Read Online Eyes of Ice (Eyes of Ice Erotica Series) by Emily Rose - Free Book Online
Authors: Emily Rose
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I’ll help you get ready, you’ll be beautiful! He won’t be able to resist!”
“Resist what?” Cecelia asked, but Mags only laughed in response.
As much as she tried to steel herself for Andrew’s appearance at the door at the promised time (eight o’clock, sharp), Cecelia was still taken aback. He was so handsome it wasn’t fair, though today he looked more like he had stepped from the pages of GQ. He wore a jet-black tuxedo, a creamy white handkerchief peeking from his pocket and a smile on his lips.
Unable to help herself and unable to speak, Cecelia reached forward and straightened his bow tie, which hadn’t been crooked at all – she had just wanted to touch him. As she released the fabric she realized that its dark shade matched her dress perfectly.
“Thank you,” he said. “You look beautiful.” He leaned in for a kiss that barely brushed her lips. Even so, she smelled his smoky, bitter scent and her skin warmed further. She opened his eyes to see that he was offering her his arm. She wordlessly accepted, and they walked to a shining towncar that waited outside the dorm. Mags watched them, gaping. Cecelia knew that she would be answering a lot of questions later, probably ones revolving around Andrew’s attractiveness and obvious sex appeal.
“How are you, really?” he inquired as soon as the driver pulled away from the curb. They were sitting at a respectful distance; about, Cecelia thought, the distance you would sit from someone you were just sharing a cab with. She tried not to let the space fill her with any more self-doubt.
“Really, I’m fine,” she told him. His eyes searched her face as if they hoped to read some other truth there.
“You weren’t frightened? By Devon?” he asked at last, brows drawn together.
“No – I was. But you … um, I guess you made me feel safe. So, I don’t know.” To her own ears, her voice sounded thin and pathetic. How come he’s so well-spoken and I can’t even string a few words together?
“And you weren’t frightened by anything else?” he pressed.
Instantly, Cecelia had another flashback to his hands on her body, of the rushing heat she had felt fill her, and how that had been counterbalanced by her nervousness surrounding her inexperience.
“No,” she lied, looking down at the floor of the cab. It was easier to think – and speak – when she wasn’t looking at him.
“Have I made you uncomfortable?”
“A little.”
“I’m sorry. I wanted you to know,” his fingers were under her chin, lifting her head to meet his eyes. “I had a good time.”
A small triumph blossomed in her. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
She grinned, unable to hold in her joy at her success, and became very conscious of his leg pressed against hers, of his fingers tucking her hair behind her ear. She knew, suddenly, that if she met his eyes now that perhaps they wouldn’t make it to this supposed formal event at all.
“Are you frightened of me?” he asked, as the city slipped past their windows.
“Not really,” she said, looking at the floor still. Not really a lie, this time. She anticipated that he would ask why not, and so attempted to beat him to the punch. “I don’t think you want to hurt me. I mean, if you were going to, you would have already. Like Devon said, I guess there’s no point, um … playing with your food.”
Both of them were smiling now; she chanced to look up,
“Resist what?” Cecelia asked, but Mags only laughed in response.
As much as she tried to steel herself for Andrew’s appearance at the door at the promised time (eight o’clock, sharp), Cecelia was still taken aback. He was so handsome it wasn’t fair, though today he looked more like he had stepped from the pages of GQ. He wore a jet-black tuxedo, a creamy white handkerchief peeking from his pocket and a smile on his lips.
Unable to help herself and unable to speak, Cecelia reached forward and straightened his bow tie, which hadn’t been crooked at all – she had just wanted to touch him. As she released the fabric she realized that its dark shade matched her dress perfectly.
“Thank you,” he said. “You look beautiful.” He leaned in for a kiss that barely brushed her lips. Even so, she smelled his smoky, bitter scent and her skin warmed further. She opened his eyes to see that he was offering her his arm. She wordlessly accepted, and they walked to a shining towncar that waited outside the dorm. Mags watched them, gaping. Cecelia knew that she would be answering a lot of questions later, probably ones revolving around Andrew’s attractiveness and obvious sex appeal.
“How are you, really?” he inquired as soon as the driver pulled away from the curb. They were sitting at a respectful distance; about, Cecelia thought, the distance you would sit from someone you were just sharing a cab with. She tried not to let the space fill her with any more self-doubt.
“Really, I’m fine,” she told him. His eyes searched her face as if they hoped to read some other truth there.
“You weren’t frightened? By Devon?” he asked at last, brows drawn together.
“No – I was. But you … um, I guess you made me feel safe. So, I don’t know.” To her own ears, her voice sounded thin and pathetic. How come he’s so well-spoken and I can’t even string a few words together?
“And you weren’t frightened by anything else?” he pressed.
Instantly, Cecelia had another flashback to his hands on her body, of the rushing heat she had felt fill her, and how that had been counterbalanced by her nervousness surrounding her inexperience.
“No,” she lied, looking down at the floor of the cab. It was easier to think – and speak – when she wasn’t looking at him.
“Have I made you uncomfortable?”
“A little.”
“I’m sorry. I wanted you to know,” his fingers were under her chin, lifting her head to meet his eyes. “I had a good time.”
A small triumph blossomed in her. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
She grinned, unable to hold in her joy at her success, and became very conscious of his leg pressed against hers, of his fingers tucking her hair behind her ear. She knew, suddenly, that if she met his eyes now that perhaps they wouldn’t make it to this supposed formal event at all.
“Are you frightened of me?” he asked, as the city slipped past their windows.
“Not really,” she said, looking at the floor still. Not really a lie, this time. She anticipated that he would ask why not, and so attempted to beat him to the punch. “I don’t think you want to hurt me. I mean, if you were going to, you would have already. Like Devon said, I guess there’s no point, um … playing with your food.”
Both of them were smiling now; she chanced to look up,
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