AllFreeNovel
Share Us
How could they be when his body’s response to Lottie might unleash the kind of emotion and disorder that was incompatible with the serenity he was so determined to give his daughter?
CHAPTER FOUR
ICELAND WAS NOTHING like Lottie had imagined.
Since their arrival two hours ago the sky had changed colour so many times she had lost count. Swollen lead-grey clouds had given way to a dazzling sunlight that turned everything golden, and then moments later the sun had been swallowed up by diaphanous veils of mist.
But if the weather was capricious, the land itself was otherworldly.
Through the helicopter window, the co
untryside rushing beneath her looked like another planet. Huge, smooth boulders that might have been used by giants in a game of football sat in a field that appeared to be covered in what looked like bright yellow moss, and carving a path several metres wide through the field was a thundering river.
It was beautiful and alien and intimidating.
A bit like Ragnar himself, she thought, gritting her teeth and hugging her daughter closer to her chest beneath the lap strap. Except that rocks and rivers didn’t continually leave you second-guessing their actions.
Gazing through the glass, she tried to concentrate on the scenery, but the feeling of apprehension that had started low in her stomach when they’d landed in Reykjavik was now pushing up into her throat.
She had assumed—naively, as it now turned out—that Ragnar’s home would be near Iceland’s capital city. He hadn’t said as much, but nor had there been any indication that it would be at the edge of the known earth, or at least the solid part.
A panicky furtive check on her phone had confirmed the worst. His home was on the Tröllaskagi—the Troll Peninsula. Beyond the peninsula was only the sea, until you reached the archipelago of Svalbard, with a roughly equal ratio of humans to polar bears, and then there was nothing but open water until you arrived in the Arctic.
He might just as well be taking her to the moon.
She glanced swiftly across the cabin to where Ragnar sat, his blue gaze scanning the skyline. He was wearing slouchy jeans, some kind of insulated jacket, and a pair of broken-in hiking boots—the kind of ordinary clothes worn by an average man taking a break in a winter wilderness. But there was nothing ordinary about Ragnar—and she wasn’t talking about his wealth or his glacial beauty. There was a concentrated intensity to his presence so that even when he was sitting down she could sense the languid power in the casual arrangement of his limbs.
He was not always so languid or casual.
Her pulse stuttered.
They had spent such a short amount of time together, and yet the memory of those few feverish hours had stayed with her.
She clenched her hands against the curl of desire stirring inside her.
Even before they’d left England the idea of being alone with him for three weeks had made her feel off-balance, but now that she was here his constant nearness was playing havoc with her senses. She didn’t want to be affected by him, but unfortunately her body didn’t seem to have got that particular memo.
She thought back to that moment on the plane. One minute they had been arguing and then the air had seemed to bloom around them, pushing them closer, holding them captive, so that for a few pulsing seconds there had been nothing except their mutual irresistible fascination.
She shivered. And now they were going to be stuck in the wilderness together, with nothing to hold them in check except their willpower.
It was tempting to throw his ‘invitation’ back in his face and tell him that she was going home—or at least back to civilisation in Reykjavik. But she doubted he would listen. And anyway, she didn’t want to give him the opportunity to accuse her of having another temper tantrum.
Her gaze returned to the window. The land was growing whiter and the sky darker—and then suddenly they had arrived.
Clutching Sóley against her body, she stepped out onto the snow and gazed mutely at the house in front of her. Without the frenetic noise of the helicopter, the silence was so huge it seemed to roar inside her ears.
‘Welcome to my home.’
She glanced up at Ragnar. He was standing beside her, his blond hair snapping in the wind, a slab of sunlight illuminating his face so that she could see the contours of his bones beneath the skin. He looked impassive and resolute, more returning warrior than CEO.
His eyes held hers for a few endless seconds, and then he said quietly, ‘Let’s go inside. I’ll show you your rooms.’
‘Home’ didn’t seem quite the right word, she thought a moment later, pressing her face against her daughter’s cheek, seeking comfort in her warm, sweet smell. This was a lair—a secluded hideaway miles from anywhere—its white walls and bleached wood blending perfectly into the snow-covered landscape.
The interior did nothing to reduce her panic.
Partly it was the sheer scale of the rooms—her whole cottage would fit into the entrance hall. Partly it was the minimalist perfection of the decor, so different from the piles of baby clothes hanging above the stove and the stack of newspapers waiting to be recycled in her home. But mostly it was having her earlier fears confirmed.
