Page 15 of Hotter on Ice

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.Aloofandsnobbishwere much better, reputation-wise, thantrain wreck.

A couple models known for partying were settled up at the bar and clearly past their first drinks, with a sort offuck caring about my image—I’m going to have fun with thisair 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, nowshe 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 theBehind the Runwaycrew 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.