About the Authors

Award-winning author of sensual, emotional adventures of the heart, REBECCA HUNTER writes sexy stories about alpha men and spirited women set in Australia for Mills & Boon DARE. She lives with her family in the San Francisco Bay Area.

FAYE AVALON lives in southwest England with her super-ace husband and one beloved, ridiculously spoiled golden retriever. She worked as cabin crew, detoured into property development, public relations, court reporting and education, before finally finding her passion: writing steamy romantic fiction. Between writing, practicing yoga, trying to remember the difference between a plié and relevé in ballet class, and keeping the keyboard free of dog hair, Faye can be found checking out Pinterest for hero inspiration.

Visit her at fayeavalon.com.

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Hotter on Ice

Rebecca Hunter

Slow Hands

Faye Avalon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09942-4

HOTTER ON ICE & SLOW HANDS

Hotter on Ice © 2020 Rebecca Hunter Slow Hands © 2020 Faye Avalon

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Hotter on Ice

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Slow Hands

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

About the Publisher

Hotter on Ice

Rebecca Hunter

Alya Petrova is ready to move on from her past with a red-hot fling in Sweden...and her sexy bodyguard Henning Fischer knows exactly what she needs!

Model Alya Petrova is finally going to meet the man who has kept her safe from afar for the past three years. She’s been offered the photoshoot of a lifetime at the exclusive Icehotel in Sweden, but thanks to her dangerous ex, she needs a bodyguard when she’s traveling. Who better than sexy surveillance specialist Henning Fischer?

Since the fallout of a tragic case five years ago, former police officer Henning has made it a rule to never, ever meet his clients...but Alya is different. Henning has protected and fantasized about Alya from afar for so long, but even he is shocked by the explosive desire he feels for her in person.

The fiery pair are both running from troubled lives, so the scorching chemistry between them is the perfect distraction in wintry Sweden. Henning and Alya soon give in to temptation and indulge their wildest fantasies for a few days of ecstasy. But will their passion survive the scars of their pasts?

Harlequin DARE publishes sexy romances featuring powerful alpha heroes and bold, fearless heroines exploring their deepest fantasies.

Four new Harlequin DARE titles are available each month, wherever ebooks are sold!

To Mr. Hunter, who has entertained so many of my

crazy ideas over the years, including the one about

staying in a hotel made of ice and snow in northern

Sweden. I love this journey we’re on together! xo

CHAPTER ONE

WHY THE HELL is he taking so long?

Alya Petrova had peeled herself out of bed at six thirty in the morning to be on time for this meeting. Now she found herself sitting at the Blackmore Inc. conference-room table alone, fifteen minutes after the hour, staring out blankly at Sydney Harbour, waiting for Henning Fischer to show up.

In the world of virtual communication, Henning was the most reliable person she knew. Apparently, those skills didn’t translate into real-world punctuality.

Being nervous as hell wasn’t helping. What would it feel like to meet the surveillance expert she’d talked with over the phone for the last three years? She knew almost nothing about Henning himself. His name had floated around in conversation for as long as she’d worked with the elite security service Blackmore Inc., and she had gathered scraps of information from her former bodyguard, Max Jensen. Surveillance specialist. Ex–Australian Federal Police officer. Who never, ever appeared in person.

So, of course, she’d turned to the internet, which was surprisingly stingy on Henning Fischer–related information. A couple track and field championships from years ago. An occasional statement by him in connection with police work. And only one clear photo, an official-looking portrait from his cadet days. Physically, he was striking, his dark brown eyes intense. Though the photo showed only to his shoulders, it was clear he was built. She had stared at that photo more than once, trying to connect it with the man whose voice rumbled through her phone. She couldn’t make it fit.

This was the person who had watched over her through her front hall security camera, giving her a boost of support on her weakest days, those vulnerable times she’d worked so hard to move past. She hadn’t wanted to lean on someone else—a man, no less—for comfort, but Henning had been a safe bet.

Now that distance between them was about to disappear. Soon he would walk through the door, a flesh-and-blood man, not just an idea. Okay, maybe she had developed a tiny bit of a crush on him. It had been a completely harmless escape when she thought she’d never meet him, a safe place to put all sorts of fantasies.

But her modeling shoot on the Great Barrier Reef had changed everything. When her former bodyguard devoted all his off hours on the island to her sister, Natasha, the two had fallen in love. Alya had definitely seen that one coming. Shortly after, Max stepped down from working one-on-one with all clients, including her. That one she hadn’t seen coming, though, in the end, it was for the best. Alya had taken this change as an overdue nudge to reassess her security situation. A lot had changed in the three years since she had moved an ocean away from her stalker ex, and she didn’t really need a bodyguard in most cases anymore. Surveillance of Nick, her ex, was enough.

This week was the exception: a fashion shoot on the other side of the world was a long way to travel without security. But with Max no longer working in that role, a new plan had been hatched: Henning would take Max’s place.

The longer she waited in this quiet conference room, the more the anticipation buzzed through her. She had imagined many versions of him, but what would it feel like to be close to the real Henning all day long? Standing next to him, almost touching, his deep voice in her ear...

Alya stood up and started for the door, looking for a distraction. Maybe the receptionist would point her to the coffee machine?

She crossed the room, slowing as a familiar voice came through the closed door. Henning’s. After three years of phone calls, she’d know it anywhere. Alya froze, her hand just shy of the door handle. Did she continue her search for coffee or return to her seat?

Then the door opened, and she was buried in his chest. His hands closed around her arms, steadying her. His warm, musky scent... Relief hit her first, and then—oh, God—something powerful. Urgent. His breaths were sharp and erratic in her ear. He towered over her, his presence everywhere. Oh my, her harmless crush was sooo not harmless anymore.

“You okay?” His voice was a familiar rumble, and the sound of it in person turned the fluttering inside into molten lava.

Alya nodded against him, too stunned to speak. Her fingers, her arms, her breasts, her stomach—everything tingled with awareness. Was her body calling to him or answering his call? It felt like both. After things went so terribly wrong with Nick, she had had a growing suspicion that she was just too wary to feel this...captivated by a man. Wrong, so very wrong. Her reaction to Henning was bone-deep and intoxicating.

There was no good explanation for what she did next. Alya lifted her hands and touched him, pressed her palms against his stomach. Checking if he was real. Yes, he was definitely a solid, warm, very real man. Henning sucked in a harsh breath, and his muscles twitched, turning rock-hard under her touch. His hands tensed around her arms, and a low growl came from deep inside him.

Alya froze. Shit. She was feeling up Henning Fischer, uninvited. In the Blackmore Inc. conference room. What the hell was wrong with her? She stepped back.

“Sorry. That was totally out of li—” She met his gaze.

The first thing she saw was his eyes. Dark brown and even more serious than his picture had let on. Intense enough to steal her breath, and for a moment his gaze flared even hotter, darker. A rush of awareness ran through her, aching, burning.

Then she saw the scars.

Jagged, unnaturally smooth, down the left side of his face. Skin that had been stitched and patched together. Her eyes widened. The old, grainy photo online had shown him as good-looking in a clean-cut, impersonal sort of way. But he was so, so far from clean-cut now. Alya followed the longest scar that tugged at his left eye, distorting one side of his face, then disappearing into the collar of his shirt.

His big body, the scent of him, the rawness in his voice, his dark eyes, the scars—all of these pieces came together into one thought as she stood in the doorway gaping at him: this man knew trauma. He understood it. Her heart jumped and pulsed in her chest, expanding. She understood it, too.

Shit—how long had she been staring at his scars?

Too long. When her gaze flickered back up to his, all the burning intensity she’d seen seconds before had vanished. His face was shuttered closed, giving nothing away, and his expression was cool, impersonal. The only hint of emotion he showed was the rapid ticking of his pulse at the base of his neck.

Slick introduction, girl.

Time to start over, preferably in the way regular people introduced themselves.

“Sorry again. I’m Alya, in person,” she said. “And doing a crap job at making a good first impression.”

Henning blinked down at her, his gaze softening a little. “Henning Fischer, very much in person. As you clearly noticed.”

“Clearly,” she said dryly, trying to preserve the last of her dignity in this exchange. Was he teasing her about feeling him up or about staring at his scars? Probably both.

The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the uninjured corner of his mouth. Heat was rising into her cheeks, as he studied her in the quiet room. She studied him right back.

“Max should be right in,” he finally said, gesturing to the conference table. “You know how this works.”

Yes, she did. She had sat across from Max at this table many times, going over her security details. But never once had she been so fully aware of each breath, each movement, the way she was right now with Henning.

Alya took a seat and flipped open the folder in front of her, skimming through the papers in it. Henning sat down facing her, silent, alert, an overwhelming physical presence. He radiated a protectiveness that wrapped around her, settling inside her. It was the same feeling she had gotten over the phone, somehow both calming and incredibly engaging. In person, it was magnified a thousand times.

She glanced up to find his gaze fixed on her, his dark eyes unreadable. The old Alya, the woman who had gotten herself tangled up with Nick Bancroft back in LA, would have looked away. That version of herself had given up her jobs and friends three years ago and fled the country when Nick wouldn’t leave her alone, despite the restraining order. But she wasn’t that woman anymore, so Alya stared back at him. He was a solid, motionless mountain of a man, with hulking shoulders and thick biceps that stretched the material of his shirt. His power and prowess were controlled but not at all concealed, as if his body was a well-honed tool, ready for use.

The current between them ran hotter, and with every breath, heat coiled inside her. But she couldn’t mistake this strong, immediate pull between them for something more than it was—plain sexual interest. She had been down that road of powerful attraction before, and it led to disaster. She searched for something to say. “So...you ever been to Sweden before?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither. Cold, dark and snowy this time of the year, I hear.”

“Yep.”

“Not my favorite conditions, but my agent thinks the photo shoot plus the Behind the Runway documentary filming, with its daily YouTube outtakes, is too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

“Mmm.”

She bit back a sigh. He wasn’t giving her any help here but seemed perfectly content to just watch her talk. Thankfully, the click of the conference-room door ended this one-sided conversation.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Alya,” Max said, striding over to the table. “I trust you and Henning introduced yourselves.”

That was certainly an understatement. Her former bodyguard seemed oblivious to the tension between Henning and her, but knowing Max, she couldn’t be certain.

Wordlessly Henning opened the folder on the table in front of him. The muscles of his forearms rippled and flexed as he sifted through the stack of papers with large, blunt fingers. He pulled out a document and showed it to her.

“Here’s the master schedule for the week,” he said. “It includes flights, hotel contacts, dinners, photo sessions and interviews.”

He walked her through the details of each day as Alya followed along on the pages. His voice was gravelly and deep, as if whatever had scarred his face had roughed up the inside of him too. He was a practical speaker, his sentences short and clipped, his answers no longer than absolutely necessary. Pretty much the exact opposite of Max.

“The chances of Nick Bancroft showing up are very low,” said Henning, closing his folder. “It also helps that the Icehotel is in a remote corner of northern Sweden. We have plenty of warning when anyone flies into the tiny Kiruna airport.”

She didn’t doubt that. What he didn’t say was that he had all sorts of connections from his Australian Federal Police days that fed him information when he needed it. And with the kind of details he found, she was pretty sure the routes couldn’t all be legal. But she was starting to get the feeling that Henning did things his own way.

“Blackmore Inc. has done an amazing job at keeping Nick out of my life. I’m not worried.” She sat up straighter in her chair. “I considered going on this trip without security, but if he showed up and I had to deal with him alone, he’d make sure to stir up public drama. Public displays of personal problems are toxic in my industry, and Nick has already hijacked my career once.”

There were models whose lives played out in the tabloids. Drugs, tantrums, drive-through marriages and bitter custody battles—the world had an insatiable hunger for these kinds of stories. She had been at the center of one of those stories three years ago when, after Nick wouldn’t leave her alone, despite the restraining order, he’d publicly called her emotionally unstable under the guise of worry. She had worked so hard to keep their break-up quiet, but when he twisted her own words into evidence that she was becoming increasingly erratic, just like her mother, the press had been all too ready to pick up that story. Each move to distance herself from Nick became another example of her “irrational” behavior, another incident he used against her in the court of public opinion. All because ultra-rich, ultra-privileged Nick Bancroft had decided he wanted something—her—and he always got what he wanted.

Never again would she let that happen.

Henning was watching her closely. “Nick won’t get to you.”

The hot intensity in his eyes flared for one, brief moment, and then it was gone. A flush crept up her neck. Five days with Henning next to her—two on a plane and three at the Icehotel in Sweden. Was his effect on her obvious? She glanced at Max to gauge his reaction, but he was looking at the paper in front of him.

“I understand what I’m getting into by taking this job,” she said quietly. “Sasha Federov probably wouldn’t have given me this chance to represent his brand if my mother didn’t still hold her cult-like status in Russia. I’m sure he’s expecting me to follow in her footsteps, not just as a model but as an attention magnet. But in my agent’s words, I need to grab this chance and hold on to it. Even if it means being followed around by a documentary crew.”

Max nodded. “Henning will be connected with the team here if there’s anything you need to be aware of. You’ll be in good hands.” He lifted an eyebrow. “But I think you already know that.”

Yeah, she absolutely did. But now that they were in the same room together, the idea of spending the next five days with this man was getting more...complicated.

“Have a safe trip,” said Max, standing up.

Alya walked over and hugged him. “Thanks for everything.”

He had been part of her support system for over three years, and now their professional relationship was over. But the fact that he was at her and Natasha’s apartment almost daily meant this was far from goodbye. With one more nod at both of them, Max left.

Alya was alone again with Henning. He stood up and took a couple steps toward her. His gaze swept over her, dark and guarded. They were so close again, and the silence crackled with tension. Alya took a deep breath as the room seemed to heat up a couple degrees. It was too late to close herself to this connection, but she had no idea what to do with it. So she started with the obvious.

“I’m sorry for earlier. When I, um—” she bit her lip “—felt you up. I certainly wouldn’t want a guy doing that to me when we met.”

Henning’s eyes widened a bit, and then he smiled, but the half of his face marred by scars moved only slightly. It was a broken smile, filled with dark humor, and yet his uninjured eye crinkled at the corner, a hint of lightness in him.

“I don’t think it’s the same, Alya,” he said. “At least not for me. Truly, I’m okay with it.”

Was there a hint of laughter in his voice? Good to know. The meeting was over, but somehow, she didn’t feel like their conversation had ended. He crossed his arms in front of him, his biceps flexing as he watched her, taking her in.

Finally, Henning spoke again. “We are going to be spending every minute together for the next five days. I want you to feel very comfortable with me.”

Alya felt as if he were opening himself to her, just a little. His gaze said you can trust me, and she couldn’t look away.

“I doubt we’ll have any problems,” he continued in that low, rumbling voice. “But there is always the possibility that I will need to protect you. Physically.”

He paused, swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as the last word sank in. It ran through her body, suggesting much different ways he could physically affect her. Damn, she needed to get this under control. Attraction was about nothing more than sexual interest...which her body was clearly expressing right now. She felt the barely concealed desire in his eyes, and she was almost sure he could see the same in hers. She felt the pain Henning’s scars must have caused, and her mind was already at work, connecting that with the intense sense of...protectiveness...she had felt from him over the last three years. Everything else faded as this all fit together, like the final pieces of a puzzle, somewhere deep inside her. She was opening herself to this feeling, she didn’t know how to stop it. Or if she wanted to.

“I understand,” she said, her voice steady.

He gave her a little nod. Then he rubbed the scar on his neck absently. “I’m aware that with my size and my scars and what Max calls my aversion to conversation, I can come off as a little rough around the edges,” he said, cracking a hint of a smile again. It faded quickly. “But I never, ever want to scare you.”

Alya frowned. “You don’t. Not it all.”

She had a strong urge to clear up that misunderstanding, but elaborating would mean wandering into inappropriate territory. Her attraction was raw and very real. Any hints of wariness he had detected were about the intensity of her reaction to him, not fear.

Alya had to make him understand, and words didn’t seem to be the right path. So, instead, she raised her hand and slowly reached for his forearm, crossed over his broad chest. She gave him plenty of time to back away, but he didn’t, so she touched his skin. The electric spark between them surged once again, and she swallowed a gasp. His muscles twitched under her fingers, and his lips parted. Was he thinking about kissing, too?

“This isn’t fear, Henning,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

His chest rose and fell and she tried—and failed—to read his expression. Finally, he nodded. “You can touch me, do whatever you need during our trip. I don’t want to go into this with any hesitancy on your part.”

Alya’s heart jumped at each image his words conjured. Touch me. Whatever you need. The physical memory of her hands on the hard ridges of his abs came back, mingling with things she had only imagined.

There were nights he had watched her through the security camera in her front hall, making sure she came home safely. But what about the night she had come home, half-drunk, with her date, and had sex against the door in full view of the camera? The idea that Henning might be watching was a turn-on at the time. Now her mind wandered further. If he had watched, had he gotten himself off to it, too? Damn, that would be hot...

Get your mind out of the gutter, girl. You’re in his workplace.

She lowered her hand, breaking the connection. Then she smiled up at him. “Is the permission to touch standard in your Blackmore Inc. contract?”

The hint of a smile returned to Henning’s lips, and he shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m just letting you know how I work.”

“I’m sure you have plenty of satisfied clients,” she said, laughing.

“There are no other in-person clients for me. Not now, and not in the future.” Henning shook his head. “Only you.”

His eyes were dark flames, flickering, captivating. She was getting used to the way he watched her, his gaze unwavering. As if every bit of his focus was on her, as if nothing else in the world existed.

What did it mean to be intensely attracted to her bodyguard, right from the first moment she crashed into him? She had never felt this way about Max, so his appeal wasn’t just the role of protector. Henning awoke a hunger she knew couldn’t—shouldn’t—be fed...should it?

Maybe this was the wrong approach. She was done running away from her fears. Maybe it was time to take control of the situation, to explore it, to figure out what she was looking for, not just what to avoid.

But Alya didn’t know what was going on in Henning’s mind. She was almost positive he felt the same intense attraction, but maybe he had reasons he couldn’t or wouldn’t act on it. Like the obvious ones. What were the Blackmore Inc. rules about personal involvement with clients? Maybe she could just find a way to ask him...somehow. Alya’s face flushed as more of that current of sexual interest sizzled between them.

“I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow morning at six,” he said.

“I’ll be ready for you.”

“Alya?” His voice had lowered to almost a whisper. “Please send me a message if you think of anything you need. Or want. Anything.”

CHAPTER TWO

THE WORDS WERE out of his mouth before all the reasons not to say them registered. Henning’s mind was still stuck on the moment when her slim, tight body brushed against his. When she pressed her hands against his stomach, exploring before either of them seemed to fully register what was happening. Alya was soft. Slim but not frail. So very alive. She smelled of honey and sunshine, and every dark desire Henning had ever had.

But the reason to bury all those thoughts came crashing in seconds later. Her expression when she saw his face. He couldn’t forget that for a moment.

Henning took a step away, giving Alya a clear path to the conference-room door, giving himself a little distance from her intoxicating scent. Finally, her bright blue eyes flickered from his.

“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” he said, heading for the door before she had a chance to respond.

The reception area of the top floor was quiet and bright, the morning sun filtering through the frosted glass and reflecting off the polished wood surfaces. They headed for the elevators in silence, Henning’s body on high alert, fully tuned to her every move. She stopped in front of the heavy metal doors, but she didn’t reach for the call button. Instead, she turned to face him again.

“I’m beyond thrilled that Max and my sister found each other. Natasha’s happiness means everything to me,” she said. “It meant I lost my bodyguard, too, but that’s a small price.”

Henning could see that this was hard for her to talk about, so he waited, letting her take her time.

“Hiring security is a crutch I’ve leaned on for a while.” She swallowed, the movement sweeping down her long neck. “It used to be necessary all the time, but now it’s more often for a peace of mind than actual protection. It’s like a little bit of me believed his claims that I was turning into a train wreck, that I doubted myself. And I don’t like that feeling of vulnerability.”

Henning restrained his urge to react. His deep desire to comfort her, to protect her warred with what he heard in her words: she wanted to stand on her own. So he said nothing, just nodded, storing the information away for later inspection.

“You know a little about what happened with Nick, the way he wouldn’t leave me alone and made me out to look unhinged, so I think you might understand why it’s been hard to move on. It takes a long time for me to trust anyone. So I wouldn’t want any other bodyguard,” she added, reaching for the call button. “Only you.”

The elevator doors slid open, and she walked in without looking back, vanishing as the cold metal doors closed. Henning took a deep breath, then another, slowing his heartbeat, forcing himself back to the starkness of reality, where she was just a client and this was just a job. Nothing more. He blew out one more long breath and headed for the hall to his office.

The receptionist gave him a neutral smile as he passed and busied herself with something at her desk. When Henning first came to Blackmore Inc., it had taken that woman a few weeks to hide her reaction every time she saw the jagged scars down his face. He remembered the widening of her eyes, the way her gaze drifted over him each time he passed. Not so different from Alya’s reaction, really. She was a model, for fuck’s sake, paid to live in a world where looks were everything. Of course she’d react to his injuries.

But it had hit him hard. Alya had given him a look that was far too close to the look Corinne had given him five years ago at the hospital, at the very lowest point of his life. Or at least he thought it was similar. Alya had said so convincingly that he didn’t scare her, too. Maybe she was one of those women who got turned on by a man who looked more beast than human? That thought alone should have been sobering enough, but the electric current of desire didn’t seem to be waning.

Why the hell was he still thinking about this? He had made peace with his scars years ago. He had escaped that disastrous drug bust alive, which was more than his right-hand man got. That one day changed everything, and usually he welcomed the visual reminder of the event he never wanted to forget. Now he was mulling over the way he looked? Damn.

As he headed down the hall to his office, Max caught up with him. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his expression relaxed, like nothing in the world bothered him.

“That went well,” Max said lightly. Henning jerked his head in time to see a hint of a smile on his friend’s face.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” muttered Henning.

Max shook his head slowly. “You were the best in the Australian Federal Police force, so I know you’re not talking about your ability to protect Alya.”

Henning blew out a breath and shook his head. “Most obvious issue, I’m going to attract a lot of unwanted attention, which she doesn’t need. It’s a fucking fashion shoot, no place for a bloke with a face like this.” He rubbed his left cheek, where one of the scars pulled his taut, injured skin tight. “And though I don’t track fashion shit, I’m pretty sure this doesn’t go with whatever the hell the season’s look is.”

Max gave a little snort of laughter, then raised an eyebrow. “You saved a dozen officers from a meth-running gang. You will make sure Alya doesn’t spend one minute of this trip worried something unexpected might happen.” His mouth curved up into a full smile as he spoke. “Who the fuck cares what this season’s look is?”

Henning’s mouth twitched until he was smiling, too. Max clapped him on the shoulder. “Seriously, you’ve been surveilling Alya for over three years now. You know every single thing about her situation and where she might feel vulnerable.”

Understatement of the year. But it also meant spending a few days in the cold, which wasn’t ideal. The nightmares rarely came these days, and occasionally he took a winter trip to the Blue Mountains with his sister’s family and faced the cold without too much trouble. Still...not ideal. But he’d make it work.

There was understanding in Max’s easy smile. Had he picked up on the more personal aspects of the job Henning was struggling with? Yeah, that was his problem. Keeping his distance from Alya had been a Herculean effort in the past, but all those hours alone... Henning still wasn’t sure how he was going to pull this off. A captivating woman, strong but in a vulnerable place, who needed his help—this scenario was a temptation too strong to resist.

Cameron Blackmore, the company CEO, had offered him dozens of opportunities to work directly with clients since he’d quit the AFP and come to Blackmore Inc., and he had turned every single one of them down. Henning didn’t usually care much about the looks of shock at the wreckage of his face, but it didn’t make for the best guard-client relationships. Even before the scars, most people left him alone. Now working surveillance, he was pretty sure he scared most of the IT department shitless.

He and Max came to a stop in front of Henning’s office. Henning reached for the handle, but before he turned it, Max quietly cleared his throat, getting his attention.

“I wouldn’t have pushed you to do this if I didn’t think it was a good option. For both of you.”

Henning scowled. “For me? I highly doubt that.” He blew out his breath in frustration. “You have no idea.”

“Maybe I don’t,” said Max, his voice almost maddeningly easy and smooth. “Or maybe I can guess why you’d want to stay far away from her. And why you said yes to this job anyway. But I pushed because I think this assignment is different than any other one for you.”

Henning grunted in response. That much was true. But it didn’t mean he’d survive this week with his sanity intact. Before he could respond, his phone rang. His heart thumped in his chest. It couldn’t be Alya, taking him up on his impulsive offer of anything...could it? Henning squashed that thought as he pulled out the phone and looked at the screen. Suzanne. He sighed.

“It’s my sister,” he said to Max. “I should take this.”

Max nodded and clapped him on the shoulder again before walking away. Henning pressed the button on the screen to answer.

“Hi, Suz,” he said, opening his office door. “What’s up?”

“Kids melting down, work and an occasional conversation with Kenny,” she said dryly. “The usual.”

Henning smiled. His older sister’s house was pure chaos, but she was happy. She and her husband Kenny had tried for years for a baby, first by themselves and then with some help. Suzanne was at the point of desperation when finally, little Molly came. And then Liam. Growing up, their parents weren’t much for outward displays of emotion, and though Henning was close to his sister, neither of them were much for probing conversations. Suzanne had never said a lot about the whole experience with infertility, but just stepping into her house, he knew she was happy. Seeing that was still one of the best things in his life.

Henning headed across his office for his desk and sank into his chair.

“I was calling to see if you have plans this Saturday,” said his sister. Dishes clattered in the background. “Molly has a dance recital. Princess themed, of course. And we’ll go out to dinner afterward.”

Henning took a breath and dropped the bomb as gently as possible. “Thanks, but I’m going out of town tomorrow.”

“What?”

The shock in his sister’s voice made him roll his eyes.

“You know, on an airplane,” he deadpanned. “They even let me on those things.”

She gave a huff of exasperation. “Stop it. You know I’m just in shock that you’re actually going somewhere. Are you...” Her voice turned syrupy, exaggerating the incredulity in her question. “Are you actually going on vacation, Henning?”

“Nope,” he said curtly. “It’s for work.”

“You sit in front of a computer for work these days,” Suzanne said. “Explain.”

“I need to be on the ground for this one.”

She was silent for a bit, and the clattering of dishes died down. “You said you’d never do this kind of thing again,” she said slowly.

Yeah, he did say that. But the last thing he wanted to do right now was discuss why Alya was the exception to that promise. Suzanne was quiet for a long time, so he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk, waiting her out.

“Where are you going?”

“Northern Sweden. The Icehotel. Danger level is very low.”

More silence. Henning swiped a hand over his face. He knew exactly what his sister was thinking about now, but he didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t love the location of the assignment, but he wasn’t going to let it be an issue.

“It’s cold there,” she said quietly.

He frowned. “I’ve been in the cold since...” Fuck, he really didn’t want to talk about this. “It’s under control, Suzanne.”

“Is there a woman involved?”

Henning choked in his next breath, then disguised it as a cough. “What?”

“You heard me,” said Suzanne. “Is there a woman involved?”

He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. “Yes, the assignment involves a woman, but that question makes it sound like something it’s not.”

“I knew it,” she whispered, but he heard it, loud and clear.

He huffed out a breath. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”

“Okay, Henning.” Her words had a hint of that syrupy tone again.

“Look up Behind the Runway on YouTube. You’ll see what I mean.”

“I’ve watched it. The behind-the-scenes show about modeling?” His sister paused, and he was pretty sure understanding was sinking in. He wasn’t a fool. There were so many reasons that whatever connection he had felt with Alya in the conference room would die a quick death as soon as they entered that scene, and his scars were just one of them.

When Henning didn’t respond, Suzanne finally said, “I see. Do you want me to water your plant while you’re gone?”

“My pla—?” He caught himself. Right. The plant his sister’s family had given him for Christmas. The dry, brown tangle of leaves in the corner of his living room.

“Don’t worry about coming all the way into town,” he said quickly. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You already killed that plant, didn’t you?”

“Um, maybe?”

“Henning.” She said his name slowly, adding a dramatic pause before continuing. “The kids picked it out for you.”

He cringed. “I know. I’ll get a new one before they come over here next time.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it.”

He did.

“At least it wasn’t a puppy,” he grumbled.

A puppy was the kids’ first idea, and thank God he had nipped that one in the bud. Judging from how plant ownership had gone, his sister was probably thinking the same thing. Suzanne meant well, but he was the last person a helpless little animal should be dependent on.

“I know you would have done better with a puppy,” she said softly.

Henning wasn’t sure about that, but he let the statement stand.

“Take care of yourself, Henning,” Suzanne added. This time, there was a mix of worry and affection in her voice. “Please.”

“I’ll call when I get home.” He swallowed back his own emotions and ended the call.

Henning set his phone on his desk and ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. It had taken his sister only one short phone call to uncover all the conflicted feelings for Alya that he was trying to tamp down. Which meant he was going to have a hell of a time putting aside every reaction he had to her the moment he showed up at her door tomorrow morning.

But he’d do it. His job was to watch her every moment of the day. And every long hour of the night. Just the two of them, alone in the darkness, in a remote resort in northern Sweden.

Holy hell.

CHAPTER THREE

HENNING STEERED THE big black SUV over the packed snow that made up the desolate road to the Icehotel, keeping his gaze fixed straight in front of him. The pine forests, covered in white, stretched out along the road on both sides. Alya was looking out the window at the passing landscape, dotted with occasional houses painted bright red and topped with snow. He didn’t need to look in her direction to know what she was doing.

He’d been tuned in to her every movement since he’d picked her up at her Sydney apartment. That was expected. What was unexpected was the sense that she was just as tuned in to him. He had kept himself awake half the night going over her response to him yesterday in the Blackmore Inc. conference room. Imagining all the other ways he wanted to end that meeting.

“It’s cold here,” said Alya, clutching her down jacket tighter around her. “I mean, of course it’s cold, but I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

Henning knew exactly what she meant. When they’d stepped out of the airport, the wind found its way through his jacket immediately. He had seen snow in person, but nothing like this endless blanket of white. It was fascinating to look at, or at least it should have been. Now, the fascination was tainted by the memory of the ice-cold concrete floor of the warehouse where he had lain, watching his team member die from the shards of glass that had hit them both in the explosion. But he could put that reaction aside for the next few days. Besides, he was Australian for fuck’s sake—of course he reacted to the cold.

Henning checked to make sure the seat heater was on max and hiked up the temperature a couple notches. “I thought you were from Russia.”

“We left when I was six,” she said with a snort of laughter. “And I think my parents did a better job of dressing me for the weather.”

Henning smiled. “I should probably call them for some tips.”

He glanced over at her. Other than the parka and boots, Alya was dressed for late summer in Australia. She’d walked onto the airplane in tight jeans, a silky top that showed skin, and sunglasses. The look-don’t-touch vibe rolled off her. A good thing, as far as Henning was concerned, since the travel portions of the assignment were the most unpredictable—and the most critical for her to feel safe. While he accepted that he could never completely shut down his reaction to her, this cool, polished Alya was easier to separate himself from. But right now, after a day of traveling halfway across the world—hair mussed from fits of sleep, curled up in her puffy down coat with her feet tucked under her—keeping a professional distance was close to impossible. Had he caught her staring at his ass when they were getting off the plane? That didn’t help. It triggered a vivid image of her that he’d conjured up in the shower the night before as he came: Alya up against the door, his cock deep inside her as he put his mouth on her soft, slim throat.

Heat flooded to his groin. Fuck. Enough of that.

No encounters with Nick. No scenes that called attention to her personal life. That was his job. Nothing else. Unless she said explicitly that she wanted more. It was this last thought that had kept him up way too late.

Alya yawned and reached into her bag, pulling out the master schedule, scanning the pages.

“Today you have a meeting when you arrive, and then there’s drinks in the Icehotel, right?” he asked.

She nodded. “I was just checking to make sure we have time for a nap between those two.”

“Can you nap in that igloo?” He had seen photos of the Icehotel rooms, glowing with the tint of ocean blue. They were works of art, really, elaborate beds, chairs and sculptures carved from enormous blocks of ice. Strikingly beautiful but not made for casual napping.

“I could probably nap anywhere at this point, though I think the frozen portion of the hotel is more like a museum during the day,” said Alya, stifling another yawn. “But we’re not staying in the part of the hotel with ice rooms tonight. We’re scheduled in the regular heated building, right next door, for the first night, so we can use the beds in our room anytime today.”

Use the beds. Unfortunate phrasing. As the words left her lips, an image came of using a bed, naked, with Alya riding on top as he fucked her. Henning swallowed back a groan. How long had it been since he’d gotten laid? Too long, clearly.

There were places he could go to fuck, clubs where women got off on having a big, scarred man over them, holding them down, just the way they asked for it. And the women had no problem with his limits either—they had no interest in touching or kissing him anyway. Maybe he should have gone there last night, just to burn off some of this intense want.

But Henning had quit, cold turkey, when he found himself searching for tall, blonde women with endless legs. He had never had a preference before, and he knew exactly why this one was forming. Which was more than enough reason to cut that habit off immediately. What he felt for Alya was so many worlds away from what he wanted from those women. Henning couldn’t bear to mix the two worlds.

So it had been a while. Maybe that was why he had thrown caution to the wind and offered Alya anything she needed. Or maybe, after watching those blue eyes come alive under his gaze, he couldn’t resist.

During his undercover work with the AFP, he had built a career in part on reading people, looking past what they said and concentrating on what they did. Yesterday, he hadn’t missed the way Alya had stepped closer instead of backing away from him, the way she’d licked her lips, the way her breath came faster when she’d touched him. In the days before the disastrous bust that marked the end of his AFP career, he had gotten more than his fair share of attention from women. And he understood his responsibility as a man bigger than most other people, the responsibility of making sure he understood exactly what a woman wanted from him before he touched her. His days of propositions in bars were long over, but he hadn’t forgotten how it all worked. He had to be really fucking careful.

The GPS on the car told him they were nearing the place. He pulled off into a little parking lot in front of the unassuming wooden buildings. Tall pine trees rose up on both sides, and Henning assumed the actual Icehotel lay somewhere behind them. He found a parking spot at the far end of the lot, and turned off the car. Then he rested his hands on his legs, ready for whatever came next, but Alya made no move to gather her belongings and climb out. Instead, she turned to face him. He had the feeling she wanted to speak, so he watched her, waiting her out. After her chest rose and fell a few more times, she met his gaze.

“Yesterday, you said you had no other in-person clients,” she said. “Why did you take this job?”

Henning swallowed, taking his time to consider his answer.

Because I couldn’t say no to you. Because the chance to be next to you for five days was too much to resist.

No, he definitely couldn’t go there. Instead, he went for an easier truth. “Because you deserve to feel safe.”

She tilted her head to the side. “So does everyone.”

“Of course,” he said. “But after what happened in the AFP, I won’t take an assignment unless I’m sure I understand all the threats and would do whatever it takes to keep that person safe. Anything.”

As the words left his mouth, he knew he shouldn’t have said them. They hinted at both the past that haunted him and the intensity of his feelings for her, neither of which had any place on this trip. Henning scrubbed his hands over his face. The bristles from his unshaven jaw pricked at his right hand, but under his left hand the scar that pulled at the side of his mouth was unnaturally smooth. A reminder of how wrong things could go.

Alya’s expression was completely unreadable. “Henning, I’m going to ask you something I’ll probably regret, but here it goes.” She took a deep breath. “If I kissed you right now, would that interfere with our bodyguard-client relationship?”

He stilled. He didn’t even breathe, but his cock jolted to life. Did he hear her right? Fuck, he had thought about kissing her so many times it was hard to register this was really happening. In his head, he could imagine the kiss as his old self, before the attack, before the scars. Soft, beautiful before it turned hungry. Perfect.

But deep inside, his past was still an open wound. Lying on that cold warehouse floor, fighting his own pain while trying to save Sanjay, watching the bastard who caused the explosion get away, he had seen his actions for what they were. Selfish. He had been blinded by his own goal, taking a risk to grab the leader, a risk that ended Sanjay’s life. That was reality, a cold, hard reality he would live with for the rest of his life. Never again would he let his own wants drive his actions. So how could he consider kissing Alya, knowing all this?

Henning blew out a breath. Shit. Why the hell was he thinking about all this right now?

His expression had no doubt grown darker because her smile had faded.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice filled with false cheer. “Should have gone with my first instinct to keep my mouth shut. Let’s just pretend I didn’t say that. I’ll find someone else to proposition.”

Henning flinched. A storm hit him, a storm of protectiveness and something else he didn’t want to acknowledge, despite the ache of his cock.

“No.” The word came out sharp and urgent before he could stop himself. Alya drew in a quick, startled breath, and he winced. But fuck, no. The idea of watching her flirt with another man was doing crazy things to his insides. It sent a surge through him, twisting into every long-dormant competitive urge to show her all the ways he could satisfy her better. It was the kind of drive he used to thrive on.

No. Just no. He had sworn to himself when he took this job that it had to be all about her. So what the hell was he supposed to do with this situation? Let her go off and find another man, someone who probably wouldn’t give a shit about what she needed? If he said yes to this, gave her what she wanted, it would have to be with his sole focus on her, not selfishly chasing his own needs.

He reached for Alya, touching her cheek, coaxing her to look at him. She did, meeting his eyes, and he found traces of embarrassment. Did she think he was rejecting her? Hell, no. Take it easy. He swallowed.

“There’s nothing in the world I want more than to kiss you right now,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to ever think otherwise, no matter what happens.”

Her eyes widened, and they came alive with unguarded interest. So much better. He pushed on.

“And, to answer your question, no, it wouldn’t interfere. Especially not if the doors are locked.”

A slow smile spread over her face, a glow of happiness returning. Damn, it was breathtaking. Then she reached for the dashboard and pressed the lock button.

Henning’s body jumped to attention, his cock all in, the eager fucker. Slow the hell down. He took a deep breath. This was for her. He had to get it right.

“But before we continue, I need to tell you something,” he said, keeping his voice quiet. “I haven’t kissed anyone since before the attack where I got these scars. It was five years ago.”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve been celibate for five years?”

The uninjured corner of his mouth tugged up. “That’s not quite what I said.”

Understanding registered in her eyes. “Got it,” said Alya, and a hint of amusement twinkled in her eyes. Thank fuck for that.

Henning pressed on. “I’m telling you because I don’t even know if I can kiss you the way I want to right now. The way you deserve.”

She quirked her eyebrow at him. “And what do I deserve?”

“A kiss promising you that you’re the only thing in the world that matters.”

She blinked, swallowed, as if his words were sinking in. Good. Because he wasn’t fooling around here. Anything that happened with her would get his full attention. She was quiet for a while, and then she straightened up in her seat.

“You know what I think I need?” she said with a little smile. “Something that’s hot and fun with someone I can trust. And I’m pretty sure that’s what I’ll get.”

Henning blew out a breath. He could do this as long as he kept his focus on her.

So he looked straight into the endless oceans of her eyes and shut everything else out. “Okay. We can try for that.”

Holy shit. Alya took a couple steadying breaths, trying to slow down her runaway heartbeat and jump-start her brain. Last night, alone in her apartment, this had all sounded way more reasonable. Somewhere around midnight, Alya had decided to simply ask for what she wanted: a few days of sexy fun. Except, the morning after, when Henning showed up at her doorstep, she still hadn’t quite figured out what to say.

Are you interested in spending a few of your off-duty hours naked with me?

Maybe a little too direct. Alya had spent a good portion of the seemingly endless procession of flights to Sweden contemplating how to test Henning’s interest. His aloofness during the travel had her second-guessing the idea, but once they got into the car, the intense attraction she had felt after yesterday’s meeting was back. So, she went with it.

Then came the words she was sure she’d never forget: A kiss promising you that you’re the only thing in the world that matters. She couldn’t resist the intensity in his voice. How did he know this was her personal kryptonite, the thing he could say to send her body into flames? But these were dangerous words, too much like the lies that kept her going back to Nick Bancroft, long after she should have fled for good.

Except Nick was the past, and she wasn’t that woman anymore. Just a few days of fun.

Still, the questions kept rolling through her mind. Did the scars around his mouth hurt him? Who had he had sex with for the past five years without kissing? And, most of all, how did she make sure not to get sucked in too deep?

Alya filed her questions away and took off her seat belt. She reached over and unlocked Henning’s. He slipped it off his shoulder but made no move to touch her. His eyes were hot but guarded, burning into her. He seemed to be waiting for her, so she unzipped her down parka and shrugged it off.

He smiled a little. “Getting hot already? We haven’t even started.”

“I was up late thinking about this last night.” She winked at him playfully. “Move your chair back a little.”

“Anything you want,” he said softly, amusement dancing in his eyes. The more they talked this way, close, intimate, the more she could read him. He unzipped his own coat and eased the seat back, tipping it at an angle, making enough room for her to climb on. So she did. The car was big, but so was Henning, so they shuffled and laughed and adjusted until she was facing him, knees tucked on both sides of his thick thighs. His body radiated heat, and God, it felt so good. He felt so good.

“Your hands are big,” she said, fitting them against her own. His were so much thicker and longer.

“Does that turn you on?”

She laughed. “Maybe?”

Some of the lightness in his eyes faded. “Meaning you wish it didn’t?”

She paused. “It’s just complicated.”

“We can stop anytime.”

“I know.” She could see he needed that reassurance that she would speak up if she wanted to stop, and he relaxed a little under her touch, his smile slowly returning. But stopping wasn’t her worry at all. It was that she really, really liked this—his size, the way he was with her, everything—and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know why. But that didn’t have to figure into kissing him.

Henning slipped his hands around her waist and cupped her ass, bringing her up against him, closer, until she brushed against the enormous bulge in his pants. His eyes were heavy with humor and lust. Right now, Henning was worlds away from the hard, impassive bodyguard who had traveled next to her all day. For all his big body and muscles, he was...gentle with her. There was no other word for it.

...you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

Alya swallowed. He was talking about the kiss, not making some larger declaration. This was sexy fun, just what she had wanted. And she wasn’t going to taint it with her past hang-ups. So she pushed all of those ideas out of her mind, and focused on the stunning man in front of her. The man whose heavy cock was currently pressing against her.

“So you want this kind of kiss?” he asked, smiling.

She nodded and moved up and down against his erection, using it to stroke her clit. He flexed his hips and ground against her, sending more sparks of pleasure through her. He did it again, rubbing his cock in every sensitive place, making her moan and shudder.

“Yes,” she said, a little breathless. “This is definitely the kind of kiss I want.”

He flexed his hips again, and her eyes rolled back as another wave of pleasure coursed through her. Oh, yes.

Henning looked like he was enjoying this slow, hot grind just as much as she was, but after hearing about his five-year kissing dry spell, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was also distracting her. If it was easier to give her his cock than his mouth.

“Henning?” she whispered.

“Mmm?”

“I want to kiss.”

He stilled under her, his fingers tense. Then he nodded. “I do, too.”

His gaze was dark, unreadable. She lifted her hands to his face, and, gently, she cupped his jaw. He closed his eyes as her fingers met his skin. Slowly she ran her thumb over one of the ropy scars by his mouth. A rumble came from deep inside him.

“How does this feel?”

He paused, his breath uneven. “Intense.”

“Does it hurt?”

Henning gave a raspy laugh. “Hell, no. Very much the opposite.”

“Good.” Alya smiled. “Ready?”

He nodded. Alya leaned forward, resting her hands against his biceps. She waited there, looking for hesitation. There was tension, so much tension, as they waited there on the edge of this precipice. But he gave her a little nod, willing to jump. So she brushed her lips against his, testing. His cock throbbed against her, and the muscles of his arms hardened under her fingers. She tested again. His lips felt...different. A good different. She stayed there, not moving, breathing in his warm scent, getting used to this new tentative exploration. Letting him get used to her. More breaths, each uneven rasp stoking heat inside her. She pressed her mouth more firmly against his, and this time he responded. He parted his lips and tasted her. Every brush of his lips, every swipe of his tongue was achingly slow.

Alya tilted her head, learning how their mouths fit together, learning what made him groan. His hands tightened around her, and she slid her fingers along his jaw, the heaviness of each scar line weighing under her hand.

And then something flipped. It was as if he finally let the pent-up want from those five years loose. His kisses turned greedy, and a growl escaped from his chest as he nipped at her lips and sucked on her tongue. All the softness from before was fading, and God, how she loved this new, hungrier side. She moved, letting the stiff, thick ridge of his cock drag along her core, and he responded, tilting his hips, giving them both that exquisite friction. Sighs. Moans. Wordless pleas from her lips for more. Her body was on fire, the pressure building inside as his cock moved against her clit. She kissed the scarred corner of his mouth, his jaw, finding the rough lines, the smooth lines, the stubble. She wanted all of it.

“Fuck, you turn me on.” His whisper rasped in her ear. “I want to make you feel good. Can you come like this?”

Alya hadn’t thought that far, but now that he mentioned it... “I think so.”

“Good.” His teeth scraped her neck. “Hang on tight.”

She rested her hands on his shoulders and closed her eyes. Damn, just the muscles of his shoulders were enough to send a jolt of pleasure through her. Then, he began lifting her up and down in a slow, steady rhythm that was...oh, God, it was exactly what she wanted.

“Like this?” he whispered. “Does this feel good?”

His voice was a rasp in her ear, a low, rough invitation.

“Yes, Henning,” she moaned, her head dropping to his neck as the pleasure built.

The moment his name left her lips, a new rumble came from deep in his chest. Then another. Sounds of raw, insatiable hunger, of contrasts, pleasure and pain, want and fear. And need. So much need. His voice called to something buried inside her, uncovering it. New desires bubbled, still not fully formed. The aching sound grew louder, but it was her own moan that filled the car. She was right there on the edge of coming as he thrusted his hips harder. She searched for his mouth again. The kiss was rough, each aching stroke of his tongue matching the thrust of his cock against her.

Pleasure shot through her as she moved, drawing out the orgasm, losing herself in the heat of their bodies, in the scent of sex, in him. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she rested her cheek on his thick shoulder, breathing in his scent. Henning’s heart thudded in her ear.

What had just happened? The connection between them was so powerful, almost as if—

Slow down. She wasn’t going to mistake pleasure and affection for something else. The ecstasy-induced haze was clouding her brain. So, instead, she took one last, long inhale of turned-on male and put a little distance between them.

“Well, that was certainly a full-service kiss,” she said, her voice languid with pleasure.

Henning chuckled, the sound echoing deep in his chest. “It exceeded expectations in every way.”

She really should get up, do...something, but he was so warm, and she really didn’t want to move. Henning’s cock throbbed urgently against her. She peered into his dark brown eyes.

“You didn’t come yet,” she said with a little smile. “I can help you with that.”

He shook his head. “It would be messy, and it’s going to get cold in here soon. I’ll take care of that later.”

“You’ll take care of it?” She tilted her head at him. “Alone?”

“I’m good at it,” he said, laughter in his voice.

Alya raised her eyebrows. How much lightness and humor did this man have, buried inside him? “I’d like to see that.”

His cock pulsed against her, and he groaned. Then a hint of a smile drew at the uninjured side of his mouth. “I bet you would.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“TIME TO WAKE UP,” said Henning, a little louder.

Alya still didn’t stir. As soon as her first meeting had ended, she’d crashed into bed and hadn’t moved since. He had let her sleep as long as he could, watching her from the chair by the window of their hotel room. Her long, blond hair was a halo around her face, and her full lips were parted. In another life, he would have woken her up with his lips, but not in this one.

Still, she wasn’t waking from his voice alone, so he stood up and crossed the room to her bed. Resting his hand on the bare, white wall, he bent down and brushed his fingers over her cheek.

“Sweetheart? We need to go.”

Her eyelashes fluttered, and she drew in a sleepy breath. Henning braced himself against the warmth swelling inside him. For years he had watched her through someone else’s lens, in magazines, on billboards, and through the Blackmore Inc. surveillance system. This was so different, so real, so raw. He had no words to understand what was happening inside him now that she had chosen him to be here. To protect her. To satisfy her. He’d devote himself to these tasks, keeping his past at bay, controlling this tightness in his chest, this swelling of something, something he wouldn’t name.

Alya blinked a couple times, brushing off sleep. Then she met his gaze, parted her lips and...smiled. She fucking smiled, her eyes dancing with lightness as she looked up at him. Coming out of sleep, unguarded, vulnerable, she smiled like he was exactly who she wanted to see when she awoke. The swelling inside him was threatening to burst.

“The time change is disorienting,” she said, seemingly unaware that his entire world was tilting. So he took a breath and let her warm voice pull him in. “I was hoping this wasn’t a dream.”

It was all happening so fast. When she parted her lips, his brain short-circuited. Kiss her. Kiss her. The temptation was so sharp and bare that it almost overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Not happening. This was for her, and only her. If they were going to spend the next couple days in close quarters, he needed to get this situation under control.

“Listen, about earlier,” he said. “About what happened in the car...”

Her cheeks turned a pale pink, and she propped herself up on her elbow. Her mouth was so temptingly close. “I kinda jumped on you. I’m sorry if I put you in a bad position. Again.”

“I didn’t mind that particular position at all. I was very into it,” he said with a laugh.

Alya smirked at his comment, then gave a sigh. “But we shouldn’t? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m happy to do that as many times as you want. Or anything else you’re interested in. That’s up to you.”

“I think I made it clear I’m interested.” She blinked at him. “Still, I sense a but coming.”

He blew out his breath. “The moment we walk out of the room, I’m your bodyguard.”

She tilted her head to the side and smiled a little. “You’re warning me that we won’t be sneaking off to try out one of those ice beds?”

“That sounds really fucking cold.”

“I understand.” Her smile faded. “Because I’m interfering with your job?”

Henning frowned. To be with someone physically scarred like him would make her—and him—the center of attention. Henning had watched her life in the media enough to see exactly how it would play out: grainy photos of them on the front of all the tabloids. And then what? With Alya’s more recent dates, the comments were pettier. But Henning was a big fucker with scars and little patience for people in general. After studying Nick Bancroft for three years, Henning knew how that bastard worked. He was almost sure the guy was a clinical narcissist. Nick still hadn’t forgotten that Alya left him, and he might use this chance to make a fresh dig about her unstable mental health or make up some story about how she called him again, begging to take her back, and use it as a reason to show up. Just the idea of it made his blood boil, but how the hell did he talk about this with her?

Henning blew out a breath and tried his best. “Look, you hired me so there was no drama on this trip. And I don’t want any...speculations on my watch.”

“I spent three years shaping my life around avoiding Nick. I turned down jobs because they required traveling to Los Angeles. I’ve hired a bodyguard to go to events, even when you were checking to make sure Nick was still across the Pacific. I’m done with that,” she said. “It’s true that I don’t want to attract too much attention to my personal life, but I’m not going to let that mean I can’t have one. It just means we need to be careful.”

He shook his head. What she was saying made sense. She wasn’t making decisions based on fear, and she was willing to take some risks. But what was the point of this risk? So he could hold her hand in the Icebar? Nope, not worth it.

Alya opened her mouth, as if she was going to argue with him, but she hesitated. Then understanding registered in her eyes. “You meant speculations about you,” she said softly.

He frowned. “I’m not concerned about that.”

“I am.” She blinked up at him, her sky-blue eyes clear and unwavering.

Then she bit her lip, and his eyes dropped to her mouth. Focus.

“But if you’re not by my side, there will be other results, ones you might not like,” she said.

Like a hard-on from watching her all day long? He had already reconciled himself with that reality. He gave her a little smirk. “I can handle it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We can talk about it after you see what I mean.” She was looking at him, like she was assessing him. He leveled his gaze on her, letting her look her fill. Better if she saw him clearly from the beginning.

At last, she nodded. “Fine. But you’re okay with a little fun when it’s just the two of us?”

“Anything you want.” He touched her cheek. Her skin was so unbearably soft under his fingers.

She covered his hand with hers. “What do you want?”

He looked down at her, so close to him on this bed. She was waiting for his answer.

Finally he sighed and told her the truth. “I want you, any way I can have you.”

Her breath came out somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and the memory of the kiss in the car came crashing down on him. The memory of the sweet tenderness of her lips that so quickly burst into flames. Alya straddling him, her hands holding him so tight it felt like she’d never let go. And he wanted that again, fuck, how he wanted that. Badly. Just one moment of selfishness, one kiss because he wanted it. Henning put his knee on the bed next to her and leaned down, searching her expression. And, oh, that smile as he came close, more than an invitation, with a dizzying lightness that took his breath away.

He closed the last distance between them, his mouth on hers again, and she sighed—she sighed. This was too good to be real, but the ache inside was too strong for it to be otherwise. Henning licked the seam of her mouth, and she opened for him. She was here, solid under his hands, all soft lips and hungry explorations. The aching need, the gaping hole inside him opened right back up, and he couldn’t contain it. He gave her soft strokes of his tongue, and she matched them with her own. Then she reached up, threading her fingers in his hair, and pulled him down on top of her. They landed on the bed, him over her, laughing, kissing. God, yes. He could kiss her all day. Wait. No. She needed to be somewhere right now.

“Your schedule,” he murmured, his lips so close to hers. She nodded, her nose brushing against his. So intimate.

Mine. The thought was there before he could shove it back down, and he struggled to bury it, along with the surge of protectiveness that followed. Alya wasn’t his. She couldn’t be.

Time to turn it off. Time to be the person she needed. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath. Remember the fucking limits, Henning. If just kissing her was enough to loosen something inside, he needed to be really careful. Especially in a little hotel room. Where they’d be alone. Together. All. Night. Long.

His dick gave an unhelpful throb, so he pulled back, untangling himself from her arms.

“You’re due at the kick-off party in the Icebar,” he whispered, straightening up, adjusting himself. “I’ll put on my winter gear.”

That turned out to be a project. Getting dressed to sit around in freezing conditions took a lot of energy, as did walking around in the gear. The snowsuits the hotel loaned all the guests were warm as hell, which really wasn’t working inside, but his discomfort was far outweighed by the knowledge that Alya wouldn’t be cold when they sat in the Icebar. Still, by the time they made it out of the hotel room, Henning was burning up—and for once, Alya wasn’t the reason.

“I can’t wait to see this place,” she said as they walked through the quiet hallway, seemingly unfazed by the heat. “Ready to be amazed?”

He shrugged and gave her a hint of a smile. “All I’m thinking right now is that this has cold as fuck written all over it.”

Alya laughed. “Probably. But I think it’ll be more than that.”

The farther they walked from their room, the quieter the hallway seemed to get. Every step took them closer to the fashion world, where she was at home and he so clearly didn’t belong. Henning frowned as he held open the door for Alya, and they both walked out into the snow.

The cold wind slapped his face, triggering memories that caught him off guard. Everything inside him seized up, and for one, terrible moment, he was back in that warehouse. Lying on the ice-cold concrete floor, with pain everywhere. The shards of glass from the explosion embedded in his skin. Knowing that fucker had triggered the explosion on purpose, just big enough for him to get away.

Shit.

Hell, no. Not going there. Henning swallowed. He had faced the cold a few times in the last five years, but with Alya, every sensation was intensified, including this. How the hell he was going to get through a night in a room made of ice was still a mystery, but he’d do it.

Breathe in, breathe out. Everything was under control. She was fine. The tightness in his chest eased a little as he took another deep breath. And he was ready as the next gust hit him. Just one foot in front of the other.

Alya looked up at him. “You okay?”

He gave her a stiff nod. “Thank fuck they loan out winter gear here. Back in Sydney, I couldn’t have imagined just how cold a place like this could be. You okay?”

Her long legs and slim waist meant she had a lot less built-in protection. But she didn’t seem uncomfortable. She stretched her arms out as the snow fell down on her, welcoming it. “I’m great. Even warm.”

So he blew out a breath and concentrated on that.

It was still daytime according to the clock, but there were no traces of the sun. Instead, there was a hazy dusk-like glow near the tops of the trees, the sun having barely scraped the horizon hours ago before sinking out of sight again. Now, the only lights were electric, hung everywhere, sparkling on the blanket of snow that covered everything.

There was no mistaking where they were headed. The arched entrance to the frozen structure that made up the cold half of the Icehotel glowed a mysterious blue at the end of their path, and the enormous white mounds of the snow structure stretched out in all directions, disappearing into the darkness. Little wooden houses stood around the hotel, each with candles in the windows. They walked through the quiet stillness, side by side, together.

“Are those...reindeer parts?” asked Alya, her gaze latched on the doorway.

They came to a stop in front of the entrance to the Icehotel, and Henning studied it. She was right. The door was covered with what looked like reindeer pelts, and the handles were made of...antlers?

Henning chuckled. “I think this is a sign that the accommodations will be on the rustic side.”

As he reached for the door handle, Alya sighed and closed her eyes. The snow was falling in large fluffy flakes, and they clung to her dark lashes.

“Still okay?” he asked.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled at him.

“We only get one chance to see this place for the first time,” she said. “I just want to make sure I’m paying attention.”

Henning nodded slowly. He knew what she meant. Already today, he had felt it more than once: the wish to stop time, to somehow save that first sensation. But for him, that urge had come when he touched her. Kissed her. This wouldn’t last forever, not the feeling, and not this intimacy, but the memory might last if he was careful with it.

He rested his heavy glove on the antler. “Here we go.”

Henning held the door open for Alya and stepped in behind her. And stopped. The entire interior was ice and snow. Everything. Of course, he had seen it in photos, but to experience it was an entirely different thing. The structure itself was domed, made of snow, with blocks of ice everywhere, clear but with a hint of blue echoing throughout the space. It was nothing like the ice that came out of his freezer. Absolutely incredible. The packed snow of the ceiling and floor reflected the tiny lights set up to make the ice sculptures glow. There was a chandelier hanging in the entrance hall—ice, too, Henning suspected. In the middle of the foyer, there was an enormous ice sculpture of what looked like a Nordic god, bearded and armored, with sword in hand. The bluish cast to the place made him think of the ocean or even the sky.

Alya had come to a stop next to him. There was no one else in the entrance hall, just the two of them, dressed in snowsuits and hats and boots, staring at this miraculous place around them.

“It’s breathtaking,” she whispered.

“You were right,” he said. “Definitely more than just cold.”

And then he was inside one more of those moments, the kind he was trying so hard to hold on to. It wasn’t just the Icehotel itself, but that they were both standing there, together.

Alya walked across the snowy floor to one of the pillars and pressed her gloved hand against it. “Where did they get all this ice? And how do we know it’s not going to crash down on us?”

“I read that the skeleton of the structure is metal, covered with layers of an icier version of snow. The blocks of ice are carved out of the river just outside in the spring, when the ice is the thickest. They’re stored in an enormous freezer building until the next winter comes around.” Henning had done extensive research, off-hours, to answer all his safety questions. To make sure this place was well-engineered. He walked over to another pillar, running his finger along the seam of the ice blocks as he made his way toward her. “Seems pretty sturdy to me.”

Alya looked up at the ceiling, then smiled at him. “Look who did his homework.”

He shrugged. “I was a good student.”

Her laugh echoed in the open room. The sound was magical, and he was the one who had made her laugh. Fuck, that felt good.

“I bet you were,” she said. “You seem very...focused.”

Her eyes flickered hotter for a moment, so he took it as a compliment. Corinne had called him many things, long before the disastrous bust. Too intense. Too closed off. But the way Alya said this felt different. He moved closer to her until he was standing right next to her, looking down into her blue eyes, peeking out from under those dark lashes and fluffy hat. His gaze strayed down to her full red lips.

He wanted to kiss her right now, to make these first moments in this ice palace come alive in new ways. Just a kiss, to make this moment everything it could be. Anything intimate in public was supposed to be off the table, but right now, it was hard to remember why. Slowly, he tipped his head down toward hers, and Alya parted her lips. Just one little taste.

But before his mouth reached hers, the door to the Icehotel opened again, filling the room with voices and then people. Henning took a step back, blew out a breath and frowned. Fuck. What the hell was he thinking?

The group of models started through the entrance hall, their voices dying down as they passed. He caught some curious glances and a few nods in Alya’s direction. They weren’t afraid to stare, and he had almost given them something to stare at.

The group of women continued down the large ice hallway, but the magic was gone. It didn’t stand a chance when the real world crashed in. Even putting media concerns aside, what did he think this was between them? Henning could protect and he could satisfy, and years ago in the hospital, Corinne had made it clear that those two things were his worth. He didn’t have more to offer, and Corinne left when he couldn’t give them anymore. The idea was hard enough to swallow as he lay on the hospital bed, his face a wreckage of stitches and angry red scars. He never, ever wanted evidence that Alya felt the same.

Henning frowned and nodded in the direction the models had headed. “Ready to continue?”

Alya nodded.

The hall glowed with dim lights, positioned behind the carved blocks of ice. Henning slowed as they passed other ice sculptures. Someone had made each Viking warrior, carved each link of the belt, each fold of the warrior’s tunic. How many people had worked to imagine and build this monument of art?

Reindeer pelts hung from the doorways of the rooms. Alya lifted one to look inside, and Henning moved in, peering over her shoulder. The scent of her hair was muted by the sharp bite of reindeer fur. Yeah, they were definitely the real thing. The room had the same mystical blue glow as the hallway. In a twist of irony, the theme seemed to be a tropical island shipwreck. Ice statues of palm trees stood in both corners, and at the far end of the room, a grass hut was carved at the shore of a clear, glassy beach. The bed stood alone in the center of the room, the base of it an ice sculpture of a driftwood raft, floating in the sea of snow. Reindeer pelts were spread where the mattress should lie.

Alya sighed. “This is incredible.”

Henning was so close to her, her fuzzy white hat tickling his nose. He leaned in for a breath of the sweet scent of her hair, and a rush of lust ran through his body. What would it be like to lie in this bed with her, just the two of them, all alone in this shipwreck? Cold, that’s what it would be, unless they worked to keep each other warm. The image was there before he could think better of it: him on top of Alya, looking down into the blue depths of her eyes, heavy with the same want he had seen in the hotel room, his cock ready to sink into sweet, wet heaven.

Henning bit back a groan and frowned. That was a fantasy from another life, before he left the AFP, before the nightmares that meant he should never sleep in a bed with anyone. Fuck. They had two beds in their warm room, so they must have the option of two beds in these ice rooms, right?

“When we stay in one of these tomorrow...” he started.

In his pause, she finished his sentence. “It’ll be incredible.”

Henning opened his mouth to make it clear that they needed separate beds, but when he looked down, the awe in her expression stopped him. She only got to experience this for the first time once, and he couldn’t drag his own shit into that. He could ask her later. This moment was for her, and he wanted it to be good.

So he pushed all those thoughts aside, and went with the next thing that came to mind. “You think there are bathrooms in this place, too?”

“You mean ice toilets? I hope not.” Alya gave a little snort of laughter. “I think we passed them in the warm hotel, just before we went out the door. Thank God.”

The sound of her laughter was magical, and it melted some of his tension. He could do this. The corners of his mouth tugged up. “Just checking.”

Alya let go of the pelt in the doorway, and they continued down the hall. The muted din of voices grew louder. They were approaching the Icebar, and Henning steeled himself for the scene they’d face. He had to wipe his face of all traces of the emotions Alya stirred in him—want, lust, protectiveness and something more he didn’t want to name. Something that felt way too close to—

“Henning?” Alya tugged on the sleeve of his coat. She had come to a full stop in the glowing hallway, and she was eying him with a stubborn look on her beautiful face.

So he stopped, turned to her and nodded his head in acknowledgment, waiting for her to tell him what she wanted. Whatever it was, he’d give it to her.

“Sasha Federov, the designer, is a force of nature, but anything you see is about his business, not me personally.”

Henning swallowed. “You’re letting me know it’s going to be intimate between you.”

“It’s going to look intimate,” she corrected.

“You’re okay with that?”

“It’s the way this business works.”

Henning swallowed again and kept his expression neutral. Nodded. Put aside that mix of protectiveness and jealousy that crashed down on him. “No pissing contests. I promise.”

“Stay with me,” she said. “Stay right next to me all night.”

Henning stilled. What was this about? He took off a glove and swiped a hand over his face. His skin was cold, and he had the urge to touch her, to see if she was cold. But he didn’t.

“Is this in any way about your security?”

She shook her head slowly. “No.”

Fuck. He wanted to stay with her for every selfish reason. Because, in some alternate universe, he could see the scene so clearly, walking into the Icebar, touching her, kissing her. Making it clear to everyone that upsetting her in any way would have consequences. But he could never, ever mistake that imaginary universe with the one he lived in.

Henning studied her face, her cheeks pink. The idea of saying no to Alya was causing him physical pain. His hand ached with the need to touch her, but if he did, it would make this even harder. So he put his glove back on.

“I can’t,” he bit out.

She tilted her head to the side. “Can’t or won’t?”

“In this case, there’s no difference. You don’t need me right next to you, and it’s not in your best interest.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now you’re patronizing me. Why, Henning?”

Henning looked up and down the empty hallway. She wanted to discuss this, right here? Fine. “Because you’re here to spread your wings, not to have your hulking bodyguard next to you, glaring at every man who touches you.” He blew out a breath. Shit. Did she hear the jealousy oozing out of that statement?

He could feel himself getting worked up, so the last thing he expected was for her to smile. But that’s exactly what she did. It was a beautiful smile, so wide and full of...amusement? That tightness in his chest was easing.

“You’re very intense,” she said, laughter in her voice. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Once or twice,” he said dryly.

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Fine. So you’re going to brood in the corner while I mingle?”

“Pretty much.” He was trying his hardest not to smile. It wasn’t working.

“Are you going to be jealous?” Her voice was smoother now, seductive.

Damn. She must have heard it in his voice. He narrowed his eyes at her and frowned. “What I feel when I’m working is irrelevant.”

“What about afterward, when we’re back in the room?” she said, her voice so soft, tempting. “What if you still feel it then? Will you tell me?”

The question spilled from her red lips, bringing his cock to attention. He scanned the empty hall again, just to make sure they were alone. Then he took a step closer and gazed down at her, letting her see all the want he was keeping tightly leashed inside.

“You want to play with that, baby?” he whispered. “You want to see if that makes you hot?”

She didn’t hesitate, despite the warning in his gaze. “I already know the answer. I’m asking if it makes you hot, too.”

This could either go very wrong or very, very right. Alya was really hoping for the latter. That don’t-fuck-with-her vibe he radiated when he was next to her was a huge turn-on, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—use a man as a crutch, just because it felt better than standing on her own. That was her mother’s path, and the result was a career and a life that crumbled each time the relationship fell apart. Back in Sydney, she had started to lean on Stewart, her most recent ex, until, finally, she wizened up and decided to take a break from relationships for a while. So Henning was right to turn down her offer, to take a step back when she didn’t need him. But...they could play with this set-up a little. Knowing he was watching her across the room, imagining the way he ached for her—that was about desire, not fears.

As long as Henning understood what he was getting himself into. She hadn’t missed the sharp flash of heat in his eyes as he sketched the image of a big, ripped bodyguard, there to protect her...and more. He had quickly covered it up with that stoic expression, but now, that sharp mix of heat and intensity shone in his eyes again as he stared down at her.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, the uninjured corner of his mouth curved up a little more. It looked like his smile took effort, as if he had forgotten how to do it somewhere along the way. But when he did, his eyes lit up, too, filled with pure, untainted pleasure. It was addictive to watch, to figure out what made him react, and she wanted him to smile a thousand times while they were here. She had some ideas about how to do that.

Henning leaned in, his mouth brushing against her ear.

“You’re late,” he whispered. “Go in there and do your thing.”

He straightened up, wiped the smile from his lips and the desire from his eyes, and nodded toward the Icebar. Game on.

She brushed passed Henning and headed in the direction of the voices. The arched hallway opened into a larger room, even more stunning than the entryway. The Icebar was a work of art. Glittering glassy ice surfaces were everywhere, the walls, the floors, the pillars, the arched ceilings of snow. It was a strange scene, filled with clusters of people, all dressed in the same outerwear. The documentary camera crew added to the vibe, like they were on the set of some futuristic film.

“I feel like we’re at the canteen of the rebel base,” she said over her shoulder to Henning. “What was that ice planet called?”

His voice was low and intimate. “You mean Hoth?”

“Exactly.”

“Definitely an upscale version,” he added.

True. Much like in the hallway, everything was ice—the bar, the small, round tables, the benches that lined the walls. Candles burned and torches lit with a flickering haunted beauty. The only other non-ice elements in sight were the pelts that lay on the seating.

Alya wrinkled her nose. “More reindeer? How many had to die to make this place?”

“All so we don’t have cold asses,” he said, patting the fur on a nearby bench. “Or slide off the bench onto the floor.”

She laughed, but this time it was a little too unguarded, a little too free. A dozen heads turned their way. Gazes flicked from Henning to her and back to Henning. And damn, she could see the conclusions in the arches of carefully plucked eyebrows and the parting of pouty lips. She could read those looks. And if she didn’t walk away soon, the documentary camera crew would turn their attention to them, too.

“I’ll hang back here,” he said, sitting at a table in the corner. He glanced over at the crowd. Heads were still turned in their direction.

Her smile fell, and her heart twisted. Fuck them all, she wanted to say. Come with me.

But he seemed to know what she was thinking because he shook his head. “I’d rather watch you.”

His eyes glittered with...playfulness? Henning? Oh, God, fuck them all indeed.

“You do that,” she said, her smile coming back. “Just watch and brood from the corner.”

Henning lifted his chin at her and then settled on top of one of those poor reindeer along the bench. He leaned against the snowy wall and crossed his arms, his deep brown eyes fixed on her, intense and guarded. She smiled a little and walked away from him, slowly making her way into the crowd. This was going to be interesting.

Long ago, Alya had come to terms with what it meant to be a model. For so much of this job, she wasn’t a real person, just a form for designers to hang their clothes on. But if she really wanted to make it in this industry, she had to be more than that. She had to be the embodiment of other people’s desires. These were desires that the magazines and ad campaigns fed into, the desire for happiness, the desire for a life of luxury, and the undercurrent of those desires was sex appeal.

But being this person was a strange thing. From a very young age, she had been told she was exceptionally beautiful, and her mother groomed her for a life with this at the center. She had grown up with an equal mix of both stares and glares because of it. Thank God her parents’ marriage didn’t explode until after they had their second kid; Alya might have withered up in loneliness without Natasha. Even today, her sister was one of only a few people in the world she was truly close with. Most women kept their distance, as if they assumed beauty somehow made her exempt from more banal desires like conversation and companionship.

The sex appeal part was the most complicated. On the pages of a magazine, she sold the allure of touch, of sex. She wasn’t even undressed for these photos, at least not all the way. And yet, as a rule, a stranger off the street was much more likely to approach cute Natasha than they were her. It was as if Alya had some sort of bubble around her with a sign on it: look, don’t touch. Plus, men’s real-life tastes tended toward women with bigger breasts and bigger hips. She elicited a more impersonal kind of desire.

You know you want me. I have what you need.

This was her job, but having Henning here while she did it was...well, different.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled at Henning one more time, focusing her attention on the scene in front of her. Though she had worked in this industry for years, it was hard to call anyone here a friend. Alya wasn’t much of a partier, which ruled out the easiest way to bond with a good chunk of this crowd. There were others she might have been more than just business acquaintances with, but between her mother’s antics and the mess with Nick, she could imagine why those people had stayed away. Her mother was known for her off-screen drama as much as for her on-screen performances, and Alya and Natasha’s younger years were filled with Ilana Petrova’s inappropriately young partners, public break-ups, and accusations of infidelity. And then, just as her mother finally settled down, Alya’s break-up with Nick turned ugly. For too many years, her life was a closely followed train wreck, and anyone with good business sense would have stayed far away. These days, she kept to herself more out of habit. Aloof and snobbish were much better, reputation-wise, than train wreck.

A couple models known for partying were settled up at the bar and clearly past their first drinks, with a sort of fuck caring about my image—I’m going to have fun with this air to them. Alya understood the impulse, but it wasn’t her path. One of the women she had worked with before—Brianna?—flagged her over.

“That guy in the corner,” she whispered, sotto voce. “Are you with him?”

Thank God her cheeks were probably already pink from the cold because she was finding it harder and harder to hide her attraction. She glanced over at Henning. His gaze was cool, impassive, but it was fixed on her. Could they see through that hard mask he wore, beyond the scars, to the man who had stood over her in the hallway, whispering in her ear, turning her insides red-hot? That couldn’t be it. This was just the usual curiosity.

Alya looked back at Brianna. “He’s security.”

“I’d hire him,” she said, and her tone suggested exactly what services she’d be looking for.

Should Alya be offended for Henning? No, he probably wouldn’t care. The fashion industry rested on others’ perceptions, but Henning so clearly didn’t. She got the feeling that he was a man who only did exactly what he chose to do.

Brianna’s gaze drifted back to him, and she smiled. “Yes, I definitely wouldn’t mind having him watch me.”

Alya bit back a smile. Was she going to ask for Henning’s business card next? Alya could see the scene, Brianna sizing Henning up with those bedroom eyes that she was known for. The clench in Alya’s gut came out of nowhere, sudden and intense. And completely unexpected.

Oh, this was ripe. Of course other women saw Henning’s sex appeal. But when she glanced at him, his eyes were still on her, his gaze unwavering, and his words from that first day in the Blackmore Inc. conference room came back. There are no other clients for me. Not now, and not in the future. A hot flame of lust licked through her body, setting it on fire. Oh, now she understood this game she had suggested back in the hallway in a whole new way.

Except she was here for work-related mingling.

“Enjoy the view,” she said, smiling at Brianna, and turned to scan the crowd.

The hotel wasn’t actually that big, and Sasha Federov’s team and the Behind the Runway crew had reserved all the rooms in the place, warm and cold, for the next two nights, which meant that everyone here was associated with this campaign. Being at the center of Federov’s collection could be a serious career boost, making up for all the time she spent rebuilding her career in a new country after Nick. If she played this right.

She spotted Federov and smiled at him, and he made his way over to her.

“Ahh...you’re here,” he said, his Russian accent strong and familiar. He kissed her on both cheeks and gestured at the crowd, smiling a little. “Lots of people are asking about you. I know Jean Pierre would love to spend a little time with you.”

Right, Jean Pierre Rus. Notorious flirt. The man who would wrap his arms around her in the shoot tomorrow.

“He’ll find me,” she said.

Federov’s eyes were on her, sharp and assessing. Some people would mistake the intensity of his stare for sexual, but she knew what it really was: surveying a part of his empire, an empire that reached beyond the thousand-dollar neckties and one-of-a-kind dresses he created. Everyone in that room was part of it, part of the inventory he handpicked, worshipped, then culled. And right now, he was looking at Alya the way he’d look at his favorite suit, set apart, making sure it was hanging right where he wanted it.

Alya had no illusions about Federov. She was the flavor of the day for a man known for his obsessions that surged and then fell just as quickly. But the artist-muse thing didn’t seem to revolve around sex for him—no way she would have signed on to this job if there were hints otherwise. The fucking was optional, though he certainly was known for that, too. In the end, she had taken a good, hard look at this job for what it was: an amazing opportunity to stand on her own and carve out her own path.

“Let me know if you need anything during your stay,” Federov said, then leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Though it looks like you have someone else to look after that.”

He nodded over her shoulder, and Alya followed Federov’s gaze. Henning’s expression was stony, his eyes darting from Federov back to her.

“My bodyguard,” she said, though her voice might have given away more.

“Interesting.” Federov’s expression hinted at mild amusement as his gaze flicked back to Henning. “Your mother had many admirers, too.”

Her first instinct was to deny the connections he was making, between her and Henning, between her and her mother. But direct responses rarely were taken at face value.

Instead, she gave him a dry smile. “My mother would be the first to say that men were the downfall of her career.”

Federov chuckled. “And yet she couldn’t resist.”

He kissed her again and turned to call Jean Pierre over. She had worked on projects with him before, and she had to admit she kind of liked him, despite his well-deserved reputation as a man-whore. Men like that either seemed to hate women or love them, and he was definitely in the latter category. He was good-natured and laid-back, basically a breath of fresh air in an industry with a few too many divas.

Jean Pierre was also an insufferable seducer, and, from the smile on his face, those efforts were going to be aimed her way. It was actually a good thing in small doses since, tomorrow morning, they would probably be spread out on a bed of smelly reindeer fur, looking into each other’s eyes. It was a lot easier to do sultry with someone who actually liked her.

“Alya Petrova.” He settled a hand on her back, though the intimacy of this gesture wasn’t as effective through the thick coat. “Can I get you a drink? Their signature drinks are in ice here.”

Alya had no idea what he meant, and she wasn’t much of a drinker, but when in an ice bar... “Vodka martini, please.”

Jean Pierre raised an eyebrow. “Not my first guess. I would have thought you’d order champagne.”

He nodded to the group of models at the bar.

She gave him a little smile. “Family drink.”

A preference for vodka was one of the few Russian traditions her mother had maintained after their move to California. One of the many things Illana Petrova, model-turned-actress, was known for.

Jean Pierre flagged down the bartender and ordered, then turned to her as the woman mixed their drinks. He was as good-looking in person as he was on camera, which wasn’t a given, with tousled hair, deep blue eyes and a hint of a smirk in his smile that very few guys could pull off. He was assessing her, too, but Alya wasn’t sure what his conclusions were, though she was almost sure sex was on the table if she gave any indication she wanted it.

“The last time I saw you, your boyfriend Nick Bancroft was breathing down your neck.”

Trust Jean Pierre to get right to the point.

Alya rolled her eyes. “The whole world knows we’re not together anymore. He made sure of that, along with implying I was crazy.”

Jean Pierre’s mouth turned down in a rare frown. “I’m sorry you went through that. That bastard really tried to drag you through the mud.”

“Great taste in men, right?” She snorted. “I’m a lot more careful these days.”

“And does that bodyguard go everywhere with you now?” asked Jean Pierre in a low voice.

Alya had answered versions of this question, full of insinuation, many times when Max was her bodyguard, and there had never been anything between them. So she answered it the exact same way for Henning.

“Everywhere.”

“Huh.” That was all Jean Pierre said, but he was definitely registering something.

He looked like he was about to make a comment, but the bartender brought them their drinks. Jean Pierre handed one to her. “Vodka martini in ice.”

“Ahh, I see,” she said, studying the “glass” made out of ice.

He raised his own ice glass to hers and winked. “To the sexiest winter collection ever.”

Alya clinked her glass with his and took a sip of the vodka. It made a cool trail down her throat.

“Want to check out the Viking Room?” he asked. “That’s where our first shoot starts tomorrow, no?”

The suggestion itself wasn’t out of the ordinary, and the full-on snow gear didn’t lend itself to sexytimes. Still, she was getting that vibe in spades.

Alya gave him a hint of a smile. “Not tonight.”

“I should have guessed. Someone else has plans for you,” he said, his voice filled with amusement.

She shook her head. “He’s just doing his job,” she said, though she knew Jean Pierre wouldn’t believe a word of it.

“Looks like fun.”

She followed Jean Pierre’s gaze across the room, to Henning. Fun wasn’t the first descriptor that came to mind. He definitely didn’t belong in this world, and his scars weren’t the biggest tell. He was too big, too intense, too guarded, too...everything. He had the presence of a person still in the rough. But what set him apart from this crowd most was that he sat, arms folded, resting against the wall, as if he didn’t care how others saw him. Henning didn’t seem to care that Jean Pierre was staring at him, assessing him right now, and he answered that stare with a fuck off, asshole glance of his own. Damn, she admired his attitude.

Alya took one last gulp of her drink and said good-night to Jean Pierre. Then she started across the room. Henning was watching her like there was nothing else around except her, so she held his gaze, coming to a stop right in front of him.

“Is all that reindeer fur keeping your ass warm?” she asked.

He ignored her question. “Who is that?”

Slowly he stood up until he towered over her, his jaw working, each tense movement, each moment of restraint sending hot bolts of lust through her, making her legs weak. His voice was cool and even, but his eyes blazed down on her. She could think of a handful of answers that were almost sure to stoke this fire hotter. This game was working a little too well for both of them. They were already walking a thin line right here, in front of everyone she worked with. If she taunted him with answers about Jean Pierre, one of them was going to step over the line, and judging from Henning’s well-practiced restraint, it would probably be her.

“I’m ready to go back to the room,” she said.

His eyes flared with heat, and he glanced once more in Jean Pierre’s direction. “You’re done with everything here?”

She nodded slowly. Finally he lifted his chin in ascension. “Lead the way.”

She brushed by him and headed toward the front entrance. He was right behind her, radiating a hot desire, and his gaze burned into her back. She wanted to turn around, to get a read on what all this tightly reined tension meant, but she wouldn’t let herself. Not until they were alone.

She walked out the front door and into the darkness of the night. Henning’s boots crunched, so close, but he didn’t touch her. Didn’t say a word. When they came to the warm building, he held the door open for her, and they stepped in. The hallway was empty, and Alya was ready to continue their conversation right there, but she had enough of her wits about her to ditch that plan and look for a little more privacy. She found a door and pulled it open. An upscale locker room, but at this point she didn’t care.

The door closed behind them, and the only sounds were their breaths, fast and ragged. Alya slowed to a stop, and so did Henning, still right behind her. She swallowed. Then slowly, she turned around. Oh, God. His eyes were alive and dark, and her entire body exploded with need.

He tugged off his gloves and hat, dropping them on the floor. Next he grabbed the zipper of his snowsuit with his big hand, and she watched, mesmerized, as he unzipped all the way, until the fly of his thermals showed. He adjusted himself so that his thick erection jutted into the V, straining at the material. His chest rose and fell quickly.

“Fuck,” he muttered. Then he met her gaze.

When she didn’t say anything, he reached for her zipper. He tugged it down, exposing her slowly. His scars twisted as he watched this slow reveal, turning his expression into something darker. Oh, God, this was the sexiest game, and she wanted to play it so very badly. She dropped her gloves on the floor and reached up to his face, touched it, the rough side and the smooth side both under her fingers. He took a ragged breath and stepped toward her, her breasts pressing against his chest. She shuffled back to keep her balance, but he stepped forward again. Step. Step. Slowly, he backed her up against the rough wooden wall. There was nowhere left to go.

Then he slipped his hands into her snowsuit, around her waist and down her ass, cupping it in his enormous hands. He bent down.

“You like to be watched, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“You like knowing that you’re the only person I see in that room?” His voice was rougher. “You like knowing I’m hard as hell, wanting you, even while you talk to another man?”

“God, yes.”

He had been watching her all day, but it was nothing compared to what she saw in those dark brown eyes right now. It was raw and dirty, twenty-four hours’ worth of pent-up lust. Or more.

Then his mouth came down on hers, cutting off all other thoughts as her body burst into flames. They were a tangle of hands and hats and snowsuits, and it was impossible to get close enough. It was a storm, sudden, torrential, drenching everything with its hot, wet downpour. She was so achingly hungry. His teeth caught her lips, his tongue stroked hers with unleashed craving. Alya moaned and kissed him back, showing him what she liked. He was claiming her, not by force or demand but with pledges. The kiss was a string of erotic promises, of all the ways they could be together, of all the ways he wanted to take her. You know you want to be mine. His hands had found their way under her sweater, his fingers slipping up her back, pulling his body against hers. She moaned again, and he answered with a deep groan.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, he pulled back, dragging in a harsh breath.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered, letting her go.

Alya inhaled deeply, her mind still reeling from kissing, touching, wanting so badly. “The room. Let’s go back to the room.”

Henning was silent for a moment, and then he nodded. He straightened her clothes and arranged her snowsuit over her shoulders, his touch almost gentle now. He zipped up his own snowsuit a bit, hiding his erection, and then picked up her gloves and the rest of his gear off the floor.

His eyes were filled with that guarded lust he had looked at her with for so much of today. She waited him out, watching him, wondering if he’d speak his thoughts aloud. He swallowed, working his jaw, and he ran his free hand through the short bristles of his hair.

Then he rested it on her face, cradling her cheek with his big palm. He took a ragged breath, and then his mouth was on hers again. His lips stroked hers with more finesse this time, but that edge of longing and need was still there.

“Whatever you want from me,” he whispered. “Take it.”

CHAPTER FIVE

FOR ONE, HOT KISS, Henning hadn’t held back. In that quiet locker room, with Alya up against the wall, her body flush with his, he let himself react, let her feel how deep his want ran. Because the twist in his gut as he watched that man—a man who was everything Henning wasn’t—touch her and smile at her? That was a real reminder that she would never really be his. That chasm had opened inside, exposing deep fissures, and all the buried want and need flooded out.

Neither of them had said a word since they left that little locker room. But now, as the door to their hotel room clicked shut and she came to a stop in front of him, they were on again, for real this time. He stepped up close and slid the top of her snowsuit off, guiding it down her body. He got on his knees, easing the material over her ass and down her legs, tracing her curves with his hands.

“Hold on to my shoulders,” he said softly.

She held on, balancing herself as he lifted one foot to tug her boot off, then the snowsuit. He moved to the other side to pull off the other boot, her hands warm on his shoulders. God, it felt good to take care of her. He got to his feet and hung up her snowsuit on the hook next to him. Then he stilled as he took her in, dressed in thermals and a soft white sweater. With that searing kiss still licking flames through his body, everything else was fading except the need to give her what she wanted.

He was going to give her a place to let down her guard, to indulge in her own wants. Over the last three years, he had learned a lot about Alya and the way she quietly shouldered the weight of her family. The way she’d supported her sister financially at age eighteen, taking care of Natasha when her mother was too distracted by the drama of her own life. Alya had even sacrificed nursing school so that Natasha could go to college. This was a woman with an enormous heart, and Nick Bancroft had taken advantage of it.

Of all the reasons for Henning to drag himself out of his self-imposed years of seclusion, this was the strongest: he would give her whatever she needed for a few days. And if that meant his cock and his mouth, then hell, yes, he’d give it to her.

He shed his own outer layers and then stood behind her, closer. His thermal layer did nothing to hide his erection. He couldn’t resist pressing it between her ass, the urge to have her growing stronger.

Henning brushed her hair to the side and pressed his lips on her neck. “You have the sweetest scent. I could do this all day long.” He caught her earlobe between his lips, and her breath hitched. He took a long inhale and groaned. “You want to know what I’ve been wondering?”

“Yes.” She turned her head toward him, looking over her shoulder, and her blue eyes were electric, shining, alive.

Fuck, he was so hard right now, his cock pushing against the fly of his boxers, hard to ignore. Her voice was a siren’s call, so he answered it. “I want to find out if you smell just as good between your legs.”

Slowly, Alya turned around, her eyes hot and intense on him, and his body was on fire, overheating in all the layers of clothing. His blood pounded through him, an unrelenting chant. Mine. Mine. Mine. Henning swallowed. No matter what he felt, this was a game for her, and he wouldn’t forget it.

“Are you at all cold right now?”

She shook her head. Good. He wanted to kiss her, but he held back, knowing how easy it would be to lose himself the moment it began. Not yet.

“You’ve been watching me all day. Now I want to undress for you,” she said, her voice huskier. “And while I take my clothes off, I want you to stroke yourself. Pleasure yourself while you watch.”

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned as a shudder of pleasure rolled through him. Henning closed his eyes, pulling himself together. Then he slowed his breathing and looked at Alya again.

She smiled and took a step back. Another. Her eyelids were heavy, her dark lashes falling over the endless blue of her eyes, and her smile transformed into something so clearly seductive.

“You ever look at photos of me?” she said, her voice luring him into this game.

Holy hell. His body was already fully there, but his conscience was pricking at him. They were veering into murky territory, territory he had spent three years trying to resist: his fantasies about her, fantasies he shouldn’t have had about a client. So he had pushed them deep down, letting the frustration fuel his determination to protect her from afar. Until now.

She wanted them, and fuck, how he wanted to give her everything she asked for.

“Yeah, I looked,” he whispered, testing her reaction. “You like that?”

Her eyes lit up. “A lot.”

Oh, fuck, this was hot and dirty and so, so good, and she was asking for it. He reached his hand inside his thermals and his boxers and palmed his cock. Her eyes followed his movements, and her pulse ticked hard at the base of her neck.

Alya took the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head, leaving her in a layer of tight, gray thermals. Her nipples poked out of the material, and she toyed with one. No bra. His cock was leaking, so he spread his precum on his palm and gave himself a stroke as he watched her pleasure herself.

“You ever get off thinking about me?” she whispered.

Shit. He shouldn’t admit to it, but this game was too tempting. “I tried not to,” he gritted out. “But, fuck, you get me so hard.”

She played with the hem of her thermal shirt, then slowly lifted it over her head. Henning braced himself against the wall and stroked himself hard. He was caught in a sea of lust, drowning. Her breasts were small, and her nipples, a delicate pink. He looked down at his hand, rough and big, crassly jacking himself as he watched the most achingly beautiful woman in the world strip. Just for him. Beauty and the beast. The contrast sent a dark swirl of lust and depravity through him. Did it turn her on, too?

“You want this hand on you?” he rasped, pulling down the waistband of his boxers, letting her see each rough jerk of his hand. “The one I use to make myself come when I jack off to you?”

Her mouth fell open a little, and for one long second, he thought he had gone too far. But just as a jolt of fear entered his system, a fear that despite his caution, he had stepped over the line, she smiled. It was a real smile that broke through their game, wide-eyed and full of wonder. Fuck, it was glorious.

Her expression turned seductive. “I like it a little dirty.”

The message echoed inside him, urging him on. Yes, she wanted this. She traced the curve of her body down, over her hips, her fingers inside her thermal bottoms. She lowered them, stepping out, and when she stood up, his cock jumped in his hand.

“Nude.” The word fell out of his mouth as he stared between her legs.

Alya’s real smile peeked through again. “Occupational hazard. Are you into that?”

Henning’s chuckle was a gritty rumble. “I’m into you, Alya. Everything about you.”

A hint of pink colored her cheeks, sending a stab of tenderness through him. It was almost as if she wasn’t used to hearing someone tell her how amazing she was. How was that possible? He resolved to tell her as many times as he could.

But right now, he was going to show her. His cock was weeping, as he looked at this beautiful woman in front of him.

“You gonna let me put my dirty mouth on that beautiful pussy?” he whispered, his voice rough. “You gonna give me a taste?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Give me what I need.”

Give her what she needs. Don’t fuck it up.

Holy hell, that smile was going to bring him to his knees. It was soft, so private, a secret just for him. Now that he knew what it was like to have her all to himself, he could never go back to looking for her in a magazine. Not when he knew this.

“Christ, you’re lovely,” he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered closed, as if hearing these simple words had given her pleasure. Then she turned, glancing over her shoulder as she walked toward the bed. And, fuck, this woman knew how to walk for an audience. She knew how to make each slow sultry step a new promise. And this time, the promise was for him.

She climbed on the bed, her ass arched up to him. But she did this with a kind of effortless grace. It was nothing like the women he had fucked in the club, pretending to be someone else, just for that night. This was part of her. Alya lay down on her side, propping her head on her hand. “You coming?”

Henning nodded, but he didn’t move. Not yet. First, he needed to take in every bit of this moment, storing it away in his memory, saving it. In the years to come, he wanted to remember how this felt. When once, for a few short days, he had her all to himself.

There was no hesitancy in the way she lay there looking at him. He loved this confident, hot-as-hell side of her. And after watching her bloom from that dark place Nick had driven her into, he wanted this confidence to fill her until she was bursting at the edges with it. He was going to make sure this was for her.

Henning followed the curves of her body, along her thighs, over her hips, down the dip of her waist and over the curve of her pert tits, up the slim column of her neck, and finally, to her smile. Alya waited, lounging on the bed, watching him, her expression full of lazy desire, like they had all the time in the world. But the flush in her cheeks hinted at other possibilities. That she was aching for him, too.

“You are stunning,” said Henning, his voice a little hoarse. “It’s you, Alya, not just the way you look. It’s everything about you.”

She blinked at him with a hint of surprise. Her cheeks flushed, and then she smiled. “Then why are you still across the room?”

“I want to enjoy this part. When you look at me like it’s my mouth you want, no one else’s.” His voice dipped lower. “I want to savor it.”

Another sharp jolt of urgent lust shot through him, and he palmed his cock and gave that impatient bastard another rough stroke.

It had been so long since he had gone down on a woman. Years, despite how much he got off on it. Since that first kiss with Alya, he had been thinking about it. What would she like best? What would she sound like? Now, finally, finally, he would find out. And oh, God, how he ached to know.

He took one slow step, then another, watching each reaction from her, the parting of her lips, the quickening of her pulse as he came closer, closer. Henning pulled off his top and bottoms, but he left his boxers on. Then he knelt on the bed, one knee on one side of her, one knee on the other. She rolled onto her back, and he lowered himself onto his forearms until he could feel the heat of her skin under him. Until her quick breaths warmed his cheeks. Because beneath all this beauty was so much emotion. She had been burned. Nick had used her emotions against her, trying to manipulate her, to drive her back to him. What Henning could give her right now, on this bed, was a safe place to let that guard down and simply feel. And fuck, he had so many plans for how to make her feel.

He bent his head and pressed his lips to her pale, slim neck, exposed just for him. Heaven. He kissed her jaw and then her lips.

“You smell so fucking good,” he murmured, looking down at her.

“You do, too,” she whispered.

Then she wove her fingers into his hair, tugging his head down, guiding his lips to hers. The onslaught of sensations took over, washing through him as her lips melted onto his. Hungry strokes and sucks and nips...he couldn’t get enough. He was drowning again, lost in the drive to press his skin against hers, move his hard body against her soft curves, drive his cock into the heaven of her wet, tight pussy. To never let this end.

This last thought jolted him back to reality, and Henning pulled away.

“You’re distracting me,” he said with a heavy, low laugh. “I have other plans.”

“Plans that don’t involve kissing?” Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, and her voice, husky.

“Oh, baby.” Henning groaned. “There will definitely be kissing. Everywhere.”

He started with her collarbone. “Here,” he whispered, his mouth on her salty-sweet skin. He kissed a line down her chest, up the rise of her breast. “And here.” Her nipple was hard under his tongue, and she hissed out a breath as he took it between his lips. He cupped one breast with his hand and fit it in his mouth, sucking. His cock gave a kick, and he groaned and sucked harder. Oh, fuck, why did her perky little tits turn him on like they did? If he kept this up, he was going to come before she did. He ran his tongue over her nipple one more time and moved lower.

“You wet, baby?” he rasped, his lips on the soft skin of her belly.

“For you,” she whispered, sending another jolt to his cock.

Those two words made his heart stutter. For him. The scent of sex was everywhere, pulling him down her body, over her naked mound until finally, finally he was there. How many times had he imagined this, never once thinking that it could really happen? His cock was begging for attention, the insistent fucker, used to getting its share when he played through this scenario, but there was no way he was focusing on that. Because this was so achingly real. So he took another deep inhale and tasted.

Oh, God, his mouth. He was covering her with his mouth, worshipping her with it. Swirls of his tongue, little scrapes of his teeth, all working some kind of magic spell on her. He was a man of few words, but he definitely knew how to use his mouth when he wanted to. Never had she felt a man so intensely focused on her experience. It was as if this was the ultimate turn-on, the moment he had waited for, which...couldn’t be right, could it? But, ooooh, he certainly seemed intent on proving her wrong. He licked and groaned and licked again, like going down on her was getting him just as worked up as she was. With each grunt, coarse and guttural, he went in for more.

“You like my mouth?” he said, his lips, his breath teasing her.

“I love it,” she whimpered.

“You taste so fucking good.”

He sucked on her clit, sending her dangerously close to the edge. Her moans were loud, scraping her throat as they poured out, and they seemed to pour fuel on his fire.

“Christ,” he muttered, and one hand left her hip while the other slid between her legs.

She opened her eyes and looked down at him. One of his enormous hands was inside his boxers, and his eyes were closed, his teeth bared. Was he jacking off while going down on her? Holy hell, she didn’t realize this could get any hotter, but it just did. She shifted to get a better look at this quiet, restrained man as he gave himself over to a moment of pleasure.

But when she moved, his eyes snapped open, and a dark smile tugged at his mouth. “You like seeing me like this? All strung out on the taste of you, on the feel of you under my hands and my mouth?”

“God, yes.” The answer slipped off her lips. For once, she wasn’t worried about why she loved this or what it meant. She simply let go.

Then he pressed his mouth against her clit and slid two fingers inside her, taking over, filling her senses, erasing everything except the vision of him, pleasuring her like it was the only thing he had ever wanted.

Whatever you want from me. Take it.

His words came back as white streaks of heat exploded. Her orgasm rolled through her. It was too much. She was making sounds like a wounded animal, cries, whimpers as she came down. Henning growled, lapping at her, drawing out her pleasure. Just...bliss.

Finally Henning kissed her softly, almost tenderly. Then he rose up on his knees. His face was tight, strained, and his cock twitched in his boxers, leaving a wet circle where his tip pushed at the material. He heaved in breaths, the muscles on his chest rippling, his biceps tense. His hands flexed. And she knew exactly what he was holding himself back from doing.

“Do it,” she whispered.

Henning groaned and reached inside his boxers, pulling out his hot, thick erection. Whoa. She had felt it against her, but seeing his enormous cock was still a shock. His smile was dark as he gave himself a rough tug. “See how hard you make me?”

The hottest words were coming out of his mouth, and she loved it. Her hand moved to her clit instinctively as she watched his hand sliding up and down his huge erection.

He took her in once more, head to toe, and then he roared. He thrust, pointing his cock at her and came, came, came. A second orgasm ripped through her, her slick body shuddering, as she watched the ecstasy take over his features, his hips pumping. The room was filled with sharp gasps as they both stared, openmouthed, at her stomach, slick with his come. Henning looked even more shocked than she felt.

Alya’s mouth dropped open as ripples of pleasure still rolled through her. A burst of laughter bubbled up and came out, loud and sudden, and once it came, it didn’t stop. She covered her mouth, but it didn’t help. The laughter escaped in snorts. Henning’s eyes widened, and he stared at her like she was bat-shit crazy.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” she said between giggles. “That we did that.”

Henning’s eyes moved from hers to the ribbons of come and back to hers. He lifted his hand to his face, touching his scars with his fingers absently. Then he frowned. “That got way out of hand.”

“No. Don’t say that.” Alya shook her head quickly. “That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever done. So don’t you dare look at me like you regret it.”

He was still staring at her with a stunned look. “You’re really okay with it? Because I said a lot of things...”

Alya fell back onto the bed, chuckling. “I loved every one of them.” His forehead wrinkled, as if he couldn’t quite believe it, so she added, “I trust you, Henning. You have to trust me, too. It goes both ways.”

He stared at her some more, so she waited him out. Then, finally, his expression eased. “Okay. You’re right. But let me help clean you up.”

Something about his offering, the way he was looking at her, tugged at her heart. And she flashed to a scene of him following her into the shower, taking his time to clean her, to explore her body, all that intense focus—

No. Having him care for her like that would cross the line she had drawn for herself when they started. It would take them into more vulnerable territory, areas where she had failed spectacularly. Alya was so much stronger on her own, and with this newfound freedom, she’d traveled across the world for an amazing career opportunity and had just had the best sex of her life. There was no way she was going to tangle this up with her old baggage. She had watched her mother get sucked in by each new boyfriend or husband, and it never ended well. Alya had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t be involved with another man until she was sure she could stand on her own. Only then could she find something healthy, something real.

Alya forced herself to smile, to wave his offer off. “I’ll just take a shower.”

His expression darkened, but she ignored another tug at her heart and climbed off the bed, heading for the bathroom. Once safely inside, she leaned against the door and closed her eyes. This was a game about attraction and wish-fulfillment, with clear boundaries around it. She couldn’t let herself cross them, no matter what Henning made her feel.

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