Hotter on Ice

by Rebecca Hunter

  “Any preferences?” His voice was filled with all the ways he’d like to serve her, the seductive promise that he would do anything, anything to please her.

  She stretched and then slid out of bed. His gaze raked over her from head to toe, pausing at the line where her shirt stopped, right at the tops of her thighs. She had slipped on only the shirt of the pajamas set last night, just to see if she could tempt him into bed, but he hadn’t reacted. Now he seemed to have noticed.

  His lips parted, and his eyes were heavy with lust. He was definitely watching her right now, but he didn’t get up, just looked as she walked across the room and searched through her bag for some clothes, her shirt riding up, giving him a nice show of her ass. Good. He could take a bit of teasing.

  Her back was to him, so she pulled off her pajama top and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in only panties. A sharp inhale came from behind her, but she didn’t turn around. Just smiled as she slipped on a long-sleeved shirt, then a sweater.

  “No bra?” His voice was low.

  She looked over her shoulder and shook her head. “Not in a fashion shoot.”

  “You know I’ll be thinking about that all day.”

  Alya laughed and picked up her favorite pair of leather pants. She made a show of sliding each leg into the soft material with an extra little wiggle of her ass. Henning’s groan was quiet. She looked over her shoulder, and found one surly, turned-on man.

  “My preferences? I’m willing to try lots of things. I think you’ll know what I like.” She smiled as his eyes narrowed. “I’m answering your breakfast question, of course.”

  Before he could react, she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door. Leaning back against the wood, Alya let out a whoosh of a breath. Well, that was a fun start to the day, but now it was time to get herself together.

  The plan: have fun on this job without freezing her ass off, make it through the Behind the Runway interview without saying anything too revealing, have superhot sex with Henning, which hopefully included a chance to explore his pleasure this time, and then sleep in one of the ice rooms. Five-star day in the making, as long as she could tone down her angst.

  By the time Alya came out of the bathroom, Henning had returned, and the little table in their room was set with full breakfast plates for both of them: yogurt, breads, hard-boiled eggs, cheeses, meats, fruits...and a large carafe of coffee, thank God. She poured herself a cup and took a long gulp.

  “A delivery came for you, too,” said Henning. He raised an eyebrow and pointed across the room, next to her bed.

  The box was large and round, like an oversize hat box, sky blue with a card on top.

  “Not shipped,” she said. “Must be designer samples, swag.”

  Henning wrinkled his forehead. “Designers just give you stuff? Don’t people pay ridiculous amounts of money for these things?”

  “It’s not out of the goodness of their hearts,” she said, taking another sip. “They’re hoping I’ll wear their clothes, preferably on camera for the documentary filming. Free advertisement.”

  “Huh. Interesting.”

  Alya zeroed in on the hard-boiled egg. How long had it been since she’d eaten one of those for breakfast?

  “You’re not going to open it?”

  She took her eyes off the egg and waggled her eyebrows at him. “You think there might be something in there that interests you?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up in a slow smile. Even on the scarred side of his face, she saw a hint of lightness. “If it’s a lacy thong for you to try on, I’d be into that.”

  “I bet you would.”

  Alya took another gulp of coffee and walked over to the box. She pulled off the lid and peered inside. Tissue paper covered the top, soft, light blue. She pulled out the first layer and found a white, silk camisole. She held it up.

  “Yeah, I’ll wear this,” she said. She turned around and shucked her top, smiling over her shoulder at Henning. His eyes were wide. He clearly wasn’t used to the unabashed undressing and dressing that took place in her world. She slipped the camisole on and faced him.

  “You like it?”

  His laugh was low and sensual. “I love it.”

  “Good,” she said, bending down to look through the box. More silky shirts and lacy undergarments. Nice but not very practical for the Arctic Circle. Alya took off the lid of a little box to find a...tiara? She held it up, laughing.

  “I can’t believe this one,” she said, looking at Henning. “Who wears these?”

  Henning shrugged. “I know someone who wears them.”

  “Um, the queen of England?”

  “Yeah. And my niece,” he said with a smile. “Just about every time I see her, in fact.”

  Alya stared at him, trying to picture this jaded man with a little girl in a tiara.

  “Your niece?” she asked. “How old is she?”

  Henning’s broken smile was warm. “Five next weekend. She has a dance performance while we’re here, and I’m almost positive she’ll be wearing one of those.”

  She was still having trouble fitting this information into her understanding of Henning. At the dance recitals of his little princessy niece? She tried to picture the scene: Henning squatting down to five-year-old height as a little girl in a dress and tiara stood in front of him. She’d be explaining something to him, and he’d focus all his attention on the child. His size, the scars, the quiet intensity of him, everything that kept people at a distance—that he used to keep people at a distance—wouldn’t matter to his niece.

  “You missed her dance recital,” she said slowly. “For this job. With me.”

  He shrugged, like he genuinely wasn’t worried. “My sister and her family live over in the Manly Beach area, close to where I grew up. I see them all the time.”

  She knew so little about him, and she was gobbling up this little peek into his life. He was so much more than the version of himself he presented to the world.

  Alya brought the box with the tiara over to the table and placed it in front of him as she sat down. “This is for your niece. If she’d like it.”

  His crooked smile was full of warmth and indulgence. “Thank you. I’m sure she’d love it.”

  His gaze stayed on her as his smile faded. All that was left was his intense gaze. The breakfast to her room, his anticipation of everything she needed, the orgasms... He was going to ruin her for the real-life version of boyfriends whenever she started dating again.

  Alya swallowed and scanned the breakfast spread again. She picked up a little tube, turning it over in her hand. All the writing was in Swedish, of course. “What’s this?”

  “I think the server said it’s caviar paste for the boiled egg.” He gave her that little twitch of a smile. “Because you said you were up for anything.”

  She lifted an eyebrow at him. “I might actually like it. My mother used to eat stuff like this when I was a kid. I think it’s a Russian thing, too.”

  She got to work peeling her egg, and the room was quiet again. Alya peeked up at him, that stoic expression back on his face. What was he thinking about? He wasn’t regretting last night, was he?

  “We’re okay, right?”

  He blinked at her, his gaze filled with...irritation? Confusion? She pressed on.

  “I mean, after last night, I just want to make sure—”

  “Of course we are,” he said, his voice gruff.

  Of course they were. Sex didn’t have to be followed with the avalanche of drama that came with her mother’s boyfriends or Nick or any of the other unhealthy relationships that had blanketed her life. It could just be sex. She bit her lip and focused on her egg.

  But before she got a bite into her mouth, Henning had stood up and was making his way around the table. He tapped the front of her chair, and she scooted it out to face him. Then he knel
t in front of her, between her legs. He was a big man, big enough so that down on his knees, they were the same height. He settled his hands on her thighs. The gesture was warm and possessive and everything her mind needed to read too much into it.

  “I’m not good at this, Alya,” he said, gesturing between them. “Even before I...” He looked away, retreating. She lifted her hand to his left cheek, running her fingers down his scars, letting him know she understood, that he didn’t need to say it if he didn’t want to. He let out a long breath, swallowed, and looked back at her. “I’m sorry if I’ve done something that makes you feel anything less than incredible. Because that’s what you deserve.”

  She blinked at him, stunned. For someone who didn’t like talking, he really struck gold when he chose to speak. His statement was so direct, so opposite of what she had come to expect. Maybe it was that newly found space to simply think and feel for a bit, without distractions, or maybe it was all the orgasms, but when Alya found Henning’s steady gaze on her, his dark eyes so clearly telling her he was there for her, all her worries just flowed out.

  “The short interviews they’re doing for the documentary—at some point, it’s not going to be fun,” she said. “I know the woman is going to ask me about all the things Nick said about me, especially about leaving Los Angeles because I was buckling under pressure. Maybe she’ll ask today, maybe tomorrow. And I have to decide how much to say about it.”

  Henning’s jaw clenched at the sound of her ex-boyfriend’s name, but he nodded and waited for her to continue.

  “I’ve worked so hard to get to this point, where I’m not steering my life around him, even from across the Pacific.” She blew out a breath. “But if I’m not careful, he can still get to me. With the film crew here and the publicity this is getting, I start to worry he’ll do something to get attention. And he may do that.” She frowned. “But I have to learn how to shift my own focus.”

  God, she never talked about this kind of thing with anyone except Natasha. And these days, Natasha was too busy to talk much. But now that she was saying this aloud, she could feel how much these worries were weighing on her. But, ugh, this was not the sexy fling he’d signed up for.

  “Sorry for the overshare,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m just a little nervous.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he said, and he sounded almost angry. But he winced as soon as the words left his mouth, and grumbled something under his breath. Henning’s eyes were stormy, though she was almost sure it had everything to do with Nick, not her. His voice was softer when he continued. “You’re an incredible woman, so strong. But that doesn’t mean you can’t voice your worries. I’m listening.”

  He blew out a breath and looked down at his own fingers, now pressing into her thighs. He loosened them, stroking gently up and down. “So if that interviewer catches you off guard, you’re worried you’ll say something that will trigger harassment from Nick.”

  She smiled a little. “Yeah, basically. But in my head it doesn’t sound nearly as reasonable.”

  He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shook his head. He started again. “You want me to come with you to the interview? Glare at the woman if she asks about your private life?”

  He was joking, but Alya was trying to ignore how good that idea sounded. She shook her head. “I can handle it.”

  “I know you can handle it,” he said, his voice serious. “I’m just asking if you want someone to share that burden, just for a little while.”

  She lifted her hand to his cheek. “I think that’s just about the nicest offer any guy has given me.”

  “Sounds like you need to check your taste in men,” he grumbled. “You should be hearing that every day.”

  She smiled a little and tilted her head, considering his words. “You must keep your girlfriends very happy.”

  “There are no girlfriends for me,” he said flatly.

  “Never?”

  “Not anymore.”

  She wanted to kiss him so badly. Henning watched her lips as she spoke, like he, too was thinking about kissing. So she did it, leaning forward, brushing her lips over his. His hands moved up her thighs, around her hips to cup her ass. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and the relief flowed through her. She kissed him again, and his lips were full of aching desire, like he was giving her a glimpse at just how happy he was making her right now.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “THE LOCATION IS going to make this shoot a little crazy,” said Alya as they headed down the hall of the warm portion of the hotel to the lobby, where they’d meet the rest of the crew. “There’s a lot of running between the warm and cold parts of the hotel to change, and the ice means that the lights can’t be on for too long, so we don’t melt the place down. Each shoot needs to happen quickly...you get the picture.”

  “And then there’s keeping you warm,” grumbled Henning. He sized her up. Hot, as usual, but the skintight pants and thin fluffy sweater barely looked warm enough for the heated portion of the hotel, let alone in the fancy igloo where they were headed. “How long are you supposed to lie on that bed without a coat?”

  Alya shrugged. “They have saunas to warm us after we’re done.”

  “You mean those hot rooms where a bunch of people sit around naked together?” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

  She laughed. “Yeah, those. You interested?”

  “Sitting in a room watching other people look at you naked?” He shook his head. “I’m pretty sure that would cross my limits.”

  This morning was already pushing up against the limits of his restraint. And as they walked down the hallway, watching men pass, their gazes lingering on her, he could see those limits were going to be further tested. Nothing about this scene had changed from yesterday; if anything, it should be easier to stomach these looks, knowing he had spent the previous night doing the kinds of things with her he hadn’t even let himself dream of. He should be relaxed, especially given the way he had come more intensely than he ever had last night. But he wasn’t anywhere near relaxed.

  They had come to the lobby, and she slowed to a stop. Various models and staff wandered in and out of the area, speaking different languages, throwing glances at them, their eyes darting from Alya to him and back again to Alya.

  To some degree, this was inevitable. He was a big motherfucker, and his scars upped the intimidation factor enough that people tended to give him a wide berth under any circumstance. But here, he stuck out even more. This was an industry designed to make people forget how brutal life could be. Henning was a snarling beast of a reminder that even for someone of his stature, life never turned out like one of the glossy magazine spreads.

  Alya tilted her head, studying him, but she didn’t say anything. Maybe she did understand all of this better than he was giving her credit for.

  “You ready?” he asked, nodding across the room, where a woman with blue hair and a tablet was waving her over.

  “You can stay with me, you know. Watch me get ready.” Her smile turned intimate, her voice soft. “You might enjoy it.”

  Henning gave a rough laugh. “I’m sure there are plenty of things to enjoy about it,” he said, letting his gaze travel down her body.

  But that would mean watching someone else touch her, dress her, brush her hair, knowing that there were hours before the next time he would be alone with. Hell no.

  “I have some catching up to do.” He held up his laptop. “I’ll be out here waiting for you.”

  Her eyes stayed on him, clear, assessing, making everything else fade away. So he rested his hand on her lower back. Such a small thing, too subtle for anyone else to notice. Henning hadn’t even fully thought it through before his hand was there. They were only a few paces away from the others, a short distance, but as they walked those steps, Henning let his guard down momentarily. He let himself imagine that this amazing woman could be his, rea
lly his. He let himself pretend that he wasn’t too broken to be the kind of man who would make her feel safe and strong at the same time. Both independent and owned. Always cherished. Everything she deserved to feel. And he let himself forget that he had so much shit buried inside that would destroy this raw, new connection the moment he let her in for real.

  None of these things he imagined were truly possible, so he simply let himself have those few steps. And when they ended, he didn’t bother looking around. He didn’t want to see the stares this time. He didn’t welcome the reminder that he had lived and Sanjay had died, the way he usually did. This time, what he felt was the deep chasm between the person that Alya needed and the person that he was. And for the first time since he had been carried off the cold floor of the warehouse, he wanted those deep wounds to heal. But he had no idea how the hell to do that.

  So, instead, he took one last whiff of her warm, honey scent, wiped the emotion off his face and walked away.

  * * *

  Alya came out of the makeshift dressing room laughing, all wrapped in a sweater and scarf, her hair artfully piled on her head, dramatic makeup drawing his gaze to the deep blue depths of her eyes.

  Laughing. She was laughing, and that fucker she would be photographed with was the one who was making her laugh. Henning gritted his teeth. Hell no. He was not one of those jealous pricks who wanted to control his girl’s every move.

  P.S. This isn’t your girl, so take it down a notch, asshole.

  But then Alya turned to look at him, and all the tension inside turned into something else. The look was there for only a moment, private, but it was personal. A warm, vulnerable hint of a smile. A reminder of all the holes in his defenses that he had spent the last hour trying to patch.

  He refused to react. Henning closed his laptop and followed behind Alya, the male model and a few others, keeping his distance. Watching Alya was no hardship. When she walked out of that room, her makeup had surprised him, but seeing her from farther away as she turned her head to talk, he understood the effect. Her blue eyes sparkled, even from a distance, and her dark red lips were so fucking hot. His gaze was drawn back to them again and again. How many men would stare at those lips between the pages of a magazine, imagining what they would feel like around their cocks? Fuck, he wanted to protect her from that...which was the wrong line of thought. He took a couple deep breaths.