I’m enjoying the feel of Iceman’s chest against my back but my cocktail has just arrived and I need a drink. Pulling away, I reach for the glass, but Iceman tugs it from my grasp.
“I don’t think so,” he says. To the bartender, he adds, “Make a fresh one.”
“There was nothing wrong with it,” I complain.
“That asshole bought it.”
“There is that.” I bite my lip. “I wasn’t expecting to you to step in and claim to be my boyfriend.”
“But you were expecting me to step in, weren’t you, Grace?”
Why do I suddenly like the sound of my name on his lips? Is it because, for a brief moment, he claimed me as his?
When I don’t answer, he leans over the bar, mirroring my pose. “What the hell am I supposed to do with you?”
And just like that, my mind is flooded with images of all the things I’d like him to do with me. A goddamn moan tickles my throat before I can swallow it back.
“Fuck,” he hisses just as my phone starts rattling against the quartz countertop.
It’s a call rather than a message this time, and my husband’s name glows on the screen. Iceman picks it up and hands it to me.
“Answer it.”
“But I–”
“Answer it, Grace.”
The last thing I want to do is talk to Cameron right now, but I find myself doing as I’m told and accept the call. I’m about to put my cell to my ear when Iceman plucks it from my fingers and switches to speakerphone. We both listen as my husband screeches down the line, barking orders for me to get my ass home.
“Are you done?” Iceman asks when he’s finished.
There’s a long pause before Cameron says, “Whois this?”
The security guard angles his head so we lock eyes. “I’m the man who’s going to fuck your wife.Thoroughly.”
My insides turn molten and I can feel my pulse throbbing between my tightly squeezed legs.
“This is insane!” Cameron yelps. “She’s not in her right mind. You can’t take advantage of someone like that.”
“Clearly you don’t know your wife very well. She’s the one who’ll be taking full advantage of me.” He leans closer to the phone and I do the same. I swipe my tongue over my lower lip, drawing his gaze, and he shakes his head imperceptibly.
“Tell me where you are,” Cameron barks. “You do not get to touch my wife. I’m coming to get her.”
“You can try,” Iceman replies.
I’m pretty sure if this were a video call, Cameron would not be squaring up to this man. And as much as I’ve dreamt of personally beating my husband to a pulp, I hate physical violence. I take a breath, ready to intervene, but Iceman presses his finger to my lips. It’s the first skin on skin contact we’ve had, and I forget all about arguing and concentrate on not sucking that finger into my mouth.
“We’re at the Exemplar in Rittenhouse Square,” Iceman says. “It’s the new Moncrief hotel. Just give your name at the door.”
“I’ll be there.”
When Iceman cuts the call, I pull away the finger he still has pressed to my mouth. “This is such a bad idea. He’ll make a scene.”
“I’ll handle it.”
He says it in a way that makes me trust him. Implicitly. “And then what?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. He’s told Cameron he’s going to fuck me, but we haven’t actually had thatconversation. “What would you like to happen next, Grace?”
