Excerpt of Ice-Cold Lover by Mel Teshco

The smell of money, and lots of it, permeated the air of the Sydney casino as Celeste Diamond stepped out of the elevator and onto its lavish third floor. Booked exclusively for invitation-only guests, it was here the rich and powerful, the famous and not-so-famous, came to flaunt their splendor.

She scarcely noticed. Instead, every one of her senses isolated the man who'd gone to great lengths this last month—with little success—to get to know her.

Pascal Daniels was a name synonymous to power and wealth, with murky undercurrents linking him to the seedy underworld of organized crime. Add notorious playboy to the mix and he was one black sheep she'd do well to avoid—if only she wasn't a heartbeat away from tearing the clothes right off his magnificent body!

Heat crept up her throat as high-voltage lust zapped straight between her thighs. Her nipples pebbled beneath her white sheath dress and the corset bra under the many layers of gauzy material encircling her torso.

Pascal would never see the physical evidence puckering just for him. The corset disguised more than just her gargoyle wings.

She watched him push to his feet in one smooth, fluid movement. He towered above the blackjack table and a pair of scantily clad women who'd been hanging over him. He ignored them both. Instead, his hot stare feasted on her, swept her up and down like a lover's caress, his attention hers alone.

She swallowed convulsively. When he abandoned his chips with a careless wave, the breath wedged somewhere low in her throat.

Oh, dear god. Am I ready for this?

Her spine snapped tight, subduing the hideous, bat-like appendages quivering beneath their bonds. And for just one moment self-doubt iced the carnal heat flowing like lava in her veins. Would this man be so fascinated if he saw her in all her naked glory, with her unbound wings stretched high and wide?

She'd never give him the chance to find out.

Oh, they'd be intimate this night, except it would be strictly on her terms, when she was ready and not before. She would never be one of his easy conquests.

With slow provocation, she turned her back on him, a gesture that made her shiver even as she burned. Had anyone ever had the nerve to snub this man?

Snatching a flute of champagne from a passing tray, she sipped the bubbles of decadence while dancing her way around the milling crowd of glitterati. She needn't look behind to see if he followed—her every molecule screamed that he did. A gurgle of laughter spilled free, a dizzy excitement from the thrill of the hunt. She hadn't felt so alive, so utterly aroused...ever!

Pascal had awakened something deep inside her, unleashed needs that weren't just physical. He'd stimulated her mentally too. Though she'd kept any dialogue between them brief, she'd discovered a man incredibly complex and intelligent.

A man wholly in control.

"Celeste!" Over the buzz of conversation, the throaty voice of her friend, Lexie, was unmistakable. The dark-haired woman motioned her over to where she was placing bets at a roulette wheel. "I wondered if you would make it," she said with a mock glower, leaning toward her and air kissing each cheek.

Celeste inwardly grimaced, her joy evaporating. Even acquaintances knew better than to touch her. It hurt to know they all imagined her "no-touch policy" was used solely to cultivate her ice-queen image.

They couldn't be more wrong.

"I couldn't resist," she conceded wryly. Then sweeping a look at Lexie's double stack of chips, she murmured, "You're on a winning streak."

Her friend grinned, shamelessly blasé as she swept out a languid, heavily bejeweled hand. "Not at all. I've lost almost everything I came here with."

With Lexie's family owning shipping lines and major foreign media shares, Celeste supposed her friend could afford to be careless. Her lips pursed. One day she'd have that conversation with her about using money in a more altruistic way. Sudden heat prickled along her nape, blasting philosophical thoughts clean away. Her pulse thudded, every one of her muscles tensing in reaction. Pascal had come to claim her.

Lexie's grin widened, and then became predatory as she peered past her and arched a thinly-plucked brow. "Well, Little Miss Secretive," Lexie turned a speculative gaze her way, "I suspect you won't be going home a loser tonight."

Celeste recognized thinly veiled jealousy when she heard it but didn't rise to the bait. Still, she couldn't help but turn to face the man who'd invaded her dreams and morphed them into something deliciously wicked for twenty-six nights straight.

"Good evening, ladies," Pascal murmured, his husky voice as smooth and fine as a long sip of aged malt whiskey.

Lexie preened, unmistakably a pushover for this man with his handsome face, athlete's body and a charisma that beckoned at twenty paces. Add to his repertoire oodles of charm, power and wealth, and Celeste could almost empathize.

"Mind if I steal your friend?" Pascal asked the dark-haired woman.

"Oh, I'm sure she won't mind," Lexie purred. "It's not as if she's here to gamble."

Pascal quirked a black-as-sin brow and directed a glint of amusement toward Celeste. "Is that so?"

Celeste scowled, and he grinned as if he were the recipient of some fabulous joke. "I believe we make our own luck," she said tightly, "and not by some throw of the dice."

He shrugged, his grin widening. "You may be right." He swept a hand around the room, his jacket cracking open, drawing her gaze to his tanned throat and white dress shirt that hugged the faint ripple of his abs. "Just don't go letting everyone know, hmm? Not everyone shares your obvious...passion."

Breath lodged in her throat. Oh, she felt passion all right. And never before had it burned so fever bright! "I'll keep that in mind," she managed, all too aware of his spicy male scent, his intoxicating nearness.

Lexie winked broadly at Pascal, before turning to her friend with a smirk. "Why did you come tonight? I'm betting it isn't for my scintillating company."

Celeste had learned to despise probing questions almost as much as she did unwanted physical contact. But she'd adapted, outmaneuvering most queries and becoming ambiguous with others. "You're right." She lifted her glass. "I come solely for the pink champagne."

As she swallowed the last of her drink, Pascal's eyes danced with mirth. One corner of his lips tilted. "I imagine you'd come for something more gratifying than that."