Page 32 of Hotter on Ice

“You didn’t respond when she asked about someone new in your life. And she suspected it was me.” Jean Pierre laughed. “Which, of course, I didn’t confirm or deny.”

“Of course not.”

Audrey and Katherine laughed, and Jean Pierre shrugged. “It’s what they were looking for. Why not?”

“It could have been worse,” said Alya. Like if they had instead turned their eyes to Henning, who was doing his best to stay as far away from the camera as possible. He had left the room entirely when she sat down for the interview.

“Change of subject. I heard from the hotel staff that Daxon Miles is coming tomorrow,” said Katherine. “He was on some endurance ski trek in Sweden, and now he’s heading here.”

Alya wrinkled her brow. “Who’s that?”

“The hot guy from that YouTube show, Pure Adrenaline, where he cliff-dives and scales mountains—that kind of thing.” Katherine smiled. “Hot, single, withthatkind of reputation.”

Audrey laughed. “In other words, Katherine’s staying an extra night here.”

“Sounds entertaining,” said Alya, taking a bite of smoked fish. “You’re probably not the only one staying on.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never heard of him.” Jean Pierre chuckled. “That bodyguard of yours keeping you occupied?”

Katherine looked over her shoulder at Henning, then back at Alya. “I can see the appeal. That brooding, tortured vibe he has going on can make things interesting in bed.”

Alya resisted the urge to look back at Henning. She resisted the urge to contradict this one-dimensional view of him, that his scars were about sex appeal, not him. But saying any of those things was as good as admitting the truth: not only were they sleeping together, but she was starting to want more. So instead, she waved off the comment, like it was just another half-serious insinuation. Like he didn’t matter to her, one way or another. And it felt like shit to do that.

Alya stopped in front of the doors to the Icehotel and turned around, looking at him with those beautiful blue eyes. The snow was falling in tiny, shimmering flakes all around her. She was so lovely it hurt, but Henning couldn’t look away. Her eyes glittered, and her cheeks were flushed from sex after dinner. It had happened, urgent and wordless, as they changed into thermals before putting on their snowsuits. Alya still hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words since they left the restaurant, which was fine in his book, but now, as she looked up at him, he could feel that something was on her mind.

“You sure you’re okay with sleeping in this place?”

Oh, that. Henning’s half-smile tugged at his lips. “I’m feeling pretty relaxed right now.”

“Me, too. But that’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” He did. Looking down at her, he drank in the warmth of her expression. “I’m fine.”

Surprisingly, he really did feel fine. The shudder of dread that had run through his body the first time the cold wind hit his face was gone. Maybe it was the sex, all that intimacy that was loosening something inside him, or maybe the sharpest edges of those memories of the explosion were finally dulling, but he felt so much better than fine...as long as he kept his mind on this moment. Not the past, and not the future.

Alya’s gaze stayed on him for an extra beat, and then she nodded. So he reached for the reindeer antler handle and opened the door to the frozen palace in front of them.

All the cords and equipment from the shoot were gone, and the hallway was silent. Inside, away from the gusts of wind, the only sounds were the crunches of their footsteps on the snowy floor. The tiny lights behind the sculptures shone through the blocks of ice, but otherwise, there were no other hints of civilization except this marvelous creation of ice and snow that surrounded them. There were others from the shoot staying the night in the Icehotel, but even they felt far away. He and Alya were alone.

“You know where we’re staying, I assume,” he said. Henning had been a little distracted on that first day, when the receptionist gave her the details.

She looked up at him. “Um, I changed our room.”

He nodded, waiting for whatever was making her hesitate.

“I had originally reserved a room with separate beds, so I changed it.”

“I see.” Henning swallowed.

She frowned. “Judging from the look on your face, I should have asked first. But I just thought...” Her voice trailed off, and she sighed. “Sorry.”

He gritted his teeth. Time to put aside his own baggage and be what Alya needed for one more night. He could give her that.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said softly. “There’s nothing I’d love more than to spend the night next to you.”

She blinked up at him, searching, but if she was looking for hesitation in that statement, she wouldn’t find any. He had spoken the truth, full stop, and if she wanted him close one more time, he was going to give that to her. Besides, he rarely had nightmares anymore. And with Alya next to him, her body against his, the scent of her surrounding him—these sensations had slowly carved a little opening of light into the cave where he had buried himself for years. It would be enough to get him through tonight.

She must have found an answer because she smiled. “Good. Because I switched us to the Viking Room.”