Page 35 of Hotter on Ice

Henning kissed her on the forehead and held her closer. “Yes. More than what I had hoped for. So much more.” She looked up and stared at him, a little stunned, so he kissed her again. “You’ve gone way over your question limit. Let’s go to sleep.”

She nodded, her cheek brushing against his chest, her fluffy hat tickling his nose. He shifted onto his back so she could rest her head on his chest. Alya adjusted and then propped herself on her elbow. The sleeping bag fell off her shoulder, revealing the only layer now between her skin and the cold.

“Careful,” he whispered, pulling the fluffy down cover up over her, holding it in place. “I don’t want you cold.”

“You’re like a furnace. You’ll keep me warm,” she said, running her hand over his chest.

Then she brushed her lips over his. She ran her fingers over the scarred side of his face and kissed him again. The familiar desire was still there, but in the warmth of her mouth he found something more, something he wasn’t ready to process.

The memory of the kiss lingered as she lay her head on his chest, and he brought his arm around her, holding her and closing his eyes. Even breaths of icy air didn’t matter when Alya was warm, pressed up against him. Safe.

As he drifted off, somewhere in the space between awake and asleep, the last of his defenses fell. But for once, it wasn’t visions of death that came. It wasn’t the gaping hole inside him that he felt, the piece of him that he had left behind on that warehouse floor. It wasn’t even lust for the woman who was nestled against him.

It was hope, dangling its sparkling lure, a tempting escape from the dark pool of the half life he had made for himself these last years. He knew what that shiny lure was attached to, knew its promises weren’t what they seemed, but right now, it looked better than the waters he was in.

So, for the first time in years, Henning let himself hope.

CHAPTER TEN

ALYASTARTLEDOUTof her sleep. Something had awoken her, and her body was on high alert. She was cold, she realized with a shiver. Somehow, the sleeping bag had moved down, exposing her to the arctic temperatures. She lay sprawled across Henning’s body, tense underneath hers. One of his hands held her head against his chest, and the other was clamped around her shoulder.

She took a couple deep breaths as relief rushed through her. She was here, in the Viking Room of the Icehotel with Henning. The room was dark and silent, so what had jolted her out of her sleep? She tugged up the sleeping bag and lifted her head to see him.

He was lying on his back. The shadows hid most of the scars along his cheek, but she could see hints of the taut, smooth skin by his mouth. At some point she had read about scars in nursing school, how they could pull and stretch at the skin. Were his painful?

Alya studied him, his face so serious, even in sleep. She tried to picture Henning as a boyfriend, sitting down for a quiet breakfast, reading the newspaper. Not a chance. Had he ever imagined himself on the path the led to a wife, two kids and a picket fence? She just couldn’t see that either. Sex? Definitely, but more than that just didn’t seem to fit with him.

As she watched, his face drew up into a tight grimace. She sucked in a gasp as a strangled cry of anger and pain filled the room. It was the same sound that had awoken her—she was sure of it—and it came from deep inside Henning’s chest. Her body tensed, as his pain echoed through her.

“Henning?” Nothing. She tried again. “Henning?”

His mouth twisted, like she was making it worse. She had to do something. Alya reached out her hand, touching his cheek. He flinched.

“Henning? It’s me.” She moved her hand along his jaw, down his neck, over his shoulder to his enormous bicep. Then she shook him a little, trying to wake him up.

It all happened so quickly that she didn’t remember how he managed it, but in the next moment she was flat on her back. Henning was on top of her, his forearms holding her arms by her sides, her legs trapped between his heavy thighs. The traces of light from the hallway brought his scars into painful relief. He blinked down at her, his eyes unfocused. He squeezed them shut, and then looked down at her again. His eyes widened in surprise.

“What the fuck?” he whispered, more to himself than to her, it seemed.

It took a moment for her to get her voice back.

“You were dreaming, Henning,” she said. “I... I had to wake you up.”

He was still staring down at her as if he was trying to fit all the pieces of this moment together.

“Alya?” His voice was thick with sleep and confusion.

“Yes. It’s me.” If she had her hands free, she would have reached up, stroked his face, reminding him of where they were. Reminding him ofthem. But he was holding her down. She tugged her arms, but he didn’t move, just stared down at her. Finally he shifted, loosening her arms.

“Alya.” Her name was an answer this time, and he said it as if it were the one answer to everything. “You’re not hurt. Thank God.”

She leaned up to brush her lips against his, and he shuddered, the hard line of his mouth softening. Between her legs his cock grew fast, pressing against her. Heat rushed to her cheeks and a deep groan rose from Henning’s chest. She looked up into his intense brown eyes and found a bottomless well of aching hunger.

Her hands were free now, so she brought them to his shoulders, pressing them against the fabric of his shirt. He hissed out a breath, and his cock throbbed against her, but he didn’t move. He just looked down at her with a gaze somewhere between wonder and fear.

“I’m fine, Henning,” she said, stroking the thick muscles of his shoulders, so tense and hard under her fingers. The air was cold and his body was hot, even through the material of his shirt.

“It was just so cold in my dream. You were so cold. And...” He closed his eyes, and his breaths were long and deep as he touched her bare skin, tracing the planes of her face, as if he was reminding himself of her. As if he needed to remember she was real. His touch wasn’t sexual, at least not in the way she expected. He just seemed to want to touch and breathe, to hold on to this moment.