As soon as the invitation comes through, I know where my duty lies. For once, it’s aligned with what I want—and I want to go to Roston. I want to see Asher.
Travel preparations are made, and I try to quell the excitement that trills in my chest. I haven’t seen Asher in five weeks. The day I’m supposed to travel to Roston, the easternmost city in Nord, nervous butterflies tickle my stomach. I check my hair and touch up my makeup, then curse myself for caring.
But I don’t care what Asher thinks of how I look—I just know there will be lots of photos taken…right? These are professional worries. It’s not his presence that makes my stomach twist in knots.
A car takes me to a royal jet, which carries me up in the air toward Roston. I try not to fidget, choosing instead to review the official press release and the agenda for the day. We have a few scheduled stops to make in the city—the hospital and an elementary school, to start, then we’ll head to the new mine site for the announcement. I’m to make a speech ratifying the agreement between NRG and Gerhard Incorporated.
They’ll unveil the plans to start exploratory tests this summer, then spend the winter planning the construction of the mine. The official start of the project will be at the beginning of summer next year, but jobs will be available to Nordish locals throughout the next few months.
I should be relieved, but all I feel is a nervous kind of excitement.
The flight is bumpy. Turbulence shakes the aircraft like a paper plane, and I grip the edges of my seat until we’re safely on the ground. It’s hard to be graceful when my stomach is twisted up in knots—but is it due to the flight, or the fact that I’m going to see Asher again?
I smile and shake hands when I’m supposed to, and I’m ferried from one stop to another. The sky grows dark, and the wind starts to howl.
Even though I meet a hundred people, I see no one. I’m sure I do all the right things, because I’ve been doing these duties since I was ten. I’ve been the Queen for a long time. I smile when I’m supposed to and congratulate school kids on their achievements. The hospital visit is just as smooth, and I take all the required photos.
But when the royal car takes me toward the future mine site, I tense.
Asher will be there. I’ll have to look at him, knowing I felt something when we were at Gabriel’s wedding, but I’ll have to ignore it. I’m the one who told him this had to stay professional. I’m the one who’s stayed locked up in the castle and has avoided any business meetings where I knew Asher would be present.
If the connection between us has fizzled, it’s my fault—but I did it for my duty to my people. I gave up that connection, let it die out, because it’s what I had to do. What I still have to do to save my kingdom from recession and mass unemployment.
We arrive, and I’m led through a pack of reporters to a small stage. Asher’s already there, along with Mick Burgundy. I barely see the second man. All my focus is on Asher, and the way his eyes track my every move. Despite the harsh wind, heat blazes through my body. Even the sight of him reminds me what it felt like to have his palms on my body, his lips on mine, his cock buried deep inside me.
And—I want that again. I want to feel like something more than a queen who stands in front of cameras and makes wooden speeches. I want to bare myself for him and know he sees me not as the Queen of Nord, but as Penelope Stone, the girl he knew in boarding school.
Gritting my teeth, I push the thought aside. That’s not the life that was laid out before me. I was given a chance at love, and it ended in tragedy. I’m destined to walk through life alone—and after living through the agonizing heartbreak of my husband’s death, I have no desire to re-live that experience.
I’m the Queen. Nothing more.
Asher keeps his head down in a show of deference, only flicking his eyes to mine when he rises from a bow. There’s a hint of laughter in his gaze, and a whole heap of insolence.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. At least he hasn’t changed—and he’s acting appropriately in front of the cameras.
My gaze flicks across his broad shoulders and down to his tapered waist. In a well-tailored wool pea coat, Asher looks like he belongs in the streets of New York, not a mine site in Nord. A scarf covers his neck, with only the barest hint of his scar showing above it on his jaw. Briefly, I wonder if he did it on purpose—hiding his scar for the pack of cameras that flash before us.
It’s hard to keep my eyes to myself when he looks so wonderfully delicious. My fingers itch to unbutton his jacket, slowly revealing more of his muscular body. He never let me undress him when we had sex. I’ve been left wondering what he’s hiding under those clothes, and my curiosity burns hot somewhere low, between my thighs.
Stop, Penelope. Be professional. He was off-limits before, and even more so now.
The ceremony starts. I make my speech, cameras flash, and I do my best to keep my voice steady. I don’t look at Asher. Why would I? He’s a businessman, and I’m the Queen. We shouldn’t even know each other at all.
My heart tugs when I leave, and a deep sense of longing opens up in my chest. I didn’t get a moment alone with him, but the fact that he was near made me feel warmer than I have in years. I barely even felt the wind—am I really ready to give that feeling up for my kingdom?
I’ve given so much to this place. Duty has worn me down to a shell of my former self, and I know the Crown will suck the life out of me until there’s nothing left—but isn’t that the duty of the Queen? To serve?
These feelings—longing, regret, red-hot lust—they don’t matter. Not in the face of providing for my people.
On the way back to the airport, the intercom buzzes. Frederick, who’s sitting in the front seat, speaks. “Ma’am, we’ve just heard from the pilot. The wind is too strong to fly. We’ll have to stay in Roston for the night.”
“That’s fine, Frederick,” I reply, settling back in my seat.
The intercom buzzes, then flicks off. There’s a pause, as if my private secretary is hesitating. Finally, his voice comes through again. “The hotel is undergoing renovations, and the rooms they do have are occupied by NRG’s people, so they don’t have an adequate suite for us. But…Mr. Gerhard has generously offered his home for the night.”
My eyes snap open, heat unfurling in my core. A whole night in the same building as Asher? What if I have a…dream? Will I be able to look in him in the eye in the morning? What if he sees the desire in my gaze and knows what I’ve been trying to resist?
I shouldn’t stay at his house. But if I refuse, and the media catch wind, would it cause a controversy? If there truly was nothing behind Asher and me, then I would accept his offer graciously and thank him for his generosity. I need to act normal. The unruffled, cold Queen—but being in the same house as him is dangerous, and I’m not sure I have a choice.
Heart thumping, I press the intercom button. “Thank you, Frederick. We’ll stay at Mr. Gerhard’s residence.” Mercifully, my voice doesn’t tremble. I lean back in my chair as a gust of wind shakes the car, rattling my whole body. My thoughts scatter, and the only thing I can focus on is Asher. His face, his lips, the way it felt to have his hands on me in the royal gardens.
He makes me feel warm. Everywhere, all at once. It’s intoxicating, even after all this time apart. As we pull in through a gate and I see a mid-sized house loom up ahead, I can’t deny the excitement curling in my core.
My driver pulls up outside and Frederick rushes to open the door for me. I’m hurried inside, where a maid is waiting to take my jacket. She’s not alone. Asher stands a few steps behind her, a teasing grin playing over his lips. I flick my eyes to his, immediately regretting it.
Fire rips through my core at the sight of his gaze, which promises trouble. Delicious, mischievous trouble. Yearning rises up inside me like a hungry wolf, howling to be heard above the wind.
Clearing my throat, I nod. “Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Gerhard.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he says, saying my
title with a hint of irony. He gives me a low bow, which on the surface, looks appropriate, but I can tell by the tug in his lips that he means it to be a joke. His hand moves to touch his cheek, and when his eyes flash, I know he’s thinking of the slap.
I’d slap him right now if no one were watching.
He sweeps an arm toward the interior of the house. “I’ve had my team prepare rooms for you and your staff. I only moved in here a week ago, so you’ll have to excuse the, uh, minimal furnishings.”
I follow his gaze, noting the empty living room to my left. I follow him to a kitchen, which does have a table and chairs, but looks equally as bare as the living room. There’s nothing on the walls. No decorative pillows or throws. It looks…soulless. Like Asher doesn’t plan on staying. Why does that thought make my heart sting?
We head up the stairs, and Asher points out a row of doors to the left. “Those are for you and your staff. Once again, I apologize for how bare the rooms are.”
“I appreciate you housing us, Mr. Gerhard.”
His eyes glimmer, and I feel like I’m roleplaying. We’re acting appropriately, when all I can think of is how badly I want to taste his kiss again.
No. Stop. That’s not why I’m here. That’s not why I approved this project or came here to celebrate the announcement. I’m doing this so people have jobs and I try to avoid mass unemployment during the next few years. I’m doing this for the people, because it’s my responsibility to make sure my citizens are safe and fed and employed.
I’m definitely not here because Asher makes me feel like my body is on fire. It’s not because he melts the ice that has clung to my veins for seven years. It’s not because he makes me want to double over and laugh—and slap him silly at the same time.
“I’ll be just down the hall,” Asher says, pointing to a door, “if you need anything.” I can hear the teasing in his tone. The slight emphasis on the word anything. The laughter dancing in his eyes.
The urge to slap him is strong.
“Much appreciated.” My voice is frosty, but my core burns hotter. “I’m surprised you have a house here at all. I thought you’d be back in Farcliff as soon as you broke ground.”
Asher shrugs. “Maybe I’m planning on staying longer than that.”
He holds my gaze for a few moments as fire erupts low in my belly. My heart thumps hard at the thought of him staying—so close to me. Accessible. After a pause, Asher bows and heads back downstairs and out of view. I follow Frederick to my room, where my staff is unpacking an overnight bag that had been stowed in the plane. They bow to me and back out of the room, and I’m left alone to gather my racing thoughts.
With a sigh, I sit down on the edge of the bed, staring at the bare surroundings. There’s a nightstand and a double bed, and a closet with no coat hangers in it. If he bought this place, does it mean he intends to spend time in Nord? Maybe the reason he’s here isn’t just money for his father’s company. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said he was drawn here for another reason…for me.
My heart thumps and I squeeze my eyes shut. Those are dangerous thoughts, and ones I can’t afford to have if I’m going to be the Queen Nord needs me to be.
Frederick has my chef prepare a meal for my dinner, which I eat alone at the kitchen table. I pick at my food, barely finishing half the plate. I wonder where Asher is. After dinner, I ask to be left alone. Frederick is staying in the room next to mine, my security staff have rolled out sleeping mats on the ground floor, but I feel lonelier than I do in my big, empty castle in Stirling.
I lie back in bed, knowing sleep won’t come. Asher’s presence is everywhere. I hear a floorboard creaking down the hall, and my heart takes off.
Eyes squeezed shut, I try to regain control over my body. Asher and I talked about this. We have to keep things professional. What happened at Prince Gabriel’s wedding was a mistake. A slip of judgement. I should never have done it.
Now, we need each other professionally. He needs my approval for his diamond mining operation, and I need him to provide jobs and housing for the workers along with a boost to NRG’s operations. He’ll help prevent widespread protests and strikes, and I’ll make him a very rich man.
It’s business.
So why does it feel like so much more? Why does it feel like fate?
After twisting and turning for an hour or three, I finally swing my legs off the bed. Taking my silky, white travel robe off a hook on the door, I wrap it around myself and head downstairs. Not even knowing where I’m going, I find myself padding toward the kitchen. My stomach grumbles, reminding me that I barely ate my dinner.
Silently, I tiptoe through the empty house. Guards are stationed outside, with their untouched sleeping mats laid out for later in the night. Most of them will probably stay outside until the small hours. I peer into living rooms devoid of furniture, wondering if Asher will actually establish himself here. Did he buy this house to stay, or is it just an empty symbol as a show of his commitment?
When I turn the corner to the kitchen, I let out a yelp.
Asher turns around, plate in hand, eating my leftovers from the fridge.
Oh—and he’s shirtless.
My eyes drift down his strong shoulders and over his perfectly formed chest. His skin is taut over his broad frame, cords of muscle moving in fascinating ways as he turns toward me. His stomach shows every ridge and valley of abdominal muscle, ending in deep grooves that lead all the way down between his legs. Loose, gray pants hang low on his hips. I stare at him, taking it all in. This is what I wanted to see at Gabriel’s wedding. This is what he hid from me, not letting me undress him.
My eyes snag on the left side of his body, where his scar extends down from his neck, covering part of his chest and wrapping around his side. The burn marks are still clearly visible, even decades after the accident. The skin is discolored and slightly raised, with wide bumps and ridges where healthy skin was grafted overtop. It looks like a patchwork of suffering and scars—the history of his pain, right there for the world to see.
“Asher,” I whisper, unsure what I want to say.
“Majesty.” His growly voice rattles through me, his eyes trained on mine. He lowers the plate of food to the counter, letting his arms hang loosely at his sides. One hand rises to touch the edge of his scar, near his heart, and my eyes flick up to his.
Slowly, Asher turns. I see the burn marks on his body extending all the way around his back, with rugged edges that look like the map of an unknown land. Somehow, I find myself walking toward him. Drawn to him. I step around the kitchen island as he glances at me, eyes dark.
“I guess it’ll be easier to keep things professional now that you’ve seen what lies beneath,” he says, dark smoke shrouding his words.
My fingers reach for his skin. It’s warm as my hand skates over his chest, teasing the edge of his scar. The skin, uneven and strangely smooth, feels like magic under my fingers. Heat teases through my chest, sinking low down into my stomach. “You’re beautiful,” I whisper. It’s a stupid thing to say to a man with a body like Asher’s. He’s all muscle and brawn, with a scar that makes him look like some kind of warrior god. He’s arrogant, cocky—he knows how good he looks.
But when my eyes flick up to Asher’s, I see surprise in his eyes—and something else. It’s the same thing that’s plagued me for weeks. The same thing that’s twisted my stomach in knots since I crossed the threshold of his new home.
Hot, needy desire.
12
Asher
When people see my body, they usually recoil. Sometimes it only lasts an instant, but I see it. There’s a flash of surprise, then disgust, and occasionally pity, which is somehow worse.
Penelope, though…she doesn’t look like she pities me. Her voice is reverent when she tells me I’m beautiful, and my heart inflates in my chest. It hurts to breathe. There’s a lump in my throat that makes it hard to speak, and all I can do is stare at her fingers as they sweep over my damaged skin.
No pity. No disgust. She’s…She’s being honest. She likes the way I look. Is that…a joke? Why isn’t she looking away? Why isn’t she saying anything? Why is she still touching my skin like she loves the way it feels?
In the cool air of the kitchen, my body feels almost too sensitive. Goose bumps pimple over my skin and when Penelope sweeps her hands over my chest, she sends sparks flying through my body. She doesn’t pause at the edge of my scar, choosing instead to lay her palm flat against my skin and slide her hand up to my shoulder. Her thumb teases the edge of my jaw as her eyes take me in. All of me. Scars and all.
“You didn’t want me to take your shirt off at Gabriel’s wedding,” she says in a low rasp.
“No,” I answer.
Her eyes meet mine, hot fire dancing in their icy blue depths. “I wish you’d let me.”
“I was afraid,” I whisper, surprising myself with my honesty.
“Of what?”
“Of the face you’d make when you saw me.”
“How does my face look now?” Her brows draw together, and my hand cups her cheek.
Heat curls low in my stomach, but there’s something else. A tugging in my chest. A twinge, deep inside me, telling me I’m not here just for a diamond mine. I’m not here to show my father I deserve to inherit the company. I shake my head, letting my eyes close for a moment. “You look like an angel.”
Air is sucked in through her full, pink lips. Her thumb makes slow movements over my jaw, over and back. It’s making me dizzy. With one hand cupping her cheek, I let my other hand find her hip. She notches one leg between my thighs, pressing her body against mine. She fuses herself against my mottled skin, holding me close as if there’s nothing wrong with me at all.
“Pen,” I say, pushing the word out past the obstruction in my throat. “I’m not sure I can stay professional. Not when you’re here, like this…” Her robe feels silky beneath my fingertips and it would be so easy—so fucking easy—to slide it off her body and show her just how much I’ve missed having her in my arms.
Ice Queen: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance Page 10