by Zara Cox
It was only as the spectacular display started to fade several minutes later that I paid attention to what Jensen was doing.
His camera was going off a mile a minute, his movements near balletic as he leaned in, then leaned back, dropped a few inches, then rotated the camera while adjusting the lens. There was something deeply hypnotic and breathtakingly beautiful about watching him at work, which was why it took several seconds before, alarmed, I realised that I was the focus of his attention, and not the spectacular display electrifying the sky around us.
Years of being photographed without my permission had engendered a hatred of having cameras trained on me, triggering a knee-jerk response. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of selling pictures of me to make a quick buck.’
He froze, then slowly lowered his camera as he rose from a deep crouch. In the pool of light from the lantern he’d brought with us, I watched shock and fury chase across his face.
‘I get by well enough on my own hard work without the need to peddle images of celebrities, princess. I leave that kind of asshole move to pond scum who aren’t familiar with concepts like respect, privacy and basic human decency.’
The bite in his voice rivalled the Arctic wind sweeping against my skin.
For a moment I was ashamed at my harsh rebuke, but even that emotion was swept away by the wild panic at the thought of having offended him. I stepped forward. He turned away, his back stiff as he went to check on his equipment.
I opened my mouth to say what I wasn’t exactly sure just as the name he’d called me struck hard and deep.
Princess.
He called me princess. A predictable insult from someone who claimed not to read the filth and lies the media wrote about me. The world’s favourite derogatory term for me, but searingly painful coming from Jensen. Anger mounted, and I stewed in my righteous fury, but beneath all that I was totally confounded by how much his slur had affected me.
Why?
Because we’d rolled around in a tent for a few hours?
It was supposed to mean nothing. And it did, I insisted to myself.
As passing time and work went, it hadn’t been a bad day. I’d seen three spectacular sights, been the recipient of two mind-blowing orgasms, and could now tick a traipse to the Arctic Circle off my bucket list. Not bad for a twenty-four-hour jaunt.
First thing in the morning I’d order the chopper to come back and get me.
Jensen could complete his assignment on his own. If his work produced a less than satisfactory outcome, I’d hire the next best person. He might think himself the best, but surely there was someone out there equally qualified.
With that thought in mind I turned towards the tent, but at the last moment, unable to resist, I looked over my shoulder. In his white gear, he should’ve blended into the landscape, but there was an aura about him, the type that made him impossible to miss. Impossible to ignore. Even in these final moments of seeing Jensen Scott in this environment, I knew he’d be as unforgettable as he’d wanted to be.
The thought irritated as much as it disturbed.
Enough to trigger another unfettered response. ‘This ice princess needs her beauty sleep. I’d appreciate not being disturbed when you come back in.’ Yes, it was a cheap shot, but I didn’t care.
Not when I zipped myself into the bag and immediately felt the lack of hard male body warmth that’d helped me sleep soundly only a few hours earlier.
Not when he didn’t return for the better part of an hour, leaving my mind whirling, making me wonder where he was, whether I was that loathsome that he would stay out in the cold rather than share a tent with me.
Not when I felt another clench of my heart at the thought I’d screwed up something as simple as a one-night stand.
The same way I’d driven my brothers away.
The same way I’d screwed up and sent my mother away from me at the age of nine.
CHAPTER FOUR
THINGS WENT FROM bad to worse between Graciela and me while I was in the middle of kicking myself for overreacting the night before.
Now I’d had time to cool down, I couldn’t blame her for assuming the worst. The British media were notorious for privacy invasion, and with a family like the Mortimers, with their well-documented clashes with the tabloid press, it didn’t surprise me that she’d be wary.
So what if we’d shared a few intimate moments the night before?
Everything about our encounter reeked of temporary.
Regardless of certainty, though, a hard bite caught me every time I thought of this project being over, that what happened in the tent last night would never be repeated.
Fuck, if I wanted the blood to relocate from what felt like its new permanent residence in my groin, I needed to stop thinking about last night and concentrate on the real threat of the snowstorm heading our way.
It’d caught me unawares, much like a lot of things had since meeting Graciela Mortimer.
Jaw clenched, I resisted yet another urge to glance behind me. To catch another glimpse of her face. She’d been asleep, thankfully, when I eventually returned to the tent last night. Knowing I couldn’t join her inside the sleeping bag, despite being sorely tempted, had been another unpalatable lesson in self-control. Common sense had been little comfort as I’d shivered in the blankets on the other side of the tent.
Breakfast had been predictably chilly, and I wasn’t surprised when she treated me to haughty silence as we packed up and reloaded the sled. Nor could I stem my disappointment when she informed me of her plans to cut short her involvement in the project.
There was no avoiding talking to her now, though.
I glanced over my shoulder. ‘There’s a storm headed our way. We’re not going to make the rendezvous point to meet the chopper.’
Her eyes narrowed before leaving mine to scour the landscape and sky. ‘The sky is clear. I don’t see anything resembling a storm.’
I curbed a smile. ‘This isn’t a trick. We have about half an hour tops to find shelter before the storm hits. Your pick-up point is ninety minutes away.’
‘Can’t we hunker down somewhere, wait for it to pass?’ she asked.
I shook my head, feeling almost sorry for her. Almost. Her hurry to get away from me rankled. ‘No, we can’t. It’s better to find solid shelter rather than camp out.’
She reached for her satellite phone. ‘I’ll call my pilot, and you can redirect him here to pick me up,’ she said.
‘If the storm’s as bad as I think it is, he won’t be allowed to fly out at all. And if he does, you’ll be risking everyone getting stranded—’ The sound of her phone ringing interrupted us. ‘I bet that’s him now calling to tell you the same thing.’
With an icy glare at me, she answered. ‘Hello?’ She listened, her expression growing tighter by the second. Any moment now, I expected her to snap at her pilot to come, regardless of the procedures. But, surprising the hell out of me, she nodded. ‘Fine. If you can’t fly, you can’t fly. Let me know as soon as you’re given the all-clear.’
She hung up and, for a moment, I caught a lost expression in her eyes. And then she was back to glaring at me. ‘So what now?’
A low hum of electricity vibrated through my bloodstream. ‘My cabin is ten miles away. Provided the dogs cooperate we might beat the storm.’
Wariness crossed her face. ‘And if we don’t? What happens if we get caught in the storm?’
‘We might catch a bit of it, but don’t worry, if we need to stop, I’ll keep you safe.’
Again, a raw expression crossed her face, but it was quickly stifled. ‘If that’s our only option...’
It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but it was enough. I was prepared to risk getting us inside four solid walls rather than braving the elements, no matter how many sparks had flown in our tent. Before I’d ruined it.
I ch
ecked my watch’s GPS tracker to make sure we were headed in the right direction and whistled at the dogs.
They responded immediately, eager for brisker exercise, and turned east, towards the isolated cabin I’d been using for the last two weeks. The thought of Graciela in my personal space, alone with me under my roof, heated my blood, hardening my cock despite the possibility that she wouldn’t move from her stance of clearly not wanting anything to do with me.
For a moment, I mourned refusing the blow job she’d offered last night. Bloody hell, how I wish I’d taken her up on it. Then I wouldn’t be so fucking wound up tight, repeatedly dwelling on how incredible she had tasted, how snugly my tongue had fitted into her. How much I was dying to hear those control-wrecking little noises she made when she came.
I’d passed up the chance and I only had myself to blame for my state of raging blue balls.
The storm hit much quicker than I’d anticipated, catching us out a good ten minutes before we reached the copse of fir trees that signalled the beginning of the woods leading to the cabin. The dogs, sensing the turning weather, strained at the leash, barking excitedly at the thought of being given leave to go even faster. The moment I loosened the reins, they were off.
I checked over my shoulder. ‘Hold tight.’
She nodded stiffly, although I caught a hint of excitement in her eyes as her hand tightened around the iron handlebar in front of the seat. She probably wouldn’t admit it, but she was enjoying this, being at the mercy of the elements. I knew I was.
There was something raw and unfettered about pitting oneself against nature and coming out on top. It was mostly why I’d chosen my profession.
That and the freedom it gave me once upon a time to immerse myself in something else other than the turmoil going on at home. Turmoil that had ended up shaping my life.
I relished the icy wind lashing at my cheeks, making my eyes water as the wind picked up speed. The snow came, thick and furious, falling horizontal with the force of the wind. I checked on Graciela every few minutes, confirming that she was indeed enjoying this by the hint of a grin toying at her lips. Which stunned me a little.
The only time I took Stephanie on a shoot after her endless badgering for me to bring her with me, she’d complained the whole time, demanding to go back to civilisation at the earliest opportunity.
While I wanted to enjoy Graciela’s pleasure for a few minutes, I was still relieved to spot the familiar treeline that signalled the boundary to the cabin, grateful to see an end to enduring what was quickly turning into a white-out.
Minutes later, I pulled to a stop in front of the compact log structure that comprised my cabin.
I hopped off the sled and helped Graciela off. ‘Wait for me on the porch. I’ll get the dogs squared away and bring in the equipment.’
She shook her head. ‘It’ll be quicker if I give you a hand.’
I nodded, located my camera bag. ‘Okay. Take this up with you. I’ll just be a minute.’
She grabbed the bag, lifting the heavy load without complaint onto one shoulder. Then she grabbed the blankets and sleeping bag and hurried onto the porch. I grabbed the rest of the equipment and followed.
The key was tucked into a nook specially created in one of the overhead beams on the porch. I unlocked the door and held it open for her. A full day with no heating meant the interior was icy-cold but, luckily, the electricity was still working. I turned on a couple of lamps and activated the portable space heaters we’d used in the tent. She set the stuff down next to the fireplace, and I disposed of my own load before waving her towards the wide, comfy sofa. ‘Take a seat. I’ll be back in five minutes.’
She nodded, but didn’t sit down.
When I paused at the door and looked back, she was gazing around the cabin, inspecting the large open-plan space. It was rustic, far removed from the luxury she was no doubt used to. Nevertheless, as basic as it was, something about having her here in the space I’d made my own appealed to me.
I turned away, berating myself for getting carried away. She’d be gone as soon as the weather cleared. Besides the pictures on my camera, there’d be just my memory to evidence her brief presence in my life.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
I shut the door behind me, concentrated on relocating the dogs to their habitat in the heated shed where they slept. Ensuring they had food and water and that their blankets were dry, I returned to the cabin, grabbing Graciela’s small weekender from the sled on the way.
She’d lowered the zip on the outer snowsuit, but hadn’t taken it off. Which was a blessing, I supposed. The memory of her insanely beautiful body, smooth skin and the sweet flesh between her legs was vivid enough without a visual reminder.
I held up her case. ‘I brought your stuff. I’ll get the fire going if you want to change clothes?’
‘I do, thanks,’ she said, her voice a little stiff.
I sighed. Did I even have the right to be disappointed that she was giving me the icy princess treatment? What did it even matter? I’d come out here specifically to get away from women like her; taken this assignment because I’d believed I’d be alone, working while licking my wounds.
Trust-fund princesses with entitlement issues were supposed to be permanently off my menu.
What about trust-fund princesses with pussies that tasted like fucking honey?
Blood surged into my cock at the reminder, and my legs felt a little stiff as I went to the fire and tossed in a couple more logs onto the half-burnt ones I’d put out before leaving the cabin yesterday.
I lit the fire purely from muscle memory, what with my brain stuck back in that tent, reliving every second of how it’d felt to make her come, wring those insane sounds from her throat, to feel her fingers in my hair as she’d directed me on how to maximise her pleasure.
And that’s what’s right and so fucking wrong with this picture, isn’t it? You got a taste of her and now you can’t get her out of your head?
I ignored the voice, stayed right there on my knees until the fire was in full rage. The sound of a zip lowering made me turn. She was freeing her arms from the outer suit and tugging her hair loose.
I’d been so blinded by her body last night I hadn’t quite clocked the long strands of her raven hair cascading halfway down her back. The urge to sink my fingers into the silky mass made me clench my fists. Realising I was staring at her like some hormonal fool, I busied myself by shrugging off my own suit.
Since I didn’t want to risk her seeing her maddening effect on me, I unzipped to the waist and left the arms hanging down. Hell, she’d see the bulge below my waist soon enough if I spent any more time standing around staring at her breasts, thinking about how good she tasted.
Thinking about what else to do brought up a different dilemma, though. I eyed the sofa and hid a grimace.
She followed my gaze, but before she could speak, I grabbed her case. ‘There’s not much to the cabin but I’ll show you around,’ I offered. ‘Let’s start upstairs.’
I headed up the stairs and down the short hallway leading to the bedroom tucked in the eaves of the cabin. I heard her following and opened the bedroom door as she reached me.
The huge king-size bed took up most of the room because, what the hell, I liked my comfort when I slept. Besides that, though, I had very little else in the way of creature comforts. A dresser, bedside table, and closet that held a handful of clothes were all I needed when I used the cabin. I set her bag down beside the bed. ‘You can have the bed. I’ll sleep downstairs.’
‘Why? Because I’m a spoilt ice princess?’ she bit out, her face cold once again.
I gritted my teeth, regret and irritation warring inside me. ‘You want me to apologise for what I said last night?’
‘I wouldn’t want you to waste your breath, since we both know it would be false.’ She was back to using that snipp
y, upper-class voice.
As much as it came naturally to Graciela, it reminded me a little too much of the posh voice Stephanie had adopted to impress clients—and me—when we’d first met. It’d turned out to be as false as everything else about her.
With Graciela, I was beginning to recognise the snippiness as a facade. I’d caught enough glimpses of her vulnerability to guess the truth. Last night, for instance, even as she’d ordered me not to disturb her beauty sleep, I’d caught the hurt in her voice. Seen the way she’d held herself stiff and closed, as if she didn’t want to show her vulnerability.
And, dammit, something about that made me want her more.
Perhaps even more than I yearned for the sultry creature who’d raised her arms above her head last night and invited me to use my hands on her.
‘I see you’re not bothering to deny it.’
I sighed, dragged my beanie off to run my fingers through my hair. She followed the movement and I did it again, a shockingly large part of me wanting to preen for her. Wanting to reawaken the Dominant I’d received an oh-so-brief taste of last night, just so I’d experience the unique pleasure of surrendering to her once again.
She seemed nowhere in sight now, though, and, for whatever reason, I wanted another glimpse of her. Wanted to test her authenticity. Wanted to—
What? See if she was real or a fake as Stephanie turned out to be?
Why?
I ignored the far too difficult question and focused on answering. ‘Maybe I could’ve been a little less...spiky about it.’
One sleek eyebrow arched. ‘Maybe?’
I hid a smile at the tight demand. She was one hell of a ball-breaker. ‘Fine. I definitely could have been.’
The icy disdain didn’t leave her face. I sighed again, then waved at the window, indicating the snowstorm raging outside. ‘I’ve no idea how long this thing is going to last. I’d rather we didn’t spend the whole time being at each other’s throats.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to worry about me, Jensen. Ice princesses are experts at maintaining a dignified silence.’