Page 26 of Hotter on Ice

“I didn’t mean to—”

Alya burst out laughing, cutting off his grumble.

“Yes, you did,” she said, still laughing. The sound was beautiful, soft and musical, and finally, reluctantly, he smiled too. “But I also need a little time to relax.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “You want to go back to the room and relax with me?”

She tugged on his arm a little, and he blew out a breath and followed her. He probably would have followed her anywhere if she asked. They walked in silence, into the warm building and down the hallway, the tension from the day building with every step closer to the room. Two models passed, their glances bouncing from Alya to him in open curiosity, and Henning scowled at them. Yeah, it was obvious what was going on, but at this point, he didn’t care. All he could think about was Alya in white, lying on that red satin bed, looking at him.

Henning entered the room first, giving it a quick sweep because he would never, ever forget that he was here first and foremost for her protection. But the room was silent, the beds made and the breakfast dishes gone. It was simple, impersonal, so much like a setting from a magazine he’d see her in, and, yet, this was real. And of all the men in the world, she was looking at him right now. No one else. What a lucky bastard he was. For a few short days.

He turned to her and fingered the zipper of her coat.

“Are you warm enough?”

She blinked at him. “You have something about the cold, don’t you? You don’t like it.”

Henning swallowed. “We can talk about that later.”

She shrugged. “I’m fine. My jacket was warm when you gave it back.”

He stroked her hair, but he wasn’t convinced.

“Besides, when I lay there on that bed, I found a way to keep myself warm.” Her voice was soft and silky. “Want to know how?”

He tugged on the zipper of her coat, drawing out this moment, drawing out this time before the wave of want and need came crashing in. Slowly, he revealed the elaborate wrap of her sweater, soft and white. It twisted around her body, and he reached in to find the ties that held it together. Her stomach was warm under his hands. “Tell me.”

Alya licked her lips. “When I lay on that Viking bed, I was thinking about you last night. Kneeling with your cock in your hand. And what you’d say if you were next to me.”

Henning chuckled and took a step back from her. “I’d say let’s get the hell out of this ice prison and get you warm.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

STEAMCLOUDEDTHEbathroom mirror as Alya peeled off her pants and camisole. She slipped her fingers under the waistband of her panties but paused when she caught sight of the peach, lacy material.

She wiped a patch of the fog off the mirror and studied her arms, her stomach, her hips. In a world where women bonded over dieting wins and failures, she had gotten this body. Tall, slim but a little curvy, with small, rounded breasts and very little sun damage—that last part thanks to her mother’s own aversion to the sun, ensuring that not only her mother but also that she and Natasha were camera-ready. It was a body that brands designed for, before they translated those styles into real-world sizes. If she believed everything the fashion industry had taught her, this body was for show, not for real-world practicalities. But Alya didn’t care what the rest of the world thought. Today, she cared about what Henning thought.

Did he see her through the lens of the magazine descriptions?Etherealwas one of the words that surfaced, again and again, with its companions,otherworldlyanduntouchable. That last one she particularly hated. What kind of person didn’t want to be touched? Not her, that was for sure.

God, she hoped Henning didn’t see her that way. The electric tension between them yesterday had been very much grounded in the physical world.

She stepped out of her panties and into the hot shower. She stood under the showerhead, letting the warm water seep in as she replayed the morning. Henning on his knees in front of her at breakfast. On the Viking bed, with Jean Pierre stretched along her side as Henning’s gaze burned into her. Henning keeping her jacket warm against him.

How many times had other men touched her? Her job required close contact with other models, and not once had any one of those intimate poses awoken feelings this intense. But all it took was Henning’s gaze to send bolts of heat through her, fighting the cold.

The way he towered over her left her breathless. And the sound of his breath stuttering as she pressed her hand against his stomach. The strokes of his tongue between her legs. Now she was standing under the falling water, naked and burning up inside that memory. A flush crept up her neck, her body alive, craving more.

Alya climbed out of the shower, towel-dried her hair and then wrapped another towel around her body.

When she finally opened the door again, Henning was sitting on the bed, his forearms resting on his knees, his head hung. A T-shirt stretched over his hard, muscular chest, his biceps ripped and cut from years of physical training. Slowly, he sat up, and heat spread through her body in new waves as she took him in. Any traces of smoothness to him were long gone, if he ever had them. Just barely visible on one side were the ropy scars that lined his neck and disappeared under his shirt, healed but far from gone. Henning Fischer was the most incredible man she had ever seen. He had wanted to give her pleasure yesterday. Now she wanted her turn.

When her gaze finally reached his face again, Henning’s eyes were on her. His expression was dark and hot, and the tension between them crackled. He couldn’t know about the way she had imagined them together, but it was as if he was thinking about those exact same things.

Alya swallowed. Then, slowly, she walked toward him. His legs were parted, and she continued until she was standing between his knees. Liquid heat rolled from his gaze, turning her insides red-hot. The pull between them sparked, alive, electric. His hands moved to her thighs, touching them, but it felt more like an assessment than seduction.

“You warm now?” he asked softly.

“Yes, thanks.” She smiled. “You realize the temperature in our ice room will be zero tonight, right?”

His jaw tightened. “Yeah. I’ll deal with it.”