Nine Inches of Snow and the Ebony Princess

NINE INCHES OF SNOW

AND THE EBONY PRINCESS

A Siren Adult Fairy Tale

Gracie C. McKeever

EROTICA ROMANCE

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

IMPRINT: Erotic Romance

NINE INCHES OF SNOW AND THE EBONY PRINCESS

Copyright © 2007 by Gracie C. McKeever

1-933563-AN-01

First Printing 2007

Cover design by Jinger Heaston

All cover art and logo copyright © 2007 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Printed in the U.S.A.

PUBLISHER

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

NINE INCHES OF SNOW

AND THE

EBONY PRINCESS

GRACIE C. MCKEEVER

Copyright © 2007

Healey Pavilion, St. Frances Hospital, Winter Fundraiser
From the moment the guest of honor arrived, Aziza Lopez had to keep telling herself tonight was all about business, her job to keep the elite full and happy with hors d'oeuvres and champagne, and otherwise stay scarce.

Her stepmother would certainly never let her forget her place.

Homegirl needed to take a chill pill and get a life, if anyone asked Aziza, but, she was just the hired help, and no one was asking her.

She gave her hair one last pat, took a deep breath, and prepared to rejoin the party when the door swung inward, and the man of the hour stepped through.

Aziza’s pussy muscles instantly contracted at the sight of David Healey standing just inside the door. She’d never had so
Nine Inches of Snow and the Ebony Princess

5

carnal and instant a reaction to a man before, had been told by her father she would only feel this way when she found her soul mate.

But if this were so, that would mean that David Healey was—

“So here’s where you’re hiding.”

He was way more gorgeous up-close and personal, his

countless pictures in the society pages of the city’s various newspapers not doing homeboy a bit of justice. He was also a lot taller than she remembered from the dining hall, wide-shouldered and towering over her 5’8 by at least six inches.

He stepped into her path when she tried to leave and made her temperature go skyward.

Overwhelmed, she held the tray of hors d’oeuvres up between them, tried to maintain some distance, but it didn’t do much good.

His essence surrounded her.

Aziza had been trying to keep her distance all evening, knew homeboy could be her downfall if she allowed him in her personal space. But she refused to allow him in, despite craving his touch from the first moment she’d seen him, awareness a sharp knife edge to all her female senses.

“I’m not hiding. I’m doing my job.” She flicked her gaze up and down the long length of him, taking in the black formal evening wear that sensuously melded to his physique and made her feel like a ragamuffin in her waitress uniform. “What are
you
doing back here?”

“Looking for you.” He stepped closer.

The scent of his cologne washed over her in one engulfing wave, and her pussy moistened at the piquant smell. Subtle, yet intoxicating, it reminded her of the woods after a hard rain, fresh and musky. Totally masculine.

“You’ve been avoiding me since I arrived.”

She would have wondered how he knew, but Aziza had felt him watching her all evening, his azure gaze hot and tactile like a touch. “Didn’t you get the memo? I’m not supposed to fraternize 6

Gracie C. McKeever

with the bigwigs, and the bigwigs aren’t supposed to fraternize with the help.”

He plucked a caviar-laden cracker from her tray and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly and licking his lips with relish when he was done. “I’m no bigwig. And you’re certainly more than the help to me.”

Despite his nonchalant manner, making him seem

approachable and efficiently closing the gap in status between them, Aziza said, “I’m nothing special.”

“See, now that’s where you’re wrong.” He reached out a hand to caress her face. “You’re more than special.”

Aziza’s heart stuttered at his persuasiveness, something in him touching the core of her in a way nothing ever had, something about him speaking to her even when he didn’t open his mouth.

She closed her eyes and reveled in his touch, had to stop herself from leaning into his palm and falling any more under his spell than she had already. “What is it you want?”

“One dance.”

“Here? Now? You must be tripping.”

He chuckled, took the tray out of her hands, and placed it on the table to his right. “I assure you I’m not…tripping.”

Oh, but she was, heartbeat doing a happy dance in her chest already. If she stepped anywhere near his outstretched arms, she was sure she would implode.

Everything about him tempted her. His straight white smile beckoned like a lighthouse beam on a foggy night. His arms looked inviting and full of warmth and security.

She knew he wouldn’t hurt her or do anything to her that she didn’t want, and for the first time since her father’s untimely death, Aziza felt like someone really cared about her for her and not for the fortune she was worth.

Scratch that. She used to be worth, before Philomena weaseled her way into Daddy’s good graces and trust.

Nine Inches of Snow and the Ebony Princess

7

Her stepmother had had dollar signs glowing out of her eyes from the moment she met Aziza’s father until he’d died a few months ago. And now, the woman was on the hunt for another rich husband.

What made David Healey any different, any less mercenary?

He had money of his own, loads of it, so what did he want from her? True, the Healey fortune made Donald Trump seem like a pauper and could buy her self-made father’s small fortune a million times over, but everyone was out for something.

Aziza hated to be such a cynic, and up until a few years ago, before her father married Philomena, she hadn’t been. “What do you really want?”

“One dance,” he repeated, his rich, butter-melting voice seeping into her bones, simultaneously liquefying them and hardening her nipples.

One dance. What harm would it do? Except maybe wet her panties even more than they were already?

Her feet closed the small distance between them of their own accord, and before she knew it, she was swept into his strong arms and against his hard-muscled chest.

He felt like she’d thought he would—firm in all the right places, solid, and so damn sexy, he made her mouth water and her pussy throb with anticipation.

“I’ve thought about holding you like this from the first moment I saw you tonight. Thought about making you mine.”

She tilted back her head to stare at him, momentarily hypnotized by the intensity shining out of his blue eyes before she found her voice. “Making me yours? Let’s get one thing straight, homeboy. I’m not looking to get hooked up or
belong
to anyone.”

It was a weak attempt at defiance, but the best she could muster under the circumstances. She needed to assert herself now before he took total control, the way she sensed he was capable of doing.

Bad enough Philomena acted like she owned her free and clear.

8

Gracie C. McKeever

Aziza let her think it, because as long as she herself knew the truth, Philomena didn’t need to know how little attention Aziza really paid her.

He was chuckling again, the sound not insulting or mocking at all, just self-assured. “But you will.”

She knew without asking, but did, anyway. “Will what?”

“Belong to me,” he murmured and bent his head.

Aziza had an instant to close her eyes and suck in a breath before his lips made contact with hers, reminding herself not to like it too much, not to feel too much for him, that her stepmother had already claimed and dug her claws into him.

Resistance and logic, however, were impossible once his lips touched hers.

They were at once demanding and firm, even fuller than she’d expected when he slowly slid his mouth across hers, as if searching for the right entry point. Finding it, he thrust in his tongue, brushing against hers with a low growl before completely foraging inside her mouth.

This wasn’t exactly the dance she had imagined, but it would do, the wild beat of her heart the perfect accompaniment to his darting tongue.

He slowly rocked against her, and Aziza didn’t know if it was to some music in his head or the slow song playing outside the doors in the ballroom. She no longer cared when his erection pushed against her abdomen and sent hot tingles surging to her core.

Warm moisture flooded her pussy, vaginal muscles contracting at the idea of his hard cock sliding inside her, to the hilt, his naked body pressed against her as she squeezed his well-muscled ass cheeks in her hands to motivate deeper penetration.

Aziza arched her neck and moaned, one leg automatically curving up around his hip.

Nine Inches of Snow and the Ebony Princess

9

She rubbed her slit against the large, rigid bulge in his pants, and he bent his knees to accommodate her desperate need to fill the emptiness and ease the sudden ache inside.

She burrowed her fingers in his longish chestnut hair, reveling in the waves and surprising silkiness, but when she pushed out her tongue to deepen the kiss, he pulled back, catching her around the shoulders as she stumbled forward.

Aziza wasn’t sure if he was trying to steady himself or her, and the look in his vivid eyes told her he wasn’t sure, either.

He leaned forward, panting and pressing his forehead against hers. “Damn, you are hot.”

Only for you,
she wanted to say, but just mutely gawked at him, wondering why he had stopped and why she had lost control so easily. She’d never lost herself like that before, had never been so instantly turned on.

But let’s face it, sister-girl, your self-control was compromised
the minute he walked into the room earlier in the evening.

“You want me,” he murmured.

She avoided gaping with a monumental effort. “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

“I’m sure of us because I want you, too.” He reached down a hand to cup her pussy, stroking her engorged clit with his thumb as he grinned. “Don’t you believe in lust at first sight?”

Inflamed by his touch and all-knowing smile, she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth to keep from whimpering. She was relieved he hadn’t asked if she believed in
love
at first sight. That would have been too much to resist, with his seductive tandem assault on her senses. She was already too close to caving, wanting to believe in him and romantic platitudes, even though she had lost all sense of romanticism the minute her father said ‘I do’ to Philomena.