voice and raised my eyebrows as if playing a part I’d rehearsed. “Here we have an early painting by the artist Ellen Downey. She was born in a small town in Oregon in the late eighties and began her career by painting street art. Much of her early work was controversial—but, by the mid-nineties, she focused on more conventional art and it was there that she began to make a living.”

He was grinning at me throughout my speech. “Is all that true?”

I giggled. “Most of it. I can’t remember all the facts, but—”

He pulled me close in his arms and kissed me then. It wasn’t as desperate as that kiss on the night of his party…but it was deeper, more meaningful. And I was more than willing. I wrapped my fingers around his neck as his tongue explored my mouth, my body waking up, tingling from scalp to toenails.

I could have gotten lost there.

When his lips left mine, he said, “You…make me feel alive.”

“What d—”

“You embrace joy and fun and…it’s something I don’t think I’ve ever done. I’ve always…” But he stopped talking as if he’d said too much already.

And so I got up on my tiptoes and kissed him again. My body and mind had been consumed with him for so long now and I knew I wanted him. I didn’t care if I shouldn’t. It didn’t matter that, underneath it all, we were sworn enemies. The man inside called to me—and my body and soul had answered yes.

We kissed for several minutes—but he kissed more than my lips. He tasted my neck, my earlobe, my collarbone…and, for the first time in my life, I knew I wanted to feel him inside me, wanted him to take me and do whatever he wanted with me.

I was no longer his willing employee…I was his willing everything.

Chapter 7

“I want you, Annalise…but I will not take you without your permission.” Sinclair’s blue eyes were on fire, his pupils large and predatory.

And that made me need him all the more. “I want you too. If you need my permission, you have it.”

Sinclair scooped me up in his arms, just like all the old romantic movies I’d ever seen, and he did it as if I weighed no more than a pillow. Soon, he was taking the stairs to the second floor two at a time, and I felt breathless. Would we go to my room or his? And what would sex for the first time feel like?

I too was on fire, as what felt like an ancient ache throbbed between my legs.

On the second floor, he quickly marched to the end of the hall, managing to turn the doorknob without setting me down. Then he kicked the door closed, walking across the room to the bed, multiple recessed lights in the ceiling giving the room a soft glow.

I only caught a glimpse of the bedroom but what I’d seen left me almost awe-stricken. My bedroom here had seemed big but it couldn’t compare to the size of his. It was huge, and I had no doubt his interior designer had been in here. Nothing in the room seemed out of place—furniture made of dark rich woods in deep brown, a buff comforter on what looked to be a king-size bed, a fireplace across from it, the face and mantel colors matching the comforter. A fan overhead spun lazily in the light-colored ceiling as if it knew it didn’t have to work hard thanks to central air, and the drapes on the windows, dark brown, reaching from ceiling to floor, were pulled back, revealing sheer buff curtains underneath.

But I couldn’t take in any more details as he lay me on the bed. I might have noticed that it felt like I was being laid inside a fluffy cloud, but I was instead tuned in to Sinclair’s body above mine. His eyes said far more than words ever could. He was going to consume me, swallow me whole, and I simply had to be strong enough to survive.

I knew I’d been born for this moment.

If I was anything, I was a survivor---and I wanted whatever he planned to give.

He kissed me hard, confirming what I knew already, that we’d been holding back our true feelings for far too long and that this outcome had been inevitable. Up close, he was everything I had imagined and more. Even though we’d shared a kiss the night of his employee dinner, I’d been clinging to what I thought I’d remembered—but now it was confirmed. He was strong, so strong—and I could feel that more from how he seemed to be holding back than by direct force. He held himself up so that he wasn’t crushing me, but his body was like a solid wall, firm and ungiving. And the way he smelled seemed to tickle my nose and my nerves—he wore a spicy masculine cologne…but underneath he had his own scent, one that seemed to call to me…and it resembled how his tongue tasted in my mouth.

And his eyes…it was as if the color had intensified so that it was like two glowing sapphires burned in their place, his pupils like bottomless pits inside, all ready to consume me.

When he spoke, his voice had a gravelly, sexy quality that made my muscles tighten. “Do you have any preferences?”

I could barely catch my breath. “What do you mean?”

“Is there a position you don’t like or is there something you really enjoy?”

---