Too Cold To Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

to her back side, lifting her
off the chair. He pinned her to the huge American-style fridge. The cool metal
surface on her back made Elise gasp. Marco deepened the kiss, grinding his hips
into hers, until she'd lost any ability for coherent thought and reacting
purely on instinct wrapped her legs round his back, eliciting a low groan from
Marco. Her heart went into overdrive; moisture soaked her panties, and his grip
on her grew painful, when she ground her hips into the hard, long ridge of his
cock, straining against the flies of his trousers. When he eventually broke the
kiss they were both breathing heavily, and his face was unreadable, his voice a
low, carefully controlled whisper that sent shivers down her spine.
    "That would not be wise." And he
released her as abruptly as he'd grabbed her and stalked out of the kitchen.
Elise stood trembling like a leaf and wondering what that had been all about.
    "Can I help you?"
    Elise jumped at the efficient voice of the
middle-aged receptionist behind the desk of the airy foyer. She'd been so
engrossed in her musings about Marco she hadn't realised she had actually
wandered into the offices of the prestigious firm of solicitors. Elise suddenly
felt very grateful for Marco's order to dress up. She would have felt very out
of place in her favoured jeans in this place that reeked of success and money.
    The receptionist looked at her expectantly.
    "Urm, yes sorry. I have an appointment with
Robert Johnson I believe."
    "Name?"
    "Elise Donovan."
    The receptionist frowned, looking through the
appointment book and then her computer screen. "No, I'm sorry. I do not
seem to have you here. Mr. Johnson is fully booked this morning. When was the
appointment for, please?"
    Oh this was embarrassing. What was Marco playing
at? Elise pulled her phone out of her bag to check the message. Definitely said
11.00 am on here, and the large chrome clock on the wall behind the
receptionist stated it was almost that time now.
    "It is supposed to be for eleven?"
    "No, I'm sorry, Miss Donovan. Mr. Johnson
has another client booked at that time, and ah here he is now. Excuse me,
please."
    The receptionist dismissed Elise, smiling behind
her, and Elise found herself grabbed by a strong arm as she made to leave.
    "Denise, would you please tell Robert that
my fiancée and I are here."
    Marco bent down to drop a kiss on Elise's
forehead, drawing her in closer to his side, and Elise had to smile at the
expression on the receptionist's face before she quickly recovered.
    "Yes, of course. Miss Donovan, I am so
sorry. I didn't realise you were with Mr. Giovanni. Robert is ready for you,
Sir.Please go straight through."
    "Did she keep you waiting? I will have
words if she did." Elise looked up at Marco's annoyed voice and
immediately wished she hadn't.
    He'd had his hair cut short, making him look
even meaner. The expensive business suit clung to his broad shoulders, the deep
blue of his shirt bringing out the storm in his eyes as they focused on her,
before frowning towards the rapidly paling receptionist.
    "No, no, she hasn't at all, Marco. My fault
entirely. I should have made it clear I was with you."
    Elise smiled at the poor, terrified looking
woman, and her shoulders relaxed a tad, when Marco mumbled. "If you are
sure, pasticcino."
    "Yes, absolutely, Marco!"
    He turned them around with one last menacing
glare towards reception, and before she could blink they were in a large
office, facing what she presumed to be the solicitor.
    "Robert."
    "Marco, good to see you. And you must be
Elise. Let me congratulate you on your impending marriage."
    Robert Johnson's smile was kind and his handshake
firm.
    "Cut the crap, Robert. This isn't a love
match, and you know that. Have you got the papers drawn up?"
    "Yes, they're all prepared, Marco. But are
you sure about this?"
    "I do not pay you for your opinion, Robert.
I pay you to get the job done. Will my marrying Elise ensure that my ex-wife
can't get her mitts on