Read Online Guns and Roses by Sylvia Day, Allison Brennan, Lori G. Armstrong - Free Book Online Page A
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shit, this is perfect.”
Callie was too cold to complain about his language, spinning around from her own search of the shelves to see what he’d found. There wasn’t much; the freezer might be kept ice cold, but it was obviously not in regular use.
Meaning no one would happen in on them… for days.
“What is it?” she asked with a nearly uncontrollable shiver, hugging herself as they met in the middle.
He held up a clear plastic squeeze bottle with a nozzle at the top, the kind Granny Belle used to serve her homemade barbeque sauce. “All we have to do is melt, squeeze, and freeze. Here, start warming the bottle while I get the right size of ice.”
He tucked the bottle between her breasts so she could use her wrapped-in-tie hands to rub the frozen plastic. As she did, a wave of dizziness threatened her stability. Slowly, she lowered herself to the icy cold floor, knowing it would make her colder, but hardly able to stand any more.
“Hey, hey.” He pulled her up. “We need to stay standing. The less of our body that touches the cold surfaces, the longer we’ll stay alive.” He tipped her chin up to face him. “You’re not losing it, are you, Callie?”
She bit her lip, shocked that ice was forming on it. “I’m fine,” she lied.
“You will be,” he promised, setting his phone on a shelf so it cast a pale light into the center of the freezer, putting a rod-shaped icicle next to it. “Give me the bottle.”
He took it and started to unscrew the top, the light beaming on the muscles of his bare chest, catching the tips of frozen hair tufted between sculpted pecs. His body tense, every cut in his abs showed a classic washboard on a very, very sexy man. A much focused and still sexy man.
“How come you’re not shivering?” she asked.
“I’m bigger than you,” he said.
“Certainly have more… muscles.” She stared at them again, not too cold to imagine… kissing that chest. Those abs. That bulge she couldn’t forget. “Really nice muscles.”
He glanced up, eyeing her carefully. “You know, a victim of hypothermia can feel symptoms of drunkenness.”
“I’m not drunk,” she countered. “I’m cold. And you’re hot.”
He chuckled. “Help me get this icicle in, then. So we can get out of here and you can do whatever it is you’re thinking about doing.”
The tie fell off her hands, the silky fabric so frozen it wasn’t helping anymore, so she could hold the bottle while he worked the ice into the top, licking it at one point to make it slide in.
“Your tongue’s amazing,” she said.
“You don’t even know. Yet.”
The last word sent a welcome and unholy heat through her. “I’d like to,” she admitted.
He looked up from the bottle and raised her temperature a few degrees with one smoky look. “You will.”
The promise was enough to stave off dizziness and hypothermia.
When he got the ice into the bottle, he held it up for them to examine.
“Is that going to melt into enough water?”
“Absolutely.” He stepped closer to her, his confidence almost as dizzying as the cold, and the closeness of him. “But now we have work to do.”
She took a step closer and he put the bottle dead center on his solar plexus, holding it with one hand while he pulled her into him with the other. The ice bottle touched her shirt, making her cry out softly, but he barely flinched with it against his skin.
“Heat, Callie. We need friction and heat.” He smashed them closer together, nestling the bottle between them. “That means we have to move against each other.”
She looked up at him. “We can do this,” she said.
“Damn straight we can.” He rocked left to right.
“You cuss too much.”
He laughed softly, rolling the bottle between their bodies. “You don’t cuss enough.”
Closing her eyes, she shifted side to side, their hips as close as their chests, his arms folded around her. “Shit, it’s cold. How about that?”
He rubbed faster, side to side, body
Callie was too cold to complain about his language, spinning around from her own search of the shelves to see what he’d found. There wasn’t much; the freezer might be kept ice cold, but it was obviously not in regular use.
Meaning no one would happen in on them… for days.
“What is it?” she asked with a nearly uncontrollable shiver, hugging herself as they met in the middle.
He held up a clear plastic squeeze bottle with a nozzle at the top, the kind Granny Belle used to serve her homemade barbeque sauce. “All we have to do is melt, squeeze, and freeze. Here, start warming the bottle while I get the right size of ice.”
He tucked the bottle between her breasts so she could use her wrapped-in-tie hands to rub the frozen plastic. As she did, a wave of dizziness threatened her stability. Slowly, she lowered herself to the icy cold floor, knowing it would make her colder, but hardly able to stand any more.
“Hey, hey.” He pulled her up. “We need to stay standing. The less of our body that touches the cold surfaces, the longer we’ll stay alive.” He tipped her chin up to face him. “You’re not losing it, are you, Callie?”
She bit her lip, shocked that ice was forming on it. “I’m fine,” she lied.
“You will be,” he promised, setting his phone on a shelf so it cast a pale light into the center of the freezer, putting a rod-shaped icicle next to it. “Give me the bottle.”
He took it and started to unscrew the top, the light beaming on the muscles of his bare chest, catching the tips of frozen hair tufted between sculpted pecs. His body tense, every cut in his abs showed a classic washboard on a very, very sexy man. A much focused and still sexy man.
“How come you’re not shivering?” she asked.
“I’m bigger than you,” he said.
“Certainly have more… muscles.” She stared at them again, not too cold to imagine… kissing that chest. Those abs. That bulge she couldn’t forget. “Really nice muscles.”
He glanced up, eyeing her carefully. “You know, a victim of hypothermia can feel symptoms of drunkenness.”
“I’m not drunk,” she countered. “I’m cold. And you’re hot.”
He chuckled. “Help me get this icicle in, then. So we can get out of here and you can do whatever it is you’re thinking about doing.”
The tie fell off her hands, the silky fabric so frozen it wasn’t helping anymore, so she could hold the bottle while he worked the ice into the top, licking it at one point to make it slide in.
“Your tongue’s amazing,” she said.
“You don’t even know. Yet.”
The last word sent a welcome and unholy heat through her. “I’d like to,” she admitted.
He looked up from the bottle and raised her temperature a few degrees with one smoky look. “You will.”
The promise was enough to stave off dizziness and hypothermia.
When he got the ice into the bottle, he held it up for them to examine.
“Is that going to melt into enough water?”
“Absolutely.” He stepped closer to her, his confidence almost as dizzying as the cold, and the closeness of him. “But now we have work to do.”
She took a step closer and he put the bottle dead center on his solar plexus, holding it with one hand while he pulled her into him with the other. The ice bottle touched her shirt, making her cry out softly, but he barely flinched with it against his skin.
“Heat, Callie. We need friction and heat.” He smashed them closer together, nestling the bottle between them. “That means we have to move against each other.”
She looked up at him. “We can do this,” she said.
“Damn straight we can.” He rocked left to right.
“You cuss too much.”
He laughed softly, rolling the bottle between their bodies. “You don’t cuss enough.”
Closing her eyes, she shifted side to side, their hips as close as their chests, his arms folded around her. “Shit, it’s cold. How about that?”
He rubbed faster, side to side, body
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