Hotter on Ice

by Rebecca Hunter

  “Ignore that,” he grumbled.

  “I’ll try, but it’s what I’m thinking about, too. We need a distraction.” She moved against him, and he groaned. “Let’s talk.”

  “I’m not much of a talker under regular circumstances,” he said. “And with the most amazing woman lying next to me? I’ve got nothing.”

  Her eyes widened, as if his words had taken her by surprise. Then she brushed her lips against his.

  “Let’s have an AMA session,” she said. “Anything is game, and you have to answer truthfully.”

  “I can ask you anything?”

  “Anything.”

  Well, that was one way to distract him. There were things he’d rather not talk about, but in exchange for being able to ask her anything? Yeah, he could do this.

  “I’ll go first,” he said. “Tell me about when you moved to Los Angeles.”

  “I was ten and Natasha was eight,” she said. “We still spoke Russian together, so we didn’t make a lot of friends. My mother’s acting career was taking off, and she was caught up in that. All I had was Natasha for a long time. Probably why we’re still so close.”

  He nodded.

  “My turn,” she said. “Tell me about your last girlfriend.”

  “Really?” He raised his eyebrows. “Because I don’t want to hear anything about other men you’ve had sex with.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I just want a better picture of you.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve never been good boyfriend material, not then and not now.”

  “You sure? You’ve got that big, protective vibe written all over you,” she said, stroking his bicep with her hand. “But no diverting the conversation. Tell me.”

  “Her name was Corinne, and, looking back, I can see I was a shit boyfriend to her. I worked all the time when I was on the AFP, always canceling dinners because something came up. Even when I wasn’t working, that’s what I thought about. After a while, the only place we got along was in the bedroom.” He glanced over at her, gauging her reaction. Her expression was solemn, like she knew what came next. She nodded for him to continue, but this part was the hardest. Henning took a deep breath. “Then, the explosion happened, and I was in the hospital for a bit. She broke up with me. It sounds harsh, but I can’t really blame her. The only thing we had at that point was sex, and that wasn’t happening while I was recovering. Plus, I looked like a monster with my stitched-up scars. Romantic, right?”

  “Honest,” she said. Worry lines creased her forehead, and she opened her mouth like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t. Instead, she reached for his injured cheek to stroke it. Henning blew out a long breath, sinking into the comfort of her hand on his skin, just for a moment. But the room was so cold. He moved her hand to his shoulder, under the covers, as he thought through his next question.

  “If you weren’t modeling, what would you do instead?”

  “That’s easy. I’d finish my nursing degree.” She brushed her hair out of her face. “I’d like to work in the emergency room, I think. There’s a lot that happens there, a lot on the line at those moments.”

  “Why didn’t you finish?”

  “It cost a lot, and modeling paid instead of cost. And at the time, Natasha and I needed to support ourselves.”

  She said all of this so matter-of-factly, without a trace of bitterness at being sidetracked from something she had wanted then and still wanted now.

  “Do you have any plans to go back at this point?”

  “Someday. Modeling isn’t really a forever career.” She sighed. “Plus I think nursing school will be better when I’m older. There were comments that made me think people didn’t take me seriously, just because of the way I looked. They didn’t trust me. And then there were doctors who...”

  He must have reacted visibly because she narrowed her eyes at him. “Wait—you just asked more than one question, and now you’re scowling.” She smiled a little. “New subject. I want to know about five years with no kissing but not celibate.”

  He frowned. “I’m pretty sure you can guess what that means. You sure you want to know more?”

  “I do.”

  He stroked her shoulder and then rested his hand on her neck, warming it from the cold.

  “Fine. For a while I went to this...club. And I met some women there. It was just for sex, nothing more. No kissing, no touching.” Henning silently begged her not to ask for more details.

  Alya’s cheeks were flushed, but she kept her gaze steady on him. “And that’s generally your preference? Sex with no kissing or touching?”

  “That’s not my general preference. But under those circumstances, yes, it was.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Those circumstances meaning at sex clubs?”

  He hesitated. But he had promised the truth. “Those circumstances meaning after I left the AFP.”

  “I see,” she said. “But you don’t go to that club anymore?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “I realized I wanted something else.”

  “Did you get it?” Her voice was quiet now.

  He had promised her the truth, but every version of the truth left something out. Did she already know that she was what he wanted? Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.

  Henning kissed her on the forehead and held her closer. “Yes. More than what I had hoped for. So much more.” She looked up and stared at him, a little stunned, so he kissed her again. “You’ve gone way over your question limit. Let’s go to sleep.”

  She nodded, her cheek brushing against his chest, her fluffy hat tickling his nose. He shifted onto his back so she could rest her head on his chest. Alya adjusted and then propped herself on her elbow. The sleeping bag fell off her shoulder, revealing the only layer now between her skin and the cold.

  “Careful,” he whispered, pulling the fluffy down cover up over her, holding it in place. “I don’t want you cold.”

  “You’re like a furnace. You’ll keep me warm,” she said, running her hand over his chest.

  Then she brushed her lips over his. She ran her fingers over the scarred side of his face and kissed him again. The familiar desire was still there, but in the warmth of her mouth he found something more, something he wasn’t ready to process.

  The memory of the kiss lingered as she lay her head on his chest, and he brought his arm around her, holding her and closing his eyes. Even breaths of icy air didn’t matter when Alya was warm, pressed up against him. Safe.

  As he drifted off, somewhere in the space between awake and asleep, the last of his defenses fell. But for once, it wasn’t visions of death that came. It wasn’t the gaping hole inside him that he felt, the piece of him that he had left behind on that warehouse floor. It wasn’t even lust for the woman who was nestled against him.

  It was hope, dangling its sparkling lure, a tempting escape from the dark pool of the half life he had made for himself these last years. He knew what that shiny lure was attached to, knew its promises weren’t what they seemed, but right now, it looked better than the waters he was in.

  So, for the first time in years, Henning let himself hope.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ALYA STARTLED OUT of her sleep. Something had awoken her, and her body was on high alert. She was cold, she realized with a shiver. Somehow, the sleeping bag had moved down, exposing her to the arctic temperatures. She lay sprawled across Henning’s body, tense underneath hers. One of his hands held her head against his chest, and the other was clamped around her shoulder.

  She took a couple deep breaths as relief rushed through her. She was here, in the Viking Room of the Icehotel with Henning. The room was dark and silent, so what had jolted her out of her sleep? She tugged up the sleeping bag and lifted her head to see him.

  He was lying on his back. The shadows hid most of the scars alo
ng his cheek, but she could see hints of the taut, smooth skin by his mouth. At some point she had read about scars in nursing school, how they could pull and stretch at the skin. Were his painful?

  Alya studied him, his face so serious, even in sleep. She tried to picture Henning as a boyfriend, sitting down for a quiet breakfast, reading the newspaper. Not a chance. Had he ever imagined himself on the path the led to a wife, two kids and a picket fence? She just couldn’t see that either. Sex? Definitely, but more than that just didn’t seem to fit with him.

  As she watched, his face drew up into a tight grimace. She sucked in a gasp as a strangled cry of anger and pain filled the room. It was the same sound that had awoken her—she was sure of it—and it came from deep inside Henning’s chest. Her body tensed, as his pain echoed through her.

  “Henning?” Nothing. She tried again. “Henning?”

  His mouth twisted, like she was making it worse. She had to do something. Alya reached out her hand, touching his cheek. He flinched.

  “Henning? It’s me.” She moved her hand along his jaw, down his neck, over his shoulder to his enormous bicep. Then she shook him a little, trying to wake him up.

  It all happened so quickly that she didn’t remember how he managed it, but in the next moment she was flat on her back. Henning was on top of her, his forearms holding her arms by her sides, her legs trapped between his heavy thighs. The traces of light from the hallway brought his scars into painful relief. He blinked down at her, his eyes unfocused. He squeezed them shut, and then looked down at her again. His eyes widened in surprise.

  “What the fuck?” he whispered, more to himself than to her, it seemed.

  It took a moment for her to get her voice back.

  “You were dreaming, Henning,” she said. “I... I had to wake you up.”

  He was still staring down at her as if he was trying to fit all the pieces of this moment together.

  “Alya?” His voice was thick with sleep and confusion.

  “Yes. It’s me.” If she had her hands free, she would have reached up, stroked his face, reminding him of where they were. Reminding him of them. But he was holding her down. She tugged her arms, but he didn’t move, just stared down at her. Finally he shifted, loosening her arms.

  “Alya.” Her name was an answer this time, and he said it as if it were the one answer to everything. “You’re not hurt. Thank God.”

  She leaned up to brush her lips against his, and he shuddered, the hard line of his mouth softening. Between her legs his cock grew fast, pressing against her. Heat rushed to her cheeks and a deep groan rose from Henning’s chest. She looked up into his intense brown eyes and found a bottomless well of aching hunger.

  Her hands were free now, so she brought them to his shoulders, pressing them against the fabric of his shirt. He hissed out a breath, and his cock throbbed against her, but he didn’t move. He just looked down at her with a gaze somewhere between wonder and fear.

  “I’m fine, Henning,” she said, stroking the thick muscles of his shoulders, so tense and hard under her fingers. The air was cold and his body was hot, even through the material of his shirt.

  “It was just so cold in my dream. You were so cold. And...” He closed his eyes, and his breaths were long and deep as he touched her bare skin, tracing the planes of her face, as if he was reminding himself of her. As if he needed to remember she was real. His touch wasn’t sexual, at least not in the way she expected. He just seemed to want to touch and breathe, to hold on to this moment.

  The cold. He had talked about the warehouse, lying on the cold floor, while he watched another man on his team die after the explosion. She was almost sure that’s where his mind had gone, even if he didn’t say it. That memory was there between them right now.

  His eyes were still closed, the fear in his expression just starting to fade. She lifted her head and pressed her lips to his. He didn’t move or even kiss her back, but his lips were soft against hers. She did it again.

  “Let me comfort you,” she whispered.

  He shook his head and lifted himself, like he was going to move off her.

  She frowned. “You don’t want that?”

  Traces of hurt came through in her voice, and Henning froze.

  “Oh, baby,” he whispered, lowering himself over her again. He brought his hands to her face, cupping her jaw as he looked down at her. “I want you so fucking badly right now.”

  She shifted so her her legs were around his, his throbbing erection against her. “Then have me,” she whispered.

  “Oh, hell,” he muttered, and he drove his hips against hers. She met his thrusts with a tilt of her hips so his cock slid right along her core. Oh, God, he felt so good, his big, hard body over hers.

  He stopped, staring down at her, his eyes blazing with intensity. She moved her hands up and down over his biceps, feeling them as they flexed under his weight. She took in this connection, this man who was so many things to her, and tried to put it into words. “Right now, when you look down at me, it makes me feel like you’d do anything for me.”

  “I would,” he said quietly.

  “The way you made me feel when you called to check in with me for the last three years—I know it was part of your job, but I can’t tell you how important it’s been. I had never met you, and the only time you could see me was when I was in my apartment. But it was enough. That was the support I needed for a while.” She slipped her hand under his thermal shirt, the warmth of him filling her. “Tonight, please let me give you that feeling you gave me. I want to be what you need right now.”

  He was still under her hands, as if he was just taking in what she said, so she moved her hand over his shoulder, tracing his scars, then kissed him again. “Let me.”

  Some people talked while they were thinking, but he wasn’t one of those people, she was almost sure. Words were not what he needed. Henning’s cock pressed against her, and she tilted her hips, letting him know exactly how she wanted to help him right now.

  He rested his forehead on hers. And despite all that she had said, despite all the evidence that he wanted her, she still had the feeling that he was going to turn her down.

  “It will be good for both of us,” she whispered. “Let me want you, too. Even now.”

  His erection jolted against her. A heavy breath. Another.

  “Jesus,” he finally whispered. “God, yes.”

  The sleeping bag didn’t give them much room, but after some shimmying, they were both naked from the waist down. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry, and she got the sense that he needed a little time to wrap his mind around this, so she threaded her hands into his hair and let him explore. He traced her body, first over her clothes, and then inside. His rough hand skimmed over her skin, sending shivers through her.

  “Fuck, you’re so soft,” he rasped.

  Lower, teasing lower until finally, finally he reached between her legs. Henning groaned.

  “You’re so wet,” he whispered, his voice was full of awe and wonder. “Even right now, you want me.”

  She closed the distance between their mouths and kissed him. “I want you, just like this.”

  As those last words left her lips, he guided his cock inside her in a long slow thrust. Oh, God. It was pleasure and grief, longing and relief, all in one push as he sank so deep inside her. Their gasps filled the room, but he didn’t move, and neither did she. Then Henning positioned his hands under her shoulders, holding her to him, and he pulled out.

  * * *

  Her voice. It had broken through his half-waking nightmare, slow and sultry, changing all the buried memories and fears into something much, much different. Henning gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to fuck away every last vision of the warehouse and the blood and Sanjay’s body on the floor, the body that, for one terrible moment, his dream had transformed into hers.

  He ne
eded to get that image out of his mind, and fucking was a way to get his world back under control, to clear the slate. But this wasn’t some woman from that club, using him as much as he was using her. This was Alya. And he never, ever wanted to use her like that.

  “Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and he drove his hips against hers, unable to resist. She met his thrusts with a tilt of her hips so his cock slid right along her core. Oh, God, she felt so sweet, her soft, slim body under his.

  Her hands moved inside his shirt, slipping down over his bare skin, leaving a scorching trail of heat. She moved her hands around his ass, and he couldn’t resist. He thrust his cock against her, and her moan of pleasure was almost unbearably erotic.

  He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth to ease the tension building inside him again. If he didn’t stop now, he was going to use her. He was no longer moving, and when he opened his eyes, Alya was looking up at him, glaring.

  “I decide what I want, not you,” she said, like she knew exactly what was going through his mind right now.

  He had endless reasons why they shouldn’t continue, but she had just given him the one argument that won over all of his. This was going to happen.

  “I want to fuck, Alya,” he warned. “That’s what this will be.”

  If she was afraid of him, she didn’t give any sign of it. Instead, she brought her hand to his face again, and her face lit up with want. “And I want to be the woman you want to fuck.”

  Henning closed his eyes, trying to contain the last hold on his self-control. “You’re so much more. Don’t you know that?”

  Her nails dug into his skin, and his self-control snapped. In one, hard thrust, he entered her. His mouth crashed down on hers, and he unleashed all his wants and fears in a kiss. Lips, tongue, teeth, anything to have more of her. More. Her hips met each of his strokes, over and over.

  “Do I make you wet?” he growled.

  “Yes,” she cried. “Yes, yes.” Her voice was a mix of lust and frustration.

  She closed her eyes and moaned.

  Over and over, he thrust in and out, and she whispered, yes, again and again.