Hotter on Ice

by Rebecca Hunter

  “Is it my cock you want?” He bit out the question.

  “I want y—”

  He couldn’t bear to hear the answer, not right now. So before she could finish, he pushed in hard. The sound that came from her mouth was so beautiful, so full of desire and satisfaction, and it was for him. Christ, yes, it was for him.

  “That’s fine, baby,” he said, holding on, trying not to break. “I’ll give it to you whenever you want.” He swallowed, the urge to let go warring with the urge to take it slowly, to be careful with her. No, it was better that this happened now, that she understood this other side of him. So he leaned down, taking a breath of her intoxicating scent and whispered in her ear. “But tonight, you’re mine.”

  Her lips brushed the rim of his ear, sending a shudder of pleasure through him.

  “Yes, Henning,” she said, her voice a heavy rasp. “I’m yours. And you’re mine, too.”

  He turned his head, and she looked at him, her long, dark lashes low over her eyes. This was all just for him. So he let go. The urge to be rough and selfish was strong, to show her just how broken he was. And he was sure he wore it on his face, a face more beast than human, and the unleashing of this part of him brought the most primal satisfaction. Her cry filled the room, and her nails dug into his skin.

  “Henning.”

  He closed his eyes, drowning in the clusterfuck of emotions that wouldn’t stop coming.

  “Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and she came around his cock, his hips pumping over and over, deep inside her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ALYA SAT DOWN on the couch of the hotel’s lobby, smiling at the Behind the Runway crew, trying to get her head on straight. One guy tested the lighting, and another swept her hair over one shoulder then the other. All she could think about was last night. It had been intense and so incredibly raw. Alya had seen a part of Henning that she had felt, lurking beneath his restraint this whole time. It was a side he tried to bury.

  The sex itself had been out of this world, in a category all by itself. That connection, the desperation with which he clung to her, the way he finally let her give when he needed to take, holding her against him so tightly—it made her heart ache. They didn’t speak after it was over, but Henning held her against him as he rolled over on his side, his cock still buried deep inside her until she finally nodded off to sleep.

  How long did he stay awake? There were no more nightmares, at least none that she was aware of, but when she woke up, she could feel the shift between them. They had crossed a line that they couldn’t uncross. Did he regret it? He was gentle with her, so gentle, and he barely spoke. The connection between them hadn’t disappeared, but all traces of the playfulness that had bloomed since they had arrived at the Icehotel had withered. She could feel he was letting her go.

  All these ideas swirled around in her head as she smiled up at the Behind the Runway crew, waiting for this interview. She should be nervous by now. She always was when she was in the spotlight, not just a designer’s clothing, especially these last few years. But the stomachache that usually plagued her before anything where she was supposed to “just be herself” was absent. In fact, in her interview yesterday, it hadn’t been there either.

  Alya thought back to Brianna, getting drunk in the Icebar, laughing so freely, daring anyone to judge her. The all-night partying wasn’t Alya’s path, but maybe another part of it was. She had been groomed for this role for her whole life, her mother’s comments laced with warnings about men, backed up by her mother’s own real-life cautionary tales. So Alya had carefully constructed her life, her career, her image, knowing that it had to work for both her and Natasha.

  But somewhere along the way, their situation had changed. The move to Australia had been a relief, a chance to start over, and it wasn’t just Nick she had needed some distance from. Here in Sydney, no one seemed to care who her mother was, and she and Natasha both had found that refreshing.

  But still, that fear she dragged around from Los Angeles had clung to her, the fear that she was one public relations disaster away from becoming her mother. She hadn’t really understood how much it had guided everything she did.

  Before last night, Henning had let Alya lead in the bedroom, so careful around her. Then, last night, the roles had flipped. He hadn’t held back, but it didn’t just set him free. She felt freedom in it, too, a totally new kind of satisfaction, beyond the pleasure itself. That’s what it meant to let go of the past: the space to see Henning more clearly, to understand him, to give to him and to find more in what they could be together. It was the space where all the risks lay, but it was also the space where they could find endless rewards.

  Their connection was so strong, right from the moment she’d bumped into him in the Blackmore Inc. office. Was she falling in love with Henning, after just a few days together? Could he love her back? It seemed crazy to ask herself these questions, but she let herself anyway. She glanced at him, across the lobby, his brow furrowed as he jabbed at his laptop. He looked up at her, and his expression softened, but he didn’t smile.

  The interviewer from Behind the Runway signaled her, and the cameras moved in, so Alya turned her focus to them. If there was anything she could say about the documentary crew, they certainly knew how to make her feel comfortable. And talkative. She had no idea how much time passed as the woman led her through topics: the best locations to work, craziest thing someone had said on set and the strangest working conditions. She even talked a little about her childhood, navigating her mother’s career as well as her own.

  “I was on the path to being a nurse. But...” She hesitated. “There was a lot going on, and it wasn’t going to work for both my sister and me to go to college at the same time.”

  Her mother’s career had taken a dive by then. They weren’t going hungry by any stretch, but money was tight, even with both Natasha and her working part-time.

  “So you took up modeling?”

  “I had had some offers before, so I got in touch with an agency.”

  “You left nursing school behind and quickly became one of the most sought-after models in the industry.” The woman added a dramatic pause. “Especially after you got involved with Nick Bancroft.”

  Alya hated this insinuation the most—the idea, floating out in the press, that her success was somehow hooked to Nick. The insinuation that the relationship could have been a strategic move. Countering that idea was part of the reason she had stayed in that relationship longer than she should have.

  She realized she hadn’t said anything in a while because the woman added, “But I’m sure no one wants a rehash of a long-gone relationship here.”

  The woman sounded like she was hoping otherwise, but Alya just rolled her eyes. “I think that topic has been sufficiently covered in the media.”

  “You look a lot happier now than in those photos.”

  She snorted. “That’s an understatement. I’m living on my own, traveling again. It’s freeing, really.”

  “And what’s next?”

  “There are a lot of places I’ve wanted to visit. I’ll be at fashion week this spring, both in New York and in Milan, so I think I’ll start there.”

  As she spoke these words, something loosened inside, something that had been clenched for so long she had forgotten that feeling was there. The worries hadn’t disappeared altogether, but she didn’t have to let them dictate her life. There were so many things she wanted to do, and she could do all of them. She could enjoy all the travel modeling gave her while it still lasted, instead of worry about Nick or how it might affect her career or whatever went through her mind.

  And maybe, just maybe, Henning might want to be a part of that life. But if he didn’t, she’d still go. That’s how she knew she was strong enough to ask him. But first, she had to finish the interview.

  * * *

  Henning had only said a handful of sent
ences to Alya today, and that was probably for the best. Especially since he had gone from melancholy to mad. Now, he had no idea what he was feeling.

  But what the fuck was she thinking in that interview? Laying out her itinerary for anyone to have—including Nick? And then, after Alya had done it, she’d turned to him and smiled the most heartbreakingly beautiful smile, so he shoved all those feelings back down. He had no say in how she conducted her life. He was hired to be her bodyguard, nothing more, and that’s what he had to focus on.

  Henning had learned to point his laser-like focus at a goal as soon as he grew old enough to understand how things worked for a big man in the world. His body was a tool, whether he wanted it to be or not, and carefully managed, this kind of focus was used for good. But the moment he used it for his own wants and needs, he crossed a line. He had to get through this day without letting out this fierce wave of protectiveness that was threatening to pull him under. He was supposed to be letting her go, and all he could think about was pulling her closer. Especially after last night.

  It happened every time he looked at her. Like right now, for example, as she sat in the snow, her cheeks pink from fiddling with her skis. His chest clenched. It hurt just to look at her, knowing this was almost over, so he looked down, fitting his cross-country ski boot into the binding. Then he straightened up, using his poles to balance.

  “Need some help?” he asked, glancing in Alya’s direction.

  She shook her head. “I think I’ve got it.”

  “Good. Because I’m not seeing a way to move sideways in these things.” He looked down at the long, slim skis attached to his boots. He had surfed and waterskied in his teens, so how hard could cross-country skiing be? It was all on water, more or less.

  Alya stood up, lifting her feet, testing the bindings. Then she turned to him and smiled. “I have a feeling this will be a short excursion.”

  Oh, that smile, tentative but warm, despite how selfish he had been last night.

  “I’ll follow you,” he said, and she started toward the frozen river, leaving him with his increasingly frustrating thoughts.

  Somehow, while he slept, she had slipped her hand under his thermal shirt without his notice, and he awoke to find it resting over his heart. It hurt to have it there, hurt that she still reached for him the night before, after the way he had taken, taken from her. But the drive to give her what she wanted was even stronger than the hurt, and so he left it there. Let her wake up like that, let her kiss him wordlessly, all the while knowing that this was the very last time he would lie with her.

  Tonight, they’d climb onto one airplane, then another, then another, each taking them farther away from this impossible world, this hotel made of ice—ice, of all things—that had him hoping beyond reason, if only for a night, that a broken man could patch himself together for someone who mattered.

  * * *

  Slowly she reached the enormous river, thick layers of ice covered with snow, and found a set of cross-country ski trails that ran along the near bank, cutting lines through the deep snow. There were four total, probably a set for each direction, but there was no one else in sight for miles, so she made her way onto one set and motioned for Henning to take the other. He fit his skis onto the parallel tracks and came to a stop next to her. His eyes still held heat and intensity when he looked at her—that hadn’t changed. But she had seen an edge in that look a few times today, almost as if he was angry at her. And he was really quiet. Even for him.

  Henning gestured to the flat, open expanse of snow that covered the enormous river. It was empty and still, and it ran for as far as she could see in either direction. “I don’t know about this. We’re standing on ice, and I can’t stop thinking about what happens if it breaks.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Think about how thick the blocks of ice in the hotel were. You said they cut them out of this river. We’ll be fine.”

  His nod was more acknowledgment than agreement. “How far do you want to go?”

  “I barely made it here, and it was downhill,” she said, gesturing to the river bank. “I’d say I’ll last ten minutes on this trail, tops.”

  Finally, a hint of a smile from him. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?”

  “Because I wanted to see all this,” she said, sweeping her pole out along the broad, white landscape. The move threw her off balance, and she tottered on one ski for a moment before recovering. “At the time, it seemed like the best way to do it, though I’m having doubts.”

  Henning was definitely smiling now. “Okay. Lead on.”

  The sky was an ocean of thick, gray clouds, rolling and changing. The heavy darkness of the long winter night had eased into a dim twilight, but the sun was nowhere in sight. Instead, it was the snow that lit this vast world, shimmering and still. The only sound was the wind.

  Alya had watched the Olympic version of this sport. The athletes wore some sort of thin bodysuits and raced through the forest. She, on the other hand, was bundled in a bulky snowsuit and moving at walking speed...at best. And she was already panting. She glanced over at Henning, who looked hot as usual and not at all winded, though he looked like he was having as much trouble getting into a rhythm as she was.

  Alya stopped, one foot in front of the other, which, of course, threw her off balance again. She clutched her pole, trying to steady herself, but she toppled over into the deep snow between the two sets of tracks.

  “You okay?” Henning asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said, looking up at the sky. “Actually, it’s kind of nice down here.”

  Henning eased himself into the snow right behind her. She looked over her shoulder and found him so close. His gaze dipped to her lips, then back to her eyes, but there was more than just heat in that gaze. So much more.

  “We could do this, Henning,” she whispered. “For real.”

  He blinked at her, his brow wrinkling, but then he gave her a wry smile. “I doubt it. I’m a lousy skier, and I’m okay with that.”

  She shook her head. “I mean us. We could try it.”

  His eyes widened in surprise, and his smile faded. Then he frowned. She probably should have taken that as a warning, but she didn’t. If she just laid it out for him, he’d be able to see how easy it would be to just try. “We’d just do the regular stuff people do when they’re dating. We could go out to dinner, go to the beach. I’m going to one of Max’s fund-raising events next weekend, and you could come with me, as my date. It would be—”

  “No. Stop.”

  She pulled back and blinked at him. “Why?”

  He closed his eyes but said nothing.

  “No.” Alya gritted her teeth. “You don’t get to stay silent. After everything that’s happened these last few days, if you don’t even want to try, you need to explain. I want you to say it.”

  “We’re both going to regret this conversation.” He pulled off his glove and traced her cheek with his warm fingers. Then he swiped a hand over his face, and when he looked down at her, his expression was dark. “This is dangerous, Alya. You saw me last night.”

  Alya struggled to turn around and face him, but her skis were planted in the snow. She huffed out a breath and pushed herself to something that approximated a sitting position.

  “Last night, I wanted you, too. I made that clear.”

  He waved off her comment, as if it wasn’t relevant.

  “You want to know what I was feeling when I watched your interview today?” His expression was hard. “I was furious, listening to you list off all the places you’d be next so anyone knows exactly where to find you. All that protectiveness I feel knowing how many men are watching you—maybe I could get used to that. But not you putting yourself at risk. I’m not in any condition to watch you do that.”

  Goddamn him. They lay there in the snow, dressed in bulky snowsuits in the middle of the frozen river, so they
couldn’t soften or deflect the conversation with sex. Which was probably better. She had sensed that things were off after the interview, and the more she thought about his reasoning, the more frustrated she was getting.

  “You’re mad that I wasn’t sufficiently scared of Nick to hold back where I’ll be traveling this year?”

  He hesitated, like he knew this question was a trap but didn’t quite see why. “Yes?”

  “That conversation was a revelation to me. I’ve never felt freer,” she said. The more she talked about this, the sharper her voice was getting. “But you wanted me to hesitate? To go back to how I felt before? You’d rather I cower?”

  “You have to be more careful,” he said, anger spilling out.

  “So I don’t have to worry? Or so you don’t?”

  Henning’s jaw worked, his mouth in a grim line, his scars stark, white against the ruddiness of his skin. “Look how crazy this is making me, after just a couple days. How far will this need to protect you go? Until I smother everything that’s good between us?”

  God, he had been right. She really regretted starting this conversation. And now she couldn’t let it go. “You’re already planning out some terrible end for us?”

  “It’s my job to consider all aspects of a problem, Alya. One of us has to.” It was such a low blow, to take her newfound lightness and turn it against her.

  “Good news. This problem is about to disappear for you,” she snapped back. “I’m officially done with having a bodyguard around.”

  His face twisted in pain as she said that, and her gut clenched. Shit. She was sinking to new lows, too. What hurt the most was knowing that no matter what came out of her mouth, no matter how terrible it was, he would still protect her with his life.

  After that last comment, all the anger seeped out of his expression. He was staring at her with that same, intense gaze, but this time it made her even more frustrated.