Finally breaking the kiss, he pulled back and said, "The game is called Hot or Cold. I�ll guess something about you, and you�ll tell me if I�m hot�" He wrapped his warm lips around her nipple, tonguing her in an all-too-brief tease. Then, without warning, he pressed an ice cube to her other nipple. "Or cold."

Charley gasped, thighs clenching in a vain attempt to staunch her throbbing desire.

"That�s� not a fair game, Mr. Redthorne," she panted. "You�ve got complete control."

"Yes, that�s the idea. Let�s begin." He skimmed his hand across her abdomen, his touch smooth and electric, bringing every nerve to rapt attention. "You�re originally from New Jersey."

"How did you�"

"Hot or cold, love?"

"Hot."

He rewarded her with another deep kiss, his mouth warm and silky. But it didn�t last.

"It�s the accent," he admitted softly. "Despite your polished exterior, a bit of New Jersey slips in when you�re under duress. I find it very intriguing. Now, let�s see�" He traced his fingertips from one hipbone to the other, back and forth, his touch as hypnotic as his voice. "You went to Catholic school."

"I�ve already told you that. I�"

"Hot or cold, Ms. D�Amico?"

"Hot. Definitely hot."

Another kiss, another soft moan. This time, he dipped his fingers lower, teasing her clit before sliding them inside her with slow, deliberate strokes.

A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips as she melted beneath his touch.

Charley was really starting to like this game.

"You studied art history in college," he murmured.

"Cold. I never went to�holy shit!"

Dorian ran an ice cube between her breasts, down to her bellybutton. His other hand was still occupied between her thighs, fingers stroking, the twin sensations of hot and cold driving her wild.

"You studied art history, though," he said. "That much is certain."

"Yes! I mean, hot. So fucking hot."

Removing the ice cube, he lowered his mouth to her flesh, following the trail of the cold water, lapping it up with his tongue.

With a soft sigh, she writhed on the bar, hips rocking, blood simmering. She reached for his hair, longing to touch him, but he pulled back, removing his mouth and fingers both.

"Don�t stop," she begged, reaching for him again. "Please, Dorian."

"Dorian, is it?" He lowered his mouth to her ear and licked the edge, his breath hot. "Awfully familiar for a woman lying naked on my bar, subject to my every whim."

"Mr. Redthorne," she corrected. "Please don�t stop touching me." JrNovels.com