Icy Pretty Love by L.A Rose Read Free Book Online

little, too.
    A shiny black car is parked on the side of the street. Cohen opens the door without saying a word, then climbs in after me. There’s a smooth divide between us and the driver. We’re alone in a miniscule, expensively upholstered room. I glue my nose to the window, entranced by the lights flashing by, before remembering that’s not something ladies do.
    I clear my throat in a bashful way. “I had a wonderful day with Renard today. I thank you so much for the opportunity to—”
    “Stop,” he interrupts.
    I stop. His face is carved up by the moving shadows of the outside world, but I read anger in the furrows of his brow.
    “You don’t need to do that when it’s just us,” he says, though he’s looking out the window and not at me.
    “Do what?”
    “The acting. You’ve already made it fairly clear that’s not really you.”
    He’s right. I was entirelyß myself around him yesterday. Without even thinking. Usually I keep a tight lid on the real Rae Grove, letting her out only around people who I’m sure won’t hurt her.
    You have to be careful who you let see the real you. If you wear a mask and someone chips it, it doesn’t matter. But leave your true heart exposed? Pieces of that won’t grow back.
    What is it about him that cuts through my defenses like butter?
    “I was thinking I’d save you from the real me.” I smile. “She has a temper and no filter. She’s stubborn and takes up too much space. Girls like her don’t get far in life.”
    He’s quiet for a little while. “You don’t seem to like her very much,” he says, his voice controlled, betraying nothing.
    “Who would?” I yawn and stretch. “Georgette’s much better. You’ll see. I’ll slip into her easier if you let me be her all the time.”
    “No.” His voice is hard and sure. Miraculously, he doesn’t make a joke out of ‘slip into her.’ “Be yourself. I get enough pretending from the other people in my life.” He pauses, and then says so quietly I barely hear him, “If you hide who really are long enough, you’ll lose her.”
    “How am I going to be myself if I’m supposed to talk to you as little as possible?” I tease.
    “When you do speak to me, I’d prefer if it you were your annoying self.” He finally glances at me. I pride myself on being able to tell what a man is thinking, but his face is a locked safe and the key’s at the bottom of the ocean. “It’s…”
    “It’s what?”
    “Nothing.” He returns his gaze to the window.
    Huh. Cohen Ashworth, mystery man of the century. The biggest mystery is the warm glow his words lit in my stomach. I scoot closer, which is a stupid idea, because he turns to me again—full lips angular cheekbones ice eyes—and the proximity is enough to set off a whole new warm glow in my stomach, albeit of a very different kind. Stop it, Rae. That warmth will never be stoked into a fire and you know it.
    I want to tell him I know what he really is, that it’s okay and I’ll keep his secret, but before I can, the car gravels to a stop. Cohen gets out and holds the door open for me again.
    “Chivalry isn’t really what I expected from you,” I remark, smoothing the lace on my lap.
    “You’re my fiancé, remember?” His lips curve in a sardonic smile. A very kissable sardonic smile. Ugh.
    He holds out his arm and I take it. I’ve never walked anywhere like this with a man. If I’m going somewhere with a client and our body parts are touching, it’s usually his hand on my ass. His mouth on my lips. I shudder and remind myself to be thankful that Cohen is flying the rainbow flag.
    Although he doesn’t seem to wear anything but black and gray.
    We walk into the restaurant together. It’s like a dragon’s lair. Everything is golden—golden light, golden walls, golden people. The floors are polished like mirrors. I look down and I can see my own face, small and overwhelmed. I banish the overwhelmed, but keep the small. This is Georgette Montgomery’s