Read a Touch of Ice for Free Online

Mitchell Hunt has potential. Heck, I about drooled when I saw him. But honestly, El, you don’t have to catch his friend’s killer to have a relationship with him.”
    “I know. I think this is something I have to do no matter what happens with Mitch. It’s one of those prickly neck things.”
    “No. This is not a prickly neck thing. A prickly neck thing would be telling you to stay the hell away from dead bodies.”
    I shrugged it off. “Probably you’re right. Shoo.” I waved my hands toward the door. “I need time to prepare for my date.”

    The deep, sexy rumble assaulted my ears and shattered the peace of the quiet cul-de-sac I call home. Barefoot, mind focused on domesticity and the apple pie, I had no room in my world for the harsh reality of a…motorcycle? I jogged to the window and peeked around the blinds. The bike, all sleek and powerful, pulled into my driveway, the roar switching to abrupt silence as Mitch cut the engine.
    He eased from the seat, his movements smooth, filled with the strength and grace of an athlete. Damn it. I wasn’t prepared for this. The world famous photographer, who could probably afford some kind of overkill Mercedes, had arrived at my house on a motorcycle. He took off his helmet, and ran his fingers through those sun-kissed curls as he jogged up my front steps.
    I bounced downstairs, my breath coming in short pants, more like a puppy than an adult woman. First date nerves. No time to think about it. I swung the door open, gave him a, “Hi,” and a grin, and then headed for the bike. “I’m stunned. This is really something, and wow—”
    “You’re saying you like my bike?”
    I turned, bumped into his chest. Heat flooded my cheeks as his arms wrapped around me, steadying me. Trapped between a man and his bike. Hot flash. “Yeah, I do. It’s…unexpected.”
    He took his sweet time before stepping back and giving me enough space to catch my breath. “I’ll take you for a ride, but we need to get the ice cream in your freezer first.”
    “Ice cream?”
    “I promised cinnamon ice cream to go with the apple pie.” Could his grin get any more mischievous? He reached around me and removed a small cooler from the pack on the back of the bike.
    We brushed shoulders a couple times on the way inside. Playful. Friendly. I kept my fingers to myself and focused on the ice cream as I led the way upstairs to my living space. The scent of fresh-baked apple pie filled the air, and Mitch’s stomach grumbled. “Smells great, El. You have a scoop for the ice cream?”
    I pointed to a drawer while I sliced generous wedges of pie. “In there. Flat, silver, like in a Cold Stone Creamery.”
    He located the scoop and watched me, still, silent, his eyes holding mine in a gentle hug that somehow spoke an entire conversation. A tacit decision not to talk about Tony or the murder. This time was for us. Separate from the chaos surrounding us.
    We’d settled on my back deck with dessert bowls balanced on our laps and mugs of coffee steaming on top of a wicker table. I’d just stuffed a bite of pie in my mouth when he hit me with the question. “You ever been on a bike?”
    I swallowed. “Never even considered it. Seems…uncontrolled. And they’re so big. I, um, drive a VW Bug. Sort of opposite from a Harley.” I chased the pie down with a gulp of too-hot coffee. He looked like he was going to press the bike-ride thing, so I shoved in another bite of pie and ice cream and let the pungent cinnamon melt over my tongue. Cinnamon and Mitch. They had a lot in common.
    “Not a Harley. It’s a BMW, good for on and off road. Work takes me to odd places and the bike is adaptable. Same reason my main ride is an F-one-fifty. Not glamorous, but hell on back roads.”
    We ate and talked about family and shared work stories. Normal. Until he picked up our dishes and headed for the kitchen. “Ready for that ride?”
    I glanced at my toes, the Keys to My Karma polish a bright red contrast to my