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Ice Maiden
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“I will not struggle,” she said, and eased back onto the pillows. “Do as you will.”
For a long time he did nothing—he simply sat there looking at her body in the softness of the fire’s glow. She feared to look at him, but curiosity overcame her apprehension and she stole a glance.
His face was shadowed in the firelight, his hair awash in gold. Her gaze drifted lower, across the muscled expanse of his chest, which rose and fell with each measured breath he drew. His body was hard and lightly furred, all burnished gold as if the sun had kissed him.
Her own breathing grew quick and shallow under his scrutiny. And when their eyes finally met, what she read in his stirred her blood.
Desire.
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