Ice-Breaker
Jenny Schwartz
www.escapepublishing.com.au
Ice-Breaker
Jenny Schwartz
It was a case of the right person at the absolute worst time – so he found a way to make time.
Kiara and Selwyn’s first encounter is dramatic, and their attraction instantaneous. But Kiara has commitments, dreams, and plans – and Selwyn doesn’t fit into any of it. But he’s not willing to give up on the chance at love, so he plans a second encounter just as dramatic. When Kiara returns from scientific research in Antarctica, he kidnaps her – with her startled agreement. Maybe all they need for a chance at real love is a break from real life.
About the Author
Jenny Schwartz is a West Australian author of coastal romances that celebrate the joy of falling in love and the freedom of choosing to follow your heart. Her website is authorjennyschwartz.com and she loves chatting with readers.
Contents
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…
Chapter 1
There was an Internet connection on Subantarctic Macquarie Island, but not a lot of privacy. Kiara froze in front of the computer as the news site she’d clicked on showed a photo of Selwyn Powell. His face — and body — were probably instantly familiar to every woman under a hundred and two. As a model, he’d been that famous. But she had more personal reasons for remembering him.
A sharp tug of desire twisted in her gut. Even sharper, though, was the shock of the headline. Selwyn Powell Lives. Mountain Collapses in Guatemala.
Her hand shook as she clicked through to the full story. In the long twilight of a southern summer evening she read how close he had come to dying, then she walked out to the pebbled beach and contemplated the emptiness of the Southern Ocean. She shivered.
***
Selwyn stood at the edge of the crowd gathered on the Hobart Wharf to greet the Australian icebreaker, Blue Whale. On-board were the members of the Macquarie Island Summer Expedition team, including one Dr Kiara Holland. He was here for her.
The day was grey, the clouds pressing low and a strong south-westerly wind driving the fine drizzle at a nearly vertical angle.
He wore his cattleman’s duster, picked up years ago at a photo-shoot and now comfortably worn in but still weatherproof. The overcoat kept him warm and dry, although the matching hat was fighting a losing battle with the weather, getting steadily wetter. He fitted it more firmly on his head and turned his back to the wind.
Being here was crazy. A thousand and one things needed his attention at his headquarters in Sydney. Only a month ago, the mudslide in Guatemala had killed twelve people — almost including him. He’d been there to help coordinate Grey Knot’s disaster response to the then recent super-storm. It was cynical, but since his near-death experience had generated headline news here in Australia, he needed to exploit the free publicity. A charity such as Grey Knot, prioritising support for elderly people caught in disaster zones, needed all the help it could get. The elderly were too often forgotten, and the challenges facing them were extreme. How did you rebuild a devastated life when you were in your final decade?
The icebreaker had docked an hour ago, and judging by the stir of movement, in a few minutes, its passengers would disembark. Selwyn had a hire car waiting and a hotel room booked. He’d been on enough remote-location expeditions to know the value of a hot shower.
Crazy or not, he was taking this chance.
Someone cheered as the first of the expedition team members stepped onto the dock, throwing his knitted cap in the air. Others followed and a mad jumble of excited people hugged and cried and laughed. Six months away from family was a long time. Young children shrieked and ran in circles.
Selwyn watched for Kiara. She was tall, which always made her easier to spot. And it was unlikely she’d have people waiting for her. Her parents were in Bogota, Colombia. He knew because they worked for him.
A tall woman in a red parka, the hood blown back, walked alone down the gangway.
Her hair was short, surprising him. He remembered it long, past her shoulders; silky dark brown hair that caught on the black wool of his dinner suit. Now it barely grazed her chin.
He wove his way through the crowd, taking it for granted when people moved out of his path, and caught up with Kiara three steps from the gangway. Anticipation tightened the muscles of his gut as he touched her elbow.
She turned, swift and confident, but approachable; a person ready to help others. Her eyes widened. Her smile vanished. ‘Selwyn?’
‘Welcome home.’
***
Maybe if he hadn’t surprised her, Kiara could have controlled her reaction, but she saw Selwyn and she hugged him. Hard.
He smelled of rain, oilcloth and man.
‘Don’t play in the mud,’ she muttered into his neck.
He gave a half-laugh that sounded painful and his arms tightened around her, squashing her puffy red parka and her ribs. ‘A woman who’s been sailing Antarctic seas tells me to be careful?’
‘Subantarctic,’ she said, as if it made a difference. She pulled back to study him.
He looked tired. The creases at the corner of his eyes were deeper and tension bracketed his mouth. He was still incredibly gorgeous, blond hair mostly hidden by his hat, but his eyes were intensely blue, and his face sculpted with the arresting, uncompromising arrogance of a Norman knight. Selwyn looked how non-historians imagined William the Conqueror had been.
‘Were you injured in the mudslide?’ She touched his face, fingers feathering along the blunt line of his cheekbone and finding the skin cool and damp from the rain. ‘The news said you weren’t…’ But he was the kind of man who hid weakness. He wouldn’t share it with reporters.
‘I’m fine.’ He turned his head fractionally and pressed a kiss into her palm.
Desire, hot and shocking, ran through her, jolting her back into an awareness of where they were and how they stood — like lovers.
They had only met once before.
She curled her fingers closed, lowering her hand. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Can I explain somewhere else?’
She glanced around the crowded scene. Even though everyone was busy with their own reunions, she and Selwyn were attracting attention. The expedition members all knew she was single. Seven months together and you learned that kind of thing about each other’s lives.
‘Is it my parents?’
‘No. Gary and Diana are fine.’ He stood there, making no further move to explain.
‘All right.’ She picked up the duffel bag at her feet.
He took it from her. ‘I have a car.’
‘Great. You can drive me home. I was going to beg a lift from someone.’
‘No need.’
A hand at her lower back guided her in the direction of the car park. Through her parka, pullover and turtle-neck she shouldn’t have felt it like a brand against her skin, like a burn that she craved through her whole body. She turned her head to breathe in the cold wind and rain, and hopefully, some sanity.
The car was a mid-sized sedan; a sensible, anonymous hire car. Selwyn clicked the locks and put her bag and his hat into the boot while she got in, out of the weather. When he sat in the driver’s seat, the space inside shrank. He got out, shed the coat that made his shoulders enormous, dropped it on the back seat and sat back in. ‘Marginally better.’ He wore an Aran sweater in an oatmeal colour, the shade of raw wool, above old jeans that fit snug. Effortlessly stylish and overwhelmingly male.
Kiara drew on all her self-contr
ol to look away. She studied the roof of one of the port’s old post-war buildings with its resemblance to an aircraft hangar. ‘Are you going to explain why you’re in Hobart?’
‘I’m kidnapping you.’ He pulled smoothly out of the car park and into the quiet city traffic.
‘What?’ She stared at him. Maybe he’d hit his head during the mudslide?
‘Of course, I won’t if you’re not agreeable, but I thought we needed time together. Alone.’ His hands shifted on the steering wheel as he turned a corner.
‘Why?’
He braked at a red traffic light and looked at her. Just a look.
Her blush started at her breasts and crawled up her throat to flush her cheeks.
He nodded as if she’d answered and as the light turned green, accelerated. ‘We had a connection in Melbourne.’
‘We talked and then we jumped off a sinking boat together.’ And then she’d spent seven months in the Subantarctic fantasising about him. But she wouldn’t mention her dreams. They weakened her common sense argument.
‘Did you forget me?’ he asked.
‘I…’ But what was there to say? Her actions had betrayed her. A woman who’d forgotten him wouldn’t have leapt into his arms or worried about how he’d survived a mudslide four weeks earlier. She’d already given herself away. She wriggled out of her parka, which felt too hot. ‘We’re two different people. Very different. There’s no point, considering…’
What was he considering? An affair? Friends with benefits?
‘I don’t want to be alone.’ The taut muscles of his jaw emphasised his tension. He stared straight ahead. ‘Feeling a connection, a real connection, to someone is rare. In Melbourne, we both walked away, caught up in our lives, our commitments. But when you get a ton of mud dumped on your head, you think about things differently. I’m here now because I want to know if this between us could be real — is real.’
He’d silenced her. Honesty that laid bare the emotions demanded equal truth. She wasn’t sure she had the courage.
‘Time together. Three days.’ His blue eyes met hers with utter determination.
‘No sex,’ she blurted.
‘Agreed.’
She jerked, half-insulted by his ready acceptance of her ban.
His mouth relaxed into a wry, real grin. ‘We go to bed, we’ll be so busy “connecting” we won’t know what’s genuine and what’s hormones.’
A deep tremble started inside her, something more than physical — something that shivered across her soul. ‘You’re serious.’
‘Never more so. I can drive you home, but I’d rather take you to a hotel. Somewhere private. Yes or no?’
‘Yes.’
***
The hotel occupied high ground outside Hobart, on the Derwent River. The glorious autumn colour of the trees was fading, subdued by the approach of winter, and the river lay flat and sullen under the grey skies, but the hotel was gorgeous. It had been built as a private home in the early nineteenth century and exhibited the restrained, geometric elegance of Georgian design. Kiara had read about it once in the newspaper in a dream holidays feature.
Selwyn had booked a suite.
The change from the Spartan living conditions on Macquarie Island and then on the boat was a shock. Two beautiful bedrooms opened off a shared living area which had its own fireplace, evidently original to the house, framed by deep armchairs in a rich chestnut leather with snuggly mohair throws draped over their arms. Wooden furniture subtly celebrated the wonderful timbers of Tasmania. French doors opened to a narrow balcony where white-painted wrought-iron railings twisted like candy canes.
In her room, the tall windows had a deep sill converted to a window seat and piled with a tumble of cushions. Kiara sat there a moment, her phone in hand. Her clothes had been whisked away to be laundered and Selwyn had left her to shower, saying he’d hit the gym. She’d bitten her tongue to prevent herself saying that he looked as if sleep would do him more good.
A long, luxurious soak in the marble bath tub sounded heavenly, but first she had to contact Naomi.
The two of them shared a cottage in Sandy Bay, near the colonial heart of Hobart, and if Naomi returned from her work at the Royal Tasmanian Botanical Gardens to discover an empty house, she’d hit red alert.
Kiara called her number, unsure how she’d explain this bizarre situation.
Naomi squealed with excitement. ‘Seize the day! Seize the man! Don’t you dare come home early.’
Okay, so maybe explanations were easy. Kiara curled up on the window seat and smiled. ‘You don’t think I’m crazy for agreeing to this?’
‘Which bit of “seize the day” didn’t you get?’
‘It’s not sensible,’ Kiara protested.
Naomi suggested sensible should go and do something anatomically impossible.
Kiara laughed. ‘I hope no one can hear you.’
‘Only Alan, and he’s used to me.’
To say Naomi wasn’t what most people expected of a botanist was an understatement. She was loud and out there — and Kiara knew why. Naomi had lost too many people to ever hesitate in going after what she wanted. When she’d said ‘seize the day’, she’d meant it.
‘All right, Nay-Nay, I’ll try not to over-think things for a bit.’
‘I don’t expect miracles.’ Naomi knew her well. ‘So promise me, when you start fretting, kiss Selwyn instead. That should distract you from anything!’
Kiara hung up without making that dangerous promise, but it was certainly an intriguing strategy. She put her brain on hold and went to run the bath.
***
Two hours later, muscles relaxed and skin softly scented with the complimentary gardenia moisturiser, Kiara finished blow-drying her hair. Since she’d had the time, she’d sleeked it into the smoothness of a 1920s bob. One of the support staff on the expedition had been a hairdresser in a previous life and had smartened everyone up for their return to civilisation. Now Kiara was grateful she’d accepted his offer. She retied the belt of the plush robe she wore and went in search of her clothes. They’d be clean, but after seven months of wash and wear use, they wouldn’t be up to the hotel’s standard.
Selwyn sat at the table in the living room, a laptop in front of him and a frown between his eyebrows. The frown cleared as he looked at her. He smiled. ‘You’ve had a special delivery.’
‘Pardon?’ She watched his mouth move, but didn’t comprehend a word he said. She’d just spent seven months in close quarters with a number of fit, attractive men. Men who shared her passion for science and the world’s wild places. But this man, simply by sitting there, had her flushed and conscious of her nakedness beneath the robe. Every breath teased her nipples with the soft abrasion of terry-towelling.
‘Your clothes.’ He crossed over to where a basket of folded clothing sat by the door. A suitcase stood beside it.
‘Oh.’ Her clothes. ‘I was hoping they’d be ready.’
‘Better than that.’ He picked up the suitcase and presented it to her. ‘With the compliments of your friend, Naomi.’
Kiara gawked.
He grinned. ‘She thought you’d want fresh clothes so she raided your wardrobe, packed them up and drove them over. Then she had reception call me. Although I think that was just a sneaky excuse for her to check if I was to be trusted with you.’
‘Did she approve?’
‘She told me that if you start thinking too hard, I should kiss you.’
Kiara willed herself not to blush. ‘She approved, then.’
‘I thought so.’ A pause. ‘So are you thinking too hard?’
She wasn’t thinking at all. ‘You wish.’
‘I sure do.’
At that bit of wicked provocation, she cast him a look of mingled reproof and excitement and took the suitcase to beat a strategic retreat to her room.
His voice pursued her. ‘I made reservations at the restaurant here for seven. Does that suit you?’
‘That’s fine.’
‘Drinks and finger food in the lounge at six for guests of the hotel.’
‘Great.’ She was starving. She turned in the doorway.
He stood in the middle of the room, watching her. After the gym, he’d changed into casual chinos and a rugby shirt. His hair was still damp from his shower, darkening its golden colour.
She really, really wanted to order room service and stay in — and judging by the expression in his eyes, he’d agree. All the teasing in the world couldn’t hide their hunger for one another.
‘I’ll see you in an hour,’ she said, and closed the door behind her.
Chapter 2
Kiara’s silk knickers and bra smelled of the lavender sachets she’d bought at a local market and stuffed in a drawer. She pulled them on and shook out the black knit dress Naomi had packed for her. Kiara had bought it on sale, and on impulse, and then never worn it, but after months of slogging up and down Macquarie Island’s steep hills, her figure could survive the scrutiny of it.
When she stepped into the black high heels and studied herself in the mirror, her reflection proved a shock. Cosmetics hid the faint redness of her skin caused by months in the Subantarctic and then the cold sea journey home. She looked glamorous and high maintenance. The short skirt of the knit dress highlighted the excellent muscle tone in her legs.
‘Yay for mountain climbing.’ Although it was more like hiking, near-vertically.
The last time Selwyn had seen her all dressed up, she’d been wearing the demure grey suit and white silk blouse she’d worn to present her first conference paper on crisis ecology. That had been a euphoric moment. After all the hard work to attain her PhD, to be introduced as Dr Kiara Holland was sweet. Returning to earth, though, had been a bumpy landing.
With her conference over, she’d caught up with her parents who were in Melbourne for their own conference, a gathering of representatives from non-government organisations involved in overseas aid programs. It had been a rushed reunion. Her mum had lent her a bright purple scarf — ‘for colour, sweetie’ — and dragged her off to their conference dinner in place of a colleague struck down with the flu.
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