Ice-Cold Lover by Mel Teshco

Author:Mel Teshco
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ellora's Cave Publishing Inc.
Published: 2013-12-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

She pressed a hand to her mouth, stumbling back. He reached for her and as she recoiled, his lips pulled into a tight line. She couldn’t worry about his feelings right now, not when every iced-over sensibility was going into meltdown.

She stared at him, her eyes growing wide as the stark truth crashed through her mind like a train wreck she’d somehow known was about to happen—if she hadn’t ignored all the warning signs. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”

When her words came out hard and flat, his brow furrowed. “I’ve had my suspicions.”

Dark anger, like bile, rose up inside. She’d spent almost a lifetime hiding her ugly wings, her true self. For what?

She lashed out, struck him across the face with an open palm. An audible crack reverberated around them—small satisfaction for the long-repressed emotions now unleashed inside her. “Bastard!”

The lines on his brow deepened into a scowl. His eyes flashed, all hot, brooding male. “Yes, I am.”

Her jaw ached as she gritted her teeth. Yet even in her haze of fury she sensed the simmering waves of intensity emanating from him had little to do with her act of violence. There was something she couldn’t put her finger on, something not quite right, if only dark emotion wasn’t choking her mind.

“But it matters little,” he added in a growl. “I want you Celeste, regardless of who you are—who I am. I hunger for you; I know you hunger for me. One night isn’t going to be enough. Hell, we both knew it was never going to be enough.”

Anger died a quick death and she had a sudden insane desire to laugh, to stamp her feet like a petulant child. Instead she swallowed past an ever-thickening lump in her throat while her eyes filled with scalding tears. “You don’t understand.”

“Don’t I?” he asked, curving a hand beneath her jaw. His lightly calloused palm was tender and gentle, in direct contrast to the red imprint of her hand on his cheek. “I know about your father, about his gift.” At her shocked intake of her breath he added softly, “About the gift he passed onto you.”

It’s no gift.

She felt the tears abruptly overflow, pouring down her face unchecked. “You’re mistaken,” she whispered, but she was all too aware he wasn’t one bit deceived.

He couldn’t possibly know everything, could he? She’d been so careful. Even her mum and dad—Loretta and Cray—had secluded themselves at their bush cabin high in the mountains, giving no one the chance to speculate and gossip about her mother’s beautiful, but maturing appearance, her father’s still youthful good looks.

“You know very well I’m not,” he said quietly.

Oh, god. Her belly twisted as her mind tossed thoughts about like a toy boat in a churning sea. “Who else knows about my father?” Her voice rose. “About me?”

“Aside from myself, a skeptical investigator and the fading, vague memories of three of my father’s lackeys the night they saw Cray. Not a soul.”

“Then—” She sucked in a breath. “What

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