Read Black Ice for Free Online

opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say, what kind of argument she could come up with, when he spoke.
    “I’m very attracted to you, you know,” he said. “I don’t remember when I’ve been quite so charmed.” And before she realized what he intended he’d put his hands on her, moving her back against the wall, and proceeded to kiss her.
    He was very good, she thought dazedly, trying not to react. His hands were touching her, his mouth the merest whisper against her lips, and without thinking she closed her eyes, feeling his kiss brush against her cheekbones, her eyelids, then down to her mouth again, clinging slightly, then moving on, down the side of her neck.
    She didn’t know what to do with her hands. She ought to reach up and push him away, but she didn’t really want to. The soft, feathering kisses simply made her want more, and since this was definitely going to be the only time she let him kiss her then she ought to experience it entirely.
    So when he moved his hands from her waist to cup her face, and when he pressed his mouth against hers, harder this time, she opened for him, telling herself that one little taste of forbidden fruit was all right. After all, it was France. Vive l’amour.
    But just as she was about to let herself sink into the pleasure of it, nasty little warning bells stopped her. He was, oh, so adept. He knew how to kiss, how to use his lips, his tongue, his hands, and if she were just a little bit more stupid she’d be awash with desire.
    But something wasn’t right. It was a performance that even she could see through. He was making all the right moves, saying all the right things, but some part of him was standing back, coolly watching her response.
    Her hands, which were just about to clutch his shoulders, pushed him away instead. She used more strength than she needed to—he made no effort to force her, he simply fell back, that faint amusement on his face.
    “No?” he said. “Perhaps I misread the situation. I’m very attracted to you, and I thought the feeling was mutual.”
    “Monsieur Toussaint, you are a very attractive man. But you’re playing some kind of game with me, and I don’t like it.”
    “Game?”
    “I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t believe you’ve developed a sudden, uncontrollable passion for me.” Sylvia was always chiding her for being so outspoken, but she didn’t care. Anything to upset the smooth, beguiling lies of the man who was still standing too close to her.
    “Then I’ll have to work harder to convince you,” he said, reaching for her again.
    And fool that she was, she might have let him, but the door to the drawing room opened and Monsieur Hakim appeared, glowering.
    Bastien stepped back, in no particular hurry, and Hakim’s expression darkened further. “We wondered where you were, Mademoiselle Underwood. It’s half-past seven already.”
    “I had trouble finding my way here. Monsieur Toussaint was kind enough to guide me.”
    “I’m certain he was,” Hakim grumbled. “The baron is waiting for you, Bastien. And behave yourself—we have work to do.”
    “Bien sûr,” he said, flashing an ironic smile in her direction as he moved past Hakim.
    Chloe started to follow, but Hakim put a strong hand on her arm, halting her. “You need to be warned about Bastien,” he said.
    “I don’t need to be warned. I know his type very well.” Not true, she thought. He was trying to convince her he was a certain kind of man—sophisticated, charming, flirtatious and totally without morals. And he was that kind of man—she had no doubt of that. There was just something more, something darker inside, and she couldn’t figure out quite what it was.
    Hakim nodded, though he was clearly unconvinced. “You are very young, Mademoiselle Underwood. I feel I am in a fatherly position, and I would not like to see anything unfortunate befall you.”
    It was his overformal English that made it sound threatening, of