Page 1 of Hotter on Ice

CHAPTER ONE

WHYTHEHELLishetakingsolong?

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,maybeshe 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.