A Trick of Frost Read online

  A Trick of Frost

  RaeLynn Blue and Dréa Riley

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language. This material is meant for mature audiences!

  Also By RaeLynn Blue

  Speed Demon

  A Love Reborn

  A Healer's Bond

  Sand Storm

  Wasabi Heat

  An Open Lure: An O.A. Story

  An Open Melody: An O.A. Story

  A Rebel Among Goddesses

  Prin in Porta: A Humania Tale

  The Onyx Scion: A Humania Tale

  Desire Into Gold: A Humania Tale

  I.G. O.: Sudden Snow

  I.G.O.: Save for Shardae

  Lasso a Lover

  Hot Summer Shimmer

  Somethin' Cookin'

  Thelma's Eatery

  Cook's Choice

  Accidentally in Love: The Naughty Nanny Series

  Schooled

  Soul's Kin

  Moonbeams and Stardust: Halo's Heart

  Moonbeams and Stardust: Star Seduction

  Also by Dréa Riley

  Slow Bucking

  Second Helpings-Stormy Weather Loving

  Ride It Like You Stole It

  New Years Marine

  Tag You’re Writ Vol. 2

  Tag You’re Writ Vol. 1

  Shara and Friends Naughty Bites vol.1

  Smack it, Flip it, Rub it Down!

  Flame On!!! The Absolutely Could Be TRUE ADVENTURES of the MFPP

  T’Zara’s Heart

  Tempt and Torched

  A Trick of Frost

  A Whispers Publishing Publication

  December 2010

  Copyright © 2010 RaeLynn Blue and Dréa Riley

  Cover illustration copyright © Rene Walden of BG Designs

  ISBN Not Assigned

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Published by: Whispers Publishing, P.O. Box 1165, Ladson, SC 29456-1165.

  Dedication

  To those who feel the magic and move to claim it.

  Chapter One

  Thick, fat flakes fell to the ground, faster and faster with growing accumulation on the city of Chicago. Snow drifts decorated the edges of the glistening, iced streets. Jaycee Frost navigated the sidewalk’s hidden ice patches with skill. Her black, knee-high boots had enough rubber grips on the bottoms to keep her from skidding and flashing half of the windy city her panties.

  Her wool cream skirt, wide black belt, and ivory turtleneck completed her look, but the ebony leather knee-length coat didn’t do a damn thing to keep her warm, not in this blizzard. She cursed her initial desire to get dressed to impress.

  It didn’t matter how she looked. Her vindictive jerk of an ex-husband, Rick, was suing her parents. His parents, Jaycee’s in-laws, had died in a car accident, and they’d chosen to leave the bulk of their estate to their daughter-in-law, Jaycee, instead of their son. Rick had sent yet another summons in an attempt to force Jaycee’s parents to hire a lawyer, as if that would somehow prick her heart and lure her back to their loveless, cold marriage.

  Like hell.

  Rick’s actions did resurrect a flame—one she wanted to roast his ass over. The bright orange neon sign of O’Malley’s beckoned to her like an open-mouthed hearth. So furious from the latest summons, her fury hid her hunger. Now that her anger waned, she realized just how damn hungry she’d become.

  Cold burrowed through her sleek matching leather gloves, as she pulled the brass knob of the restaurant. She walked in to a gush of body sweat, beer, and a pack of people piled into the foyer. Seems everybody and his cousin had the same idea. Not that she could blame them. The only reason she hadn’t cancelled on Rick’s stupid ass meeting was the fact that she had reservations at O’Malley’s.

  Not an hour after she left her lawyer’s office, she arrived here, O’Malley’s, a fantastic Irish restaurant and pub. Squeezing between heavily coated, hot and bulky groups of people, Jaycee made her way to the hostess station.

  “Yes ma’am. How many in your party?” the too young, too thin, and too damn chipper for this nutty, gloomy weather hostess asked. She brushed her stringy blond bangs from her face, and beamed at Jaycee.

  “I have a reservation. Jaycee Frost.”

  The girl’s fingers roamed over the tinted glass embedded in the hostess tower, and her lips moved as she read the names. Her head shot up and she smiled that big too-happy smile.

  “Here, take this. When your table is ready, it’ll light up and flash around.”

  “Thanks,” Jaycee said and shifted to a position as far away from the open door and away from the throng of people milling about.

  Leaning against the walls she closed her eyes briefly and hoped her round timer would illuminate as quickly as possible. She was tired, hungry, and inexplicably horny. Of course, the source of her carnal hunger wasn’t from the meeting with her ex-husband or his beady-eyed attorney. And it most definitely wasn’t caused by her lawyer.

  Though debonair, the man was old enough to be her great-grandfather. Maybe it was the woodsy scent mingling with the winter air, or maybe it was the Arctic gaze of the man staring at her from the reflection of the bar mirror. Or maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t had a “good” time in over a year.

  Jaycee stamped her emotions down firmly and mentally recalled the menu. She was definitely going to have the hearty beef stew. She just didn’t know if she wanted it before or after she had O’Malley’s yummy chocolate fudge lust cake. She couldn’t remember the actual name of the cake, but lust cake was her favorite thing to call it.

  Definitely beef stew with a nice, cold Irish beer. That would taste so damn good and follow it with the lust cake. Yep. Now if only they’d hurry and make her timer sparkle. The faster she could eat, the sooner she could get home to her cozy two-story condo. The earlier she could eat, the sooner she could get home to her cozy two-story condo into her comfy pjs with a glass of wine. Then she could forget all about “Rick the dick”.

  Until she had to face him in court. She wasn’t worried about him winning. His parents’ will had been iron tight, and her parents didn’t owe Rick a damn thing. But the trauma and the stress of the procedures might wear on her family.

  Damn, come on. I’m starving here. My size fourteen is withering down to size 2.

  The static of the surround sound crackled and a too chipper, slightly distorted announced, “Table for one, J.C.”

  Jaycee clearly heard her name, but her square timer didn’t light up. Maybe it was broken or defective. She made a beeline for the station, driven by her hunger. Just as she got there, the man from the bar, the one with the sapphire eyes arrived too.

  “Um,” Jaycee blurted out, not waiting for the man to speak. “You called my name for a table.”

  Miss Too Happy glanced at her, her ultra-bright smile wilting. She cut a sharp glance at the handsome man from the bar and said, “J.C. Frost?”

  Jaycee and the man both answered in unison. “Yes.”

  What the hell? Jaycee thought and almost said except, the other man said it first.

  “What the hell?” he said, sco
ffing at her. “I’m J.C. Frost and I have a reservation.”

  Jaycee put both her hands on her hips. “My name is Jaycee Frost and I have a reservation! Stop trying to steal my table. Wait your turn and next time make a reservation.

  He turned those ice blue eyes to her and damn if her heart didn’t skip. Hell no. He was not, NOT going to take her table. Staying out later in this blizzard could mean she’d end up stranded. No. She made this reservation and damn it, she was going to keep it.

  He smirked at her. “This is my table.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Yes, sweetheart, it is.”

  “Who the hell are you calling sweetheart?” Jaycee snapped.

  “J.C. Frost, please!” shouted Little Miss Too Damn Chipper. With cheeks flushed, and white knuckled grips on a menu she said in a more quiet voice, “May I see your timer?”

  Jaycee’s heart sank. She lifted her square, dark timer.

  J.C. held his up and it spun in rotating scarlet lights.

  “I win,” he chirped and winked at her.

  Jaycee swallowed her argument, and nodded in his direction, conceding the point. But she didn’t return his smile or his wink.

  Chapter Two

  J.C. Frost watched the disappointment on the cute little spitfire’s face and it touched something in him. She’d argued so convincingly. She just knew that reservation was hers, or was it that she wanted a table so bad she’d pretend her name was J.C. too? Before he could stop himself, he waved the hostess to wait.

  He turned to Jaycee. “Hey, uh, you want to just share a table with me? I mean, obviously, they’ve screwed up the reservations.”

  “Sir, we had one reservation for J.C. Frost, so when she called and came in we simply confirmed we had it,” the hostess tried to explain from behind him.

  Like he gave a damn why they screwed up the reservation. He didn’t even acknowledge the woman’s babbling. His attention had been snagged by the curvy, petite African-American woman who shared his initials.

  “So, you coming to eat with me or what?” he asked. He didn’t want to force her, pressure her to share a table with him. Women did battle to sit at a table with him, so he damn sure wasn’t going to beg this one.

  But he really wanted her to come. She intrigued him in a way he hadn’t seen in a woman before. His tailored suit, Brooks Brothers trench coat, and fine leather gloves didn’t stop her from arguing with him. The fact that he stood a foot taller, and absolutely was in the right, didn’t stop her.

  And she intrigued him, made him want to know more. Spunk and fire burned in her round, maple-brown eyes. It seared inside of his mind, successfully tattooing her impression there for all time. He wouldn’t forget this little interaction with the saucy woman.

  But damn if he was going to tell her.

  And he sure as hell wouldn’t mind extending his time with her. Who knew what sort of splendid entertainment she’d provide. He didn’t like eating alone anyway.

  “Yeah, okay,” she said, accepting his invitation to share a table.

  “Great!” exclaimed the hostess, although she sounded anything but. She snagged another menu. “This way, please.”

  J.C. gestured for the female to go ahead of him. He’d bring up the rear. She hesitated as if she didn’t quite trust or believe him. He understood. They’d just met.

  “Here you two are,” said the hostess, slapping down the menus. “Enjoy.”

  J.C. held the chair for his new dining mate, but she stalked by him, and sat herself. Her chin pitched slightly upward, nose in the air, as if he smelled bad—which he knew he didn’t.

  His dining mate was still mad about the table reservation being his.

  He stood watching while she yanked off her gloves and stuffed them into her oversized purse. Her nimble fingers flicked open the buttons of her coat, revealing a full curvy figure that had his mouth watering. He knew she had a nice shape, but once the coat was off, well, his perception changed. The sleek wool cream skirt made its way lovingly over her figure to stop a scant breath above her black knees.

  Though her legs were encased in what he could only assume were some kind of winter-thick pantyhose, he was intrigued by that negative space between the hem of the dress and the top of her boots. Boots that upon inspection must have cost a fortune. The leather looked soft and hand tooled. The thick chunky heel—probably made that way for balance on the winter Chicago streets, reminded him of the woman whose luscious weight they supported.

  “I hear the corn beef is excellent,” J.C. said, just to fill the awkward silence.

  “I wasn’t asking you for suggestions,” she snapped. “I can read.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” he said, lowering his menu and looking across the table to her. “I get that you’re little Miss Independent. So can you cool the attitude? I’d like to eat and enjoy it.”

  She glared at him as if she meant to argue some more. With a flick of her wrists, she propped the damn menu up in front of her face, successfully blocking his view of her and hers of him.

  “May I take your orders, please?” asked a somber male waiter, dressed in an impeccable black suit and tie. “Might I suggest a hot chocolate or an Irish cream?”

  “Killian’s Red,” she said briskly, getting her order in before him. “Beef stew.”

  “May I suggest a salad for the side,” the waiter said.

  “You may,” she said with a smirk, “but I’m not interested.”

  “Excellent choice ma’am,” he said without so much as cracking a smile. He turned to J.C. and asked, “And for you sir?”

  “New York Strip, medium rare, baked potato and asparagus. Bring me a Guinness.”

  J.C. hadn’t even cracked open his menu. He’d come to O’Malley’s dozens of times and knew what he liked. Some men waffled on every little decision, but not him. He was man enough to know what he wanted and who he wanted.

  He looked across to Jaycee. It felt strange saying her name when his was the same.

  “Waiting on your heart attack huh?” she smirked, crossing her arms over her ivory turtleneck.

  “Good food doesn’t come in diet. Last time I checked, beef stew wasn’t great for arteries, either.”

  She shrugged one round shoulder as if her arteries didn’t matter.

  “So, you come here often,” he said, hating the way it sounded—like such a line. He had better game than this, but she kept him off-balance. Groaning internally at the lame-ass statement, J.C. knew he sounded like a high school freshman. So he tried again to convey his smoothness, because she seemed unconvinced. “Uh, you didn’t open your menu.”

  “Look, the beef stew is written as today’s special on the blackboard.”

  J.C. sighed deeply, if he was going to enjoy his meal without heartburn he was going to have to do something to quell this attitude she was throwing. True he hated to eat alone, but he hated eating in strained silence with company even more. She obviously didn’t want to be there.

  “So how is it that we came to this mix up with our reservations?” he asked coolly.

  He wanted to test her about trying to steal his slot again, but he decided that tactic wasn’t going to go very far in improving their “relationship.”

  Molten lava eyes met his over the top of her dessert menu. The fury that flashed there told him he was very narrowly escaping a not so “happy ending.”

  Her voice dipped several octaves, deep enough to making him think of another setting he’d like to hear those whispered tones in.

  She snaked her hand into the voluminous purse and withdrew a piece of hard plastic that she placed face up in front of him.

  “I called three days ago and made sure my name was on the reservation list. I never miss a chance to come to O’Malley’s when business leads me this way. I didn’t steal your reservation. In fact, unless you called four days ago, you, my friend, by hook, crook or some other unforeseen circumstances stole my reservation.”

  The last words were hissed out vehemently by the pret
ty girl.

  J.C. broke his gaze from hers long enough to look down and study the article on the table. An Illinois driver’s license stared up at him. Jaycee Frost, 5’3” with black hair and brown eyes. The picture stared at him with intensity.

  Not willing to admit he was in any way “wrong” J.C. smirked.

  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to give your address to strange men?”

  “She most certainly did. She also gave me my first gun, which is in my purse, and taught me how to make fake ids. That’s not my address, though it is my name and photo. You can keep it as a souvenir. I’ve got my valid license in my purse...next to my gun.”

  Chapter Three

  Jaycee couldn’t help but smile at the deep hearty laugh that erupted from her unfortunate dinner date. The sound was rich and melodic. The way his mouth opened to expose not only a set of very large, perfectly wolfish white teeth, but also his tongue. Wide and fat, it lay nestled in the dark cavern of his mouth. His breath was sweet with a hint of the mint gum she’d noticed him place in his napkin.

  “You know, women and guns have been known to turn people on,” he said, shooting her another smirk.

  This one did something to her insides. Something she hadn’t felt outside reading her favorite books in a long time.

  “You’re right. When I see my hand wrapped around that nickel-plated nine, I get chills, and I just, mmmm, want to caress myself.”

  She didn’t mean a damn word of it, but the look on J.C.’s face was worth it. His eyebrows rose into his hair, and his smirk waned a little around the edges. A slight red flush crept up his neck. Jaycee completely relaxed. She put down the dessert menu and, with a delicate laugh, sank back into her seat.

  “Look dude,” she said, amusement escaping into her voice. She’d like to keep it up, the pretense that he didn’t get under her skin, but damn his sharp blue eyes, he did.