Frostbite (Last Call #5) by Moira Rogers Page A

room.
“Yes.”
    He accepted the key and her blush with the
same calm acceptance, as if neither her capitulation nor her
arousal particularly surprised him. After pocketing the key, he
dropped a hand to the small of her back and coaxed her from the
steps. “Let’s go upstairs.”
    She let him guide her toward the elevator,
and he’d already slid the card to call it by the time she found her
voice—and remembered she could use it. “I’m Kelsey.”
    “ Kelsey.” He had a low,
smooth voice with the promise of rough edges. It matched the neatly
pressed suit wrapped around his hard body. “I’m Cain.”
    Of course he was. A name as hard as the man
himself. “It’s nice to meet you, Cain.”
    The elevator door slid open, revealing their
reflection in the polished back wall of the car. He stepped
forward, urging her along with that uncompromising hand at the
small of her back. “Do you come to Last Call often?”
    “ Occasionally. My first
time upstairs, though.” The elevator doors whispered shut behind
them. “You?”
    The corner of his mouth twitched, and it was
the most detached smile she’d ever seen. “I’ve been upstairs
before.”
    “ Mmm.” Damn, but she was
bad at small talk, probably because she never got the
chance.
    She leaned against the mirrored wall as the
car began its ascent. Cain certainly seemed like the answer, a man
unmoved by anything, much less her voice. And even though that was
the point, it made her perversely determined to rattle him before
the night ended, to get under his skin in a way that didn’t include
magic.
    He was hot. She was aching.
    Five grand—and worth every penny.
     

     
    The girl wasn’t used to men who could say
no, which made it easy to turn her on.
    In four centuries, Cain had come across most
of the more common kinks. Humans were constantly convincing
themselves that each year brought new debaucheries, but no carnal
game was new. Especially not games of power.
    Most especially for those who weren’t quite human.
    The elevator coasted to a stop, but Cain
didn’t step through the open doors. Instead, he caught Kelsey’s
arm. “You haven’t asked me what I am yet.”
    She gazed down at his hand on her arm. Her
breathing quickened. “I don’t plan on asking.”
    It was a recklessness that would have been
suicidal outside the four walls of Last Call. At least the bar had
spells layered into the walls and rooms that would protect her.
Unsettling, that her lack of concern irritated him. “You’re not
curious, or you don’t want to know?”
    “ Honestly?” She shrugged
one bare shoulder. “I don’t usually talk to the men I fuck, so it
likely wouldn’t have occurred to me to inquire.”
    No, she probably didn’t. Even he could feel
the stir of her voice in his immortal blood. It was a refreshing
change from the monotony of numbness, but he knew he could tune out
the magic if it threatened to overwhelm him.
    The doors began to close, so he blocked one
with his foot. “You can talk to me. That’s the point, my dear. Talk
to me.”
    She opened her mouth,
obviously to protest, but the words died on her tongue. Instead,
she closed her mouth, opened it again, and finally sighed.
“I really want to
mess up your hair.”
    It startled him into a smile, and he prodded
her out of the elevator. “I’m sure you’ll have a chance to do
so.”
    Kelsey wandered a few steps down the hall
before turning to face him. “You’ve figured me out already, so
what’s your deal? Not what you are—why you came upstairs with
me.”
    A good question. “You’re beautiful. And
you’re magical.”
    She blushed a little. “So is everyone else
here. Magical, anyway.”
    “ Different kinds of magic.”
He caught a shining lock of her hair and wound it around his
finger. “Your voice will heat my blood. It’s usually damn
cold.”
    That gave her pause. “That’s what you are,
isn’t it? A Collector. An angel of death.”
    “ A reaper of souls?” The
suit must have