Page 22 of Hotter on Ice

The box was large and round, like an oversize hat box, sky blue with a card on top.

“Not shipped,” she said. “Must be designer samples, swag.”

Henning wrinkled his forehead. “Designers just give you stuff? Don’t people pay ridiculous amounts of money for these things?”

“It’s not out of the goodness of their hearts,” she said, taking another sip. “They’re hoping I’ll wear their clothes, preferably on camera for the documentary filming. Free advertisement.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

Alya zeroed in on the hard-boiled egg. How long had it been since she’d eaten one of those for breakfast?

“You’re not going to open it?”

She took her eyes off the egg and waggled her eyebrows at him. “You think there might be something in there that interests you?”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a slow smile. Even on the scarred side of his face, she saw a hint of lightness. “If it’s a lacy thong for you to try on, I’d be into that.”

“I bet you would.”

Alya took another gulp of coffee and walked over to the box. She pulled off the lid and peered inside. Tissue paper covered the top, soft, light blue. She pulled out the first layer and found a white, silk camisole. She held it up.

“Yeah, I’ll wear this,” she said. She turned around and shucked her top, smiling over her shoulder at Henning. His eyes were wide. He clearly wasn’t used to the unabashed undressing and dressing that took place in her world. She slipped the camisole on and faced him.

“You like it?”

His laugh was low and sensual. “I love it.”

“Good,” she said, bending down to look through the box. More silky shirts and lacy undergarments. Nice but not very practical for the Arctic Circle. Alya took off the lid of a little box to find a...tiara? She held it up, laughing.

“I can’t believe this one,” she said, looking at Henning. “Who wears these?”

Henning shrugged. “I know someone who wears them.”

“Um, the queen of England?”

“Yeah. And my niece,” he said with a smile. “Just about every time I see her, in fact.”

Alya stared at him, trying to picture this jaded man with a little girl in a tiara.

“Your niece?” she asked. “How old is she?”

Henning’s broken smile was warm. “Five next weekend. She has a dance performance while we’re here, and I’m almost positive she’ll be wearing one of those.”

She was still having trouble fitting this information into her understanding of Henning. At the dance recitals of his little princessy niece? She tried to picture the scene: Henning squatting down to five-year-old height as a little girl in a dress and tiara stood in front of him. She’d be explaining something to him, and he’d focus all his attention on the child. His size, the scars, the quiet intensity of him, everything that kept people at a distance—that heusedto keep people at a distance—wouldn’t matter to his niece.

“You missed her dance recital,” she said slowly. “For this job. With me.”

He shrugged, like he genuinely wasn’t worried. “My sister and her family live over in the Manly Beach area, close to where I grew up. I see them all the time.”

She knew so little about him, and she was gobbling up this little peek into his life. He was so much more than the version of himself he presented to the world.

Alya brought the box with the tiara over to the table and placed it in front of him as she sat down. “This is for your niece. If she’d like it.”

His crooked smile was full of warmth and indulgence. “Thank you. I’m sure she’d love it.”

His gaze stayed on her as his smile faded. All that was left was his intense gaze. The breakfast to her room, his anticipation of everything she needed, the orgasms... He was going to ruin her for the real-life version of boyfriends whenever she started dating again.

Alya swallowed and scanned the breakfast spread again. She picked up a little tube, turning it over in her hand. All the writing was in Swedish, of course. “What’s this?”