An Excerpt From: Melting Ice
Copyright © Nicole Austin, 2011
All Rights Reserved
Note: Nicole Austin’s books are intended for those readers 18 years old or older.
The team all knew Syn and catching sight of her, Jagger tipped his beer slightly in Ice’s direction in a silent show of support. He shared a close bond with all his brothers, none more so than Jagger, the only other soul who knew what Syn’s arrival did to him. Inside, he trembled with the unadulterated joy of a five year old with a bright balloon on a string in one hand and an all-day sucker in the other.
She moved with innate sexual grace, her curvy body gliding along the path that opened up before her, thick waves of mahogany hair swaying around her face and cascading over those lush breasts. Every man in the room was aware of Syn walking by, casting appreciative glances her way and mourning the lack of attention they got in return as her gaze never deviated from a single-minded focus point.
Trip muttered, “Lucky bastard.”
Ice agreed. He was one hell of a lucky bastard. If things went his way, before long he would have everything he’d ever wanted. He just had to toe the line a little longer.
Swiveling on his barstool, Ice almost swallowed his tongue when he got a good look at her. Most of the women in the place wore thin stretchy material that barely covered their asses and left half their breasts exposed. In contrast, Syn’s dress covered from shoulder to just above the knee, leaving only her tanned arms and lower legs bare.
Oh, what a dress. It consisted of an ivory sheath covered by yarn sewn in intricate patterns. He remembered his grandmother using hooks to make circles she put on tables and stuff. Um…it might be called crochet, but he could be wrong. Not that the name mattered when the ivory material demurely draped Syn’s voluptuous body. The dress accentuated her curves and hinted at all the magnificent treasures he’d find as he slowly slid it over her soft skin.
His girl didn’t need torturous high heels to show off those mile-long legs either. She wore sexy, strappy flat sandals, no jewelry, and minimal makeup. The result was a relaxed and natural beauty that heated his blood and had saliva pooling in his mouth.
“Ice,” she acknowledged in a chilly tone. Her gaze swept over the few Arapahoe team members in the bar, nodding a curt greeting to each man.
Uh oh. Was she still mad over their disagreement about the male bimbo cover models with the fake steroid muscles? Or was something else bothering his normally sweet-tempered girl?
Only time would tell. Syn didn’t give up her secrets easily or quickly.
He stood, offered her the stool, his gut tightening as the hem of her dress drifted higher on her thighs when she crossed her legs. Damn, he wanted to leave now. Right now.
To hell with social niceties, he wanted to take Syn someplace private and spend the night wrapped around her closer than the sultry dress. Wring a dozen orgasms out of her until her voice turned raspy from crying out in pleasure. Wrap his fingers in that thick, dark hair and pull her head back, bearing her neck to his mouth. Slam into her tight, wet pussy from behind, each punishing thrust of his hips cushioned by her full, heart-shaped ass.
She probably wouldn’t be happy if he simply picked her up, put her over his shoulder, and made a beeline for the door. But he’d sure be happy. A lot happier than he was at the moment since he had no idea what to say. Not that he ever said much.
“How’s work?” Lame. “And that nympho assistant of yours?” Oh yeah, smooth. Really smooth.
Syn arched her brow, and a slight smile teased the corners of her sweet lips. “Karen’s fine. Sends her love. Says she hopes a terrorist shoots your balls off.”
A growl rumbled through his chest and vibrated low in his throat. He knew they were friends—didn’t understand why—but one of these days… Perhaps his recent training in interrogation techniques would be useful after all. Ice wisely kept quiet the homicidal thoughts of all the ways he’d enjoy torturing the annoying woman. Karen was fiercely loyal and protective of Syn, earning his grudging acceptance.
“You want a drink, Syn,” Jagger asked, making Ice roll his eyes. He’d been trained to be still, silent, stealthy and lethal. Charming people wasn’t in his nature or skill set.
“No thanks, Jagger.”
“How about a dance, beautiful?” Trip recanted and held up his hands in surrender when Ice’s hard stare locked on the idiot. “Umm…maybe another time.”
Syn swiveled on the stool, her legs brushing his thighs as she placed a hand on his arm and tugged until he leaned closer. “Can we get out of here,” she whispered as if reading his mind.