Page 24 of Hotter on Ice

“THELOCATIONISgoing to make this shoot a little crazy,” said Alya as they headed down the hall of the warm portion of the hotel to the lobby, where they’d meet the rest of the crew. “There’s a lot of running between the warm and cold parts of the hotel to change, and the ice means that the lights can’t be on for too long, so we don’t melt the place down. Each shoot needs to happen quickly...you get the picture.”

“And then there’s keeping you warm,” grumbled Henning. He sized her up. Hot, as usual, but the skintight pants and thin fluffy sweater barely looked warm enough for the heated portion of the hotel, let alone in the fancy igloo where they were headed. “How long are you supposed to lie on that bed without a coat?”

Alya shrugged. “They have saunas to warm us after we’re done.”

“You mean those hot rooms where a bunch of people sit around naked together?” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

She laughed. “Yeah, those. You interested?”

“Sitting in a room watching other people look at you naked?” He shook his head. “I’m pretty sure that would cross my limits.”

This morning was already pushing up against the limits of his restraint. And as they walked down the hallway, watching men pass, their gazes lingering on her, he could see those limits were going to be further tested. Nothing about this scene had changed from yesterday; if anything, it should be easier to stomach these looks, knowing he had spent the previous night doing the kinds of things with her he hadn’t even let himself dream of. He should be relaxed, especially given the way he had come more intensely than he ever had last night. But he wasn’t anywhere near relaxed.

They had come to the lobby, and she slowed to a stop. Various models and staff wandered in and out of the area, speaking different languages, throwing glances at them, their eyes darting from Alya to him and back again to Alya.

To some degree, this was inevitable. He was a big motherfucker, and his scars upped the intimidation factor enough that people tended to give him a wide berth under any circumstance. But here, he stuck out even more. This was an industry designed to make people forget how brutal life could be. Henning was a snarling beast of a reminder that even for someone of his stature, life never turned out like one of the glossy magazine spreads.

Alya tilted her head, studying him, but she didn’t say anything. Maybe she did understand all of this better than he was giving her credit for.

“You ready?” he asked, nodding across the room, where a woman with blue hair and a tablet was waving her over.

“You can stay with me, you know. Watch me get ready.” Her smile turned intimate, her voice soft. “You might enjoy it.”

Henning gave a rough laugh. “I’m sure there are plenty of things to enjoy about it,” he said, letting his gaze travel down her body.

But that would mean watching someone else touch her, dress her, brush her hair, knowing that there were hours before the next time he would be alone with. Hell no.

“I have some catching up to do.” He held up his laptop. “I’ll be out here waiting for you.”

Her eyes stayed on him, clear, assessing, making everything else fade away. So he rested his hand on her lower back. Such a small thing, too subtle for anyone else to notice. Henning hadn’t even fully thought it through before his hand was there. They were only a few paces away from the others, a short distance, but as they walked those steps, Henning let his guard down momentarily. He let himself imagine that this amazing woman could be his, really his. He let himself pretend that he wasn’t too broken to be the kind of man who would make her feel safe and strong at the same time. Both independent and owned. Always cherished. Everything she deserved to feel. And he let himself forget that he had so much shit buried inside that would destroy this raw, new connection the moment he let her in for real.

None of these things he imagined were truly possible, so he simply let himself have those few steps. And when they ended, he didn’t bother looking around. He didn’t want to see the stares this time. He didn’t welcome the reminder that he had lived and Sanjay had died, the way he usually did. This time, what he felt was the deep chasm between the person that Alya needed and the person that he was. And for the first time since he had been carried off the cold floor of the warehouse, he wanted those deep wounds to heal. But he had no idea how the hell to do that.

So, instead, he took one last whiff of her warm, honey scent, wiped the emotion off his face and walked away.

Alya came out of the makeshift dressing room laughing, all wrapped in a sweater and scarf, her hair artfully piled on her head, dramatic makeup drawing his gaze to the deep blue depths of her eyes.

Laughing. She was laughing, and that fucker she would be photographed with was the one who was making her laugh. Henning gritted his teeth. Hell no. He wasnotone of those jealous pricks who wanted to control his girl’s every move.

P.S. This isn’t your girl, so take it down a notch, asshole.

But then Alya turned to look at him, and all the tension inside turned into something else. The look was there for only a moment, private, but it was personal. A warm, vulnerable hint of a smile. A reminder of all the holes in his defenses that he had spent the last hour trying to patch.

He refused to react. Henning closed his laptop and followed behind Alya, the male model and a few others, keeping his distance. Watching Alya was no hardship. When she walked out of that room, her makeup had surprised him, but seeing her from farther away as she turned her head to talk, he understood the effect. Her blue eyes sparkled, even from a distance, and her dark red lips were so fucking hot. His gaze was drawn back to them again and again. How many men would stare at those lips between the pages of a magazine, imagining what they would feel like around their cocks? Fuck, he wanted to protect her from that...which was the wrong line of thought. He took a couple deep breaths.

They walked outside into the cold winter morning. Snow sparkled in all directions, and the sky was clear and dim. Outside the cold part of the Icehotel, a couple generators hummed, their cords disappearing into the structure.

Henning had gone back to the room to gather the outerwear the hotel had lent them, but Alya wasn’t wearing hers. Instead, she had on a sleek winter coat that looked way too thin for the temperature. He glared at the blue-haired woman’s back for leaving her underprepared for the weather, though he knew it probably wasn’t her call. But, Christ, Alya must be cold. He could have held his tongue about anything else, but not the cold. He caught up to them and opened the door to the Icehotel.

“You warm enough right now?” His voice was rough.

She nodded.

Still, he was dying to test her temperature himself, feel her hands. It was hard as hell to tamp down the bone-deep urge to take care of her, but he forced his hand to the side.

Just relax.

Jean Pierre and Alya followed the assistant down the ice hallway, the model’s hand now resting on Alya’s back. The way Henning’s had been. But the winter jacket meant his hand was nowhere near her skin. Yet. That would change the moment they started the shoot. Henning blew out a breath. He was going to spend the day watching her from the sidelines. How the fuck he was going to survive this was unclear, but he was banking on the belief that he could make it through just about anything as long as Alya didn’t get hurt.