Page 14 of Hotter on Ice

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.