The Ice Kiss by L. Steele EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: L. Steele
- Language: English
- Genre: City Life Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Giorgina
“You’re such a good girl.” He wraps his fingers around my throat and leans
in until his breath raises the fine hair on my forehead. “You take everything
I give you so beautifully.”
My toes curl. When Shane East says, ‘good girl’, I’d do anything he
wants, even if it causes pain. Especially if it causes pain. A-n-d… Don’t tell
my friends I’m listening to The Billionaire’s Fake Wife by L. Steele, instead
of How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie. Everyone
knows I only listen to motivational speakers and only read self-help books.
Oh, I also have my life organized by the minute—the only way to stay in
control. Which reminds me, I have precisely thirty minutes to get in and out
of this shindig. The only reason I’m here is because my friend, Abby,
invited me, and I couldn’t say no. I flounce into the room, hitch my Hermès
bag over my shoulder and declare, “Hello, everyone. Sorry I’m late.”
Silence descends, broken only by Shane’s baritone in my ear which
growls, “Come for me. Right now.” Oopsie, best to shut off my audiobook
for the time I’m here.
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I’m addicted to the voices of my growly audio narrators. There’s
nothing like listening to them to drown out the thoughts in my head. The
ones where I worry about everything that can go wrong with my life. The
ones where I work myself into a tizzy and end up talking to myself—a sight
that draws strange looks from people near me. One of the last things I want
my friends to witness.
I slide my phone from my handbag, stop the audio, then pull out my
earphones and drop them into my bag. When I look up, my gaze arrows in
on the man hulking by the bar.
He’s six-foot-six—no kidding, the tallest, biggest man I’ve ever met
outside of my spicy novels, though I’ll never tell him that— with shoulders
that fill my vision, and that chest of his clad in a black T-shirt, which is
threadbare and outlines every single ridge and divot of his pecs. And that
throat—OMG, that gorgeous, sinewed throat with veins that pop in relief
when he’s pissed.
Of course he’s pissed, as evinced by the set of his jaw, the nerve that
flexes at his temple, and those dark brows drawn down over his eyes. Blue
eyes. Icy, frosted, and glacial. They chill me to the bone, even as the sight
of his luscious, pouty, lower lip makes me want to dig my teeth in and draw
blood. Argh.
These conflicting emotions where Rick Mitchell is concerned always
give me whiplash. How can you hate a man and yet be attracted to him so
much? His gaze intensifies. He brings the bottle of water — I know it’s
water because he doesn’t drink alcohol—to his mouth. His biceps bulge, the
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