Alya Petrova is ready to move on from her past with a red-hot fling in Sweden...and her sexy bodyguard Henning Fischer knows exactly what she needs!

Model Alya Petrova is finally going to meet the man who has kept her safe from afar for the past three years. She’s been offered the photoshoot of a lifetime at the exclusive Icehotel in Sweden, but thanks to her dangerous ex, she needs a bodyguard when she’s traveling. Who better than sexy surveillance specialist Henning Fischer?

Since the fallout of a tragic case five years ago, former police officer Henning has made it a rule to never, ever meet his clients...but Alya is different. Henning has protected and fantasized about Alya from afar for so long, but even he is shocked by the explosive desire he feels for her in person.

The fiery pair are both running from troubled lives, so the scorching chemistry between them is the perfect distraction in wintry Sweden. Henning and Alya soon give in to temptation and indulge their wildest fantasies for a few days of ecstasy. But will their passion survive the scars of their pasts?

Harlequin DARE publishes sexy romances featuring powerful alpha heroes and bold, fearless heroines exploring their deepest fantasies.

Four new Harlequin DARE titles are available each month, wherever ebooks are sold!

Award-winning author of sensual, emotional adventures of the heart, REBECCA HUNTER writes sexy stories about alpha men and spirited women set in Australia for Mills & Boon DARE. She lives with her family in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Also by Rebecca Hunter

Best Laid Plans

Playing with Fire

Baring It All

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Hotter on Ice

Rebecca Hunter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09939-4

HOTTER ON ICE

© 2020 Rebecca Hunter

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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To Mr. Hunter, who has entertained so many of my

crazy ideas over the years, including the one about

staying in a hotel made of ice and snow in northern

Sweden. I love this journey we’re on together! xo

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

WHY THE HELL is he taking so long?

Alya Petrova had peeled herself out of bed at six thirty in the morning to be on time for this meeting. Now she found herself sitting at the Blackmore Inc. conference-room table alone, fifteen minutes after the hour, staring out blankly at Sydney Harbour, waiting for Henning Fischer to show up.

In the world of virtual communication, Henning was the most reliable person she knew. Apparently, those skills didn’t translate into real-world punctuality.

Being nervous as hell wasn’t helping. What would it feel like to meet the surveillance expert she’d talked with over the phone for the last three years? She knew almost nothing about Henning himself. His name had floated around in conversation for as long as she’d worked with the elite security service Blackmore Inc., and she had gathered scraps of information from her former bodyguard, Max Jensen. Surveillance specialist. Ex–Australian Federal Police officer. Who never, ever appeared in person.

So, of course, she’d turned to the internet, which was surprisingly stingy on Henning Fischer–related information. A couple track and field championships from years ago. An occasional statement by him in connection with police work. And only one clear photo, an official-looking portrait from his cadet days. Physically, he was striking, his dark brown eyes intense. Though the photo showed only to his shoulders, it was clear he was built. She had stared at that photo more than once, trying to connect it with the man whose voice rumbled through her phone. She couldn’t make it fit.

This was the person who had watched over her through her front hall security camera, giving her a boost of support on her weakest days, those vulnerable times she’d worked so hard to move past. She hadn’t wanted to lean on someone else—a man, no less—for comfort, but Henning had been a safe bet.

Now that distance between them was about to disappear. Soon he would walk through the door, a flesh-and-blood man, not just an idea. Okay, maybe she had developed a tiny bit of a crush on him. It had been a completely harmless escape when she thought she’d never meet him, a safe place to put all sorts of fantasies.

But her modeling shoot on the Great Barrier Reef had changed everything. When her former bodyguard devoted all his off hours on the island to her sister, Natasha, the two had fallen in love. Alya had definitely seen that one coming. Shortly after, Max stepped down from working one-on-one with all clients, including her. That one she hadn’t seen coming, though, in the end, it was for the best. Alya had taken this change as an overdue nudge to reassess her security situation. A lot had changed in the three years since she had moved an ocean away from her stalker ex, and she didn’t really need a bodyguard in most cases anymore. Surveillance of Nick, her ex, was enough.

This week was the exception: a fashion shoot on the other side of the world was a long way to travel without security. But with Max no longer working in that role, a new plan had been hatched: Henning would take Max’s place.

The longer she waited in this quiet conference room, the more the anticipation buzzed through her. She had imagined many versions of him, but what would it feel like to be close to the real Henning all day long? Standing next to him, almost touching, his deep voice in her ear...

Alya stood up and started for the door, looking for a distraction. Maybe the receptionist would point her to the coffee machine?

She crossed the room, slowing as a familiar voice came through the closed door. Henning’s. After three years of phone calls, she’d know it anywhere. Alya froze, her hand just shy of the door handle. Did she continue her search for coffee or return to her seat?

Then the door opened, and she was buried in his chest. His hands closed around her arms, steadying her. His warm, musky scent... Relief hit her first, and then—oh, God—something powerful. Urgent. His breaths were sharp and erratic in her ear. He towered over her, his presence everywhere. Oh my, her harmless crush was sooo not harmless anymore.

“You okay?” His voice was a familiar rumble, and the sound of it in person turned the fluttering inside into molten lava.

Alya nodded against him, too stunned to speak. Her fingers, her arms, her breasts, her stomach—everything tingled with awareness. Was her body calling to him or answering his call? It felt like both. After things went so terribly wrong with Nick, she had had a growing suspicion that she was just too wary to feel this...captivated by a man. Wrong, so very wrong. Her reaction to Henning was bone-deep and intoxicating.

There was no good explanation for what she did next. Alya lifted her hands and touched him, pressed her palms against his stomach. Checking if he was real. Yes, he was definitely a solid, warm, very real man. Henning sucked in a harsh breath, and his muscles twitched, turning rock-hard under her touch. His hands tensed around her arms, and a low growl came from deep inside him.

Alya froze. Shit. She was feeling up Henning Fischer, uninvited. In the Blackmore Inc. conference room. What the hell was wrong with her? She stepped back.

“Sorry. That was totally out of li—” She met his gaze.

The first thing she saw was his eyes. Dark brown and even more serious than his picture had let on. Intense enough to steal her breath, and for a moment his gaze flared even hotter, darker. A rush of awareness ran through her, aching, burning.

Then she saw the scars.

Jagged, unnaturally smooth, down the left side of his face. Skin that had been stitched and patched together. Her eyes widened. The old, grainy photo online had shown him as good-looking in a clean-cut, impersonal sort of way. But he was so, so far from clean-cut now. Alya followed the longest scar that tugged at his left eye, distorting one side of his face, then disappearing into the collar of his shirt.

His big body, the scent of him, the rawness in his voice, his dark eyes, the scars—all of these pieces came together into one thought as she stood in the doorway gaping at him: this man knew trauma. He understood it. Her heart jumped and pulsed in her chest, expanding. She understood it, too.

Shit—how long had she been staring at his scars?

Too long. When her gaze flickered back up to his, all the burning intensity she’d seen seconds before had vanished. His face was shuttered closed, giving nothing away, and his expression was cool, impersonal. The only hint of emotion he showed was the rapid ticking of his pulse at the base of his neck.

Slick introduction, girl.

Time to start over, preferably in the way regular people introduced themselves.

“Sorry again. I’m Alya, in person,” she said. “And doing a crap job at making a good first impression.”

Henning blinked down at her, his gaze softening a little. “Henning Fischer, very much in person. As you clearly noticed.”

“Clearly,” she said dryly, trying to preserve the last of her dignity in this exchange. Was he teasing her about feeling him up or about staring at his scars? Probably both.

The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the uninjured corner of his mouth. Heat was rising into her cheeks, as he studied her in the quiet room. She studied him right back.

“Max should be right in,” he finally said, gesturing to the conference table. “You know how this works.”

Yes, she did. She had sat across from Max at this table many times, going over her security details. But never once had she been so fully aware of each breath, each movement, the way she was right now with Henning.

Alya took a seat and flipped open the folder in front of her, skimming through the papers in it. Henning sat down facing her, silent, alert, an overwhelming physical presence. He radiated a protectiveness that wrapped around her, settling inside her. It was the same feeling she had gotten over the phone, somehow both calming and incredibly engaging. In person, it was magnified a thousand times.

She glanced up to find his gaze fixed on her, his dark eyes unreadable. The old Alya, the woman who had gotten herself tangled up with Nick Bancroft back in LA, would have looked away. That version of herself had given up her jobs and friends three years ago and fled the country when Nick wouldn’t leave her alone, despite the restraining order. But she wasn’t that woman anymore, so Alya stared back at him. He was a solid, motionless mountain of a man, with hulking shoulders and thick biceps that stretched the material of his shirt. His power and prowess were controlled but not at all concealed, as if his body was a well-honed tool, ready for use.

The current between them ran hotter, and with every breath, heat coiled inside her. But she couldn’t mistake this strong, immediate pull between them for something more than it was—plain sexual interest. She had been down that road of powerful attraction before, and it led to disaster. She searched for something to say. “So...you ever been to Sweden before?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither. Cold, dark and snowy this time of the year, I hear.”

“Yep.”

“Not my favorite conditions, but my agent thinks the photo shoot plus the Behind the Runway documentary filming, with its daily YouTube outtakes, is too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

“Mmm.”

She bit back a sigh. He wasn’t giving her any help here but seemed perfectly content to just watch her talk. Thankfully, the click of the conference-room door ended this one-sided conversation.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Alya,” Max said, striding over to the table. “I trust you and Henning introduced yourselves.”

That was certainly an understatement. Her former bodyguard seemed oblivious to the tension between Henning and her, but knowing Max, she couldn’t be certain.

Wordlessly Henning opened the folder on the table in front of him. The muscles of his forearms rippled and flexed as he sifted through the stack of papers with large, blunt fingers. He pulled out a document and showed it to her.

“Here’s the master schedule for the week,” he said. “It includes flights, hotel contacts, dinners, photo sessions and interviews.”

He walked her through the details of each day as Alya followed along on the pages. His voice was gravelly and deep, as if whatever had scarred his face had roughed up the inside of him too. He was a practical speaker, his sentences short and clipped, his answers no longer than absolutely necessary. Pretty much the exact opposite of Max.

“The chances of Nick Bancroft showing up are very low,” said Henning, closing his folder. “It also helps that the Icehotel is in a remote corner of northern Sweden. We have plenty of warning when anyone flies into the tiny Kiruna airport.”

She didn’t doubt that. What he didn’t say was that he had all sorts of connections from his Australian Federal Police days that fed him information when he needed it. And with the kind of details he found, she was pretty sure the routes couldn’t all be legal. But she was starting to get the feeling that Henning did things his own way.

“Blackmore Inc. has done an amazing job at keeping Nick out of my life. I’m not worried.” She sat up straighter in her chair. “I considered going on this trip without security, but if he showed up and I had to deal with him alone, he’d make sure to stir up public drama. Public displays of personal problems are toxic in my industry, and Nick has already hijacked my career once.”

There were models whose lives played out in the tabloids. Drugs, tantrums, drive-through marriages and bitter custody battles—the world had an insatiable hunger for these kinds of stories. She had been at the center of one of those stories three years ago when, after Nick wouldn’t leave her alone, despite the restraining order, he’d publicly called her emotionally unstable under the guise of worry. She had worked so hard to keep their break-up quiet, but when he twisted her own words into evidence that she was becoming increasingly erratic, just like her mother, the press had been all too ready to pick up that story. Each move to distance herself from Nick became another example of her “irrational” behavior, another incident he used against her in the court of public opinion. All because ultra-rich, ultra-privileged Nick Bancroft had decided he wanted something—her—and he always got what he wanted.

Never again would she let that happen.

Henning was watching her closely. “Nick won’t get to you.”

The hot intensity in his eyes flared for one, brief moment, and then it was gone. A flush crept up her neck. Five days with Henning next to her—two on a plane and three at the Icehotel in Sweden. Was his effect on her obvious? She glanced at Max to gauge his reaction, but he was looking at the paper in front of him.

“I understand what I’m getting into by taking this job,” she said quietly. “Sasha Federov probably wouldn’t have given me this chance to represent his brand if my mother didn’t still hold her cult-like status in Russia. I’m sure he’s expecting me to follow in her footsteps, not just as a model but as an attention magnet. But in my agent’s words, I need to grab this chance and hold on to it. Even if it means being followed around by a documentary crew.”

Max nodded. “Henning will be connected with the team here if there’s anything you need to be aware of. You’ll be in good hands.” He lifted an eyebrow. “But I think you already know that.”

Yeah, she absolutely did. But now that they were in the same room together, the idea of spending the next five days with this man was getting more...complicated.

“Have a safe trip,” said Max, standing up.

Alya walked over and hugged him. “Thanks for everything.”

He had been part of her support system for over three years, and now their professional relationship was over. But the fact that he was at her and Natasha’s apartment almost daily meant this was far from goodbye. With one more nod at both of them, Max left.

Alya was alone again with Henning. He stood up and took a couple steps toward her. His gaze swept over her, dark and guarded. They were so close again, and the silence crackled with tension. Alya took a deep breath as the room seemed to heat up a couple degrees. It was too late to close herself to this connection, but she had no idea what to do with it. So she started with the obvious.

“I’m sorry for earlier. When I, um—” she bit her lip “—felt you up. I certainly wouldn’t want a guy doing that to me when we met.”

Henning’s eyes widened a bit, and then he smiled, but the half of his face marred by scars moved only slightly. It was a broken smile, filled with dark humor, and yet his uninjured eye crinkled at the corner, a hint of lightness in him.

“I don’t think it’s the same, Alya,” he said. “At least not for me. Truly, I’m okay with it.”

Was there a hint of laughter in his voice? Good to know. The meeting was over, but somehow, she didn’t feel like their conversation had ended. He crossed his arms in front of him, his biceps flexing as he watched her, taking her in.

Finally, Henning spoke again. “We are going to be spending every minute together for the next five days. I want you to feel very comfortable with me.”

Alya felt as if he were opening himself to her, just a little. His gaze said you can trust me, and she couldn’t look away.

“I doubt we’ll have any problems,” he continued in that low, rumbling voice. “But there is always the possibility that I will need to protect you. Physically.”

He paused, swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as the last word sank in. It ran through her body, suggesting much different ways he could physically affect her. Damn, she needed to get this under control. Attraction was about nothing more than sexual interest...which her body was clearly expressing right now. She felt the barely concealed desire in his eyes, and she was almost sure he could see the same in hers. She felt the pain Henning’s scars must have caused, and her mind was already at work, connecting that with the intense sense of...protectiveness...she had felt from him over the last three years. Everything else faded as this all fit together, like the final pieces of a puzzle, somewhere deep inside her. She was opening herself to this feeling, she didn’t know how to stop it. Or if she wanted to.

“I understand,” she said, her voice steady.

He gave her a little nod. Then he rubbed the scar on his neck absently. “I’m aware that with my size and my scars and what Max calls my aversion to conversation, I can come off as a little rough around the edges,” he said, cracking a hint of a smile again. It faded quickly. “But I never, ever want to scare you.”

Alya frowned. “You don’t. Not it all.”

She had a strong urge to clear up that misunderstanding, but elaborating would mean wandering into inappropriate territory. Her attraction was raw and very real. Any hints of wariness he had detected were about the intensity of her reaction to him, not fear.

Alya had to make him understand, and words didn’t seem to be the right path. So, instead, she raised her hand and slowly reached for his forearm, crossed over his broad chest. She gave him plenty of time to back away, but he didn’t, so she touched his skin. The electric spark between them surged once again, and she swallowed a gasp. His muscles twitched under her fingers, and his lips parted. Was he thinking about kissing, too?

“This isn’t fear, Henning,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

His chest rose and fell and she tried—and failed—to read his expression. Finally, he nodded. “You can touch me, do whatever you need during our trip. I don’t want to go into this with any hesitancy on your part.”

Alya’s heart jumped at each image his words conjured. Touch me. Whatever you need. The physical memory of her hands on the hard ridges of his abs came back, mingling with things she had only imagined.

There were nights he had watched her through the security camera in her front hall, making sure she came home safely. But what about the night she had come home, half-drunk, with her date, and had sex against the door in full view of the camera? The idea that Henning might be watching was a turn-on at the time. Now her mind wandered further. If he had watched, had he gotten himself off to it, too? Damn, that would be hot...

Get your mind out of the gutter, girl. You’re in his workplace.

She lowered her hand, breaking the connection. Then she smiled up at him. “Is the permission to touch standard in your Blackmore Inc. contract?”

The hint of a smile returned to Henning’s lips, and he shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m just letting you know how I work.”

“I’m sure you have plenty of satisfied clients,” she said, laughing.

“There are no other in-person clients for me. Not now, and not in the future.” Henning shook his head. “Only you.”

His eyes were dark flames, flickering, captivating. She was getting used to the way he watched her, his gaze unwavering. As if every bit of his focus was on her, as if nothing else in the world existed.

What did it mean to be intensely attracted to her bodyguard, right from the first moment she crashed into him? She had never felt this way about Max, so his appeal wasn’t just the role of protector. Henning awoke a hunger she knew couldn’t—shouldn’t—be fed...should it?

Maybe this was the wrong approach. She was done running away from her fears. Maybe it was time to take control of the situation, to explore it, to figure out what she was looking for, not just what to avoid.

But Alya didn’t know what was going on in Henning’s mind. She was almost positive he felt the same intense attraction, but maybe he had reasons he couldn’t or wouldn’t act on it. Like the obvious ones. What were the Blackmore Inc. rules about personal involvement with clients? Maybe she could just find a way to ask him...somehow. Alya’s face flushed as more of that current of sexual interest sizzled between them.

“I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow morning at six,” he said.

“I’ll be ready for you.”

“Alya?” His voice had lowered to almost a whisper. “Please send me a message if you think of anything you need. Or want. Anything.”

CHAPTER TWO

THE WORDS WERE out of his mouth before all the reasons not to say them registered. Henning’s mind was still stuck on the moment when her slim, tight body brushed against his. When she pressed her hands against his stomach, exploring before either of them seemed to fully register what was happening. Alya was soft. Slim but not frail. So very alive. She smelled of honey and sunshine, and every dark desire Henning had ever had.

But the reason to bury all those thoughts came crashing in seconds later. Her expression when she saw his face. He couldn’t forget that for a moment.

Henning took a step away, giving Alya a clear path to the conference-room door, giving himself a little distance from her intoxicating scent. Finally, her bright blue eyes flickered from his.

“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” he said, heading for the door before she had a chance to respond.

The reception area of the top floor was quiet and bright, the morning sun filtering through the frosted glass and reflecting off the polished wood surfaces. They headed for the elevators in silence, Henning’s body on high alert, fully tuned to her every move. She stopped in front of the heavy metal doors, but she didn’t reach for the call button. Instead, she turned to face him again.

“I’m beyond thrilled that Max and my sister found each other. Natasha’s happiness means everything to me,” she said. “It meant I lost my bodyguard, too, but that’s a small price.”

Henning could see that this was hard for her to talk about, so he waited, letting her take her time.

“Hiring security is a crutch I’ve leaned on for a while.” She swallowed, the movement sweeping down her long neck. “It used to be necessary all the time, but now it’s more often for a peace of mind than actual protection. It’s like a little bit of me believed his claims that I was turning into a train wreck, that I doubted myself. And I don’t like that feeling of vulnerability.”

Henning restrained his urge to react. His deep desire to comfort her, to protect her warred with what he heard in her words: she wanted to stand on her own. So he said nothing, just nodded, storing the information away for later inspection.

“You know a little about what happened with Nick, the way he wouldn’t leave me alone and made me out to look unhinged, so I think you might understand why it’s been hard to move on. It takes a long time for me to trust anyone. So I wouldn’t want any other bodyguard,” she added, reaching for the call button. “Only you.”

The elevator doors slid open, and she walked in without looking back, vanishing as the cold metal doors closed. Henning took a deep breath, then another, slowing his heartbeat, forcing himself back to the starkness of reality, where she was just a client and this was just a job. Nothing more. He blew out one more long breath and headed for the hall to his office.

The receptionist gave him a neutral smile as he passed and busied herself with something at her desk. When Henning first came to Blackmore Inc., it had taken that woman a few weeks to hide her reaction every time she saw the jagged scars down his face. He remembered the widening of her eyes, the way her gaze drifted over him each time he passed. Not so different from Alya’s reaction, really. She was a model, for fuck’s sake, paid to live in a world where looks were everything. Of course she’d react to his injuries.

But it had hit him hard. Alya had given him a look that was far too close to the look Corinne had given him five years ago at the hospital, at the very lowest point of his life. Or at least he thought it was similar. Alya had said so convincingly that he didn’t scare her, too. Maybe she was one of those women who got turned on by a man who looked more beast than human? That thought alone should have been sobering enough, but the electric current of desire didn’t seem to be waning.

Why the hell was he still thinking about this? He had made peace with his scars years ago. He had escaped that disastrous drug bust alive, which was more than his right-hand man got. That one day changed everything, and usually he welcomed the visual reminder of the event he never wanted to forget. Now he was mulling over the way he looked? Damn.

As he headed down the hall to his office, Max caught up with him. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his expression relaxed, like nothing in the world bothered him.

“That went well,” Max said lightly. Henning jerked his head in time to see a hint of a smile on his friend’s face.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” muttered Henning.

Max shook his head slowly. “You were the best in the Australian Federal Police force, so I know you’re not talking about your ability to protect Alya.”

Henning blew out a breath and shook his head. “Most obvious issue, I’m going to attract a lot of unwanted attention, which she doesn’t need. It’s a fucking fashion shoot, no place for a bloke with a face like this.” He rubbed his left cheek, where one of the scars pulled his taut, injured skin tight. “And though I don’t track fashion shit, I’m pretty sure this doesn’t go with whatever the hell the season’s look is.”

Max gave a little snort of laughter, then raised an eyebrow. “You saved a dozen officers from a meth-running gang. You will make sure Alya doesn’t spend one minute of this trip worried something unexpected might happen.” His mouth curved up into a full smile as he spoke. “Who the fuck cares what this season’s look is?”

Henning’s mouth twitched until he was smiling, too. Max clapped him on the shoulder. “Seriously, you’ve been surveilling Alya for over three years now. You know every single thing about her situation and where she might feel vulnerable.”

Understatement of the year. But it also meant spending a few days in the cold, which wasn’t ideal. The nightmares rarely came these days, and occasionally he took a winter trip to the Blue Mountains with his sister’s family and faced the cold without too much trouble. Still...not ideal. But he’d make it work.

There was understanding in Max’s easy smile. Had he picked up on the more personal aspects of the job Henning was struggling with? Yeah, that was his problem. Keeping his distance from Alya had been a Herculean effort in the past, but all those hours alone... Henning still wasn’t sure how he was going to pull this off. A captivating woman, strong but in a vulnerable place, who needed his help—this scenario was a temptation too strong to resist.

Cameron Blackmore, the company CEO, had offered him dozens of opportunities to work directly with clients since he’d quit the AFP and come to Blackmore Inc., and he had turned every single one of them down. Henning didn’t usually care much about the looks of shock at the wreckage of his face, but it didn’t make for the best guard-client relationships. Even before the scars, most people left him alone. Now working surveillance, he was pretty sure he scared most of the IT department shitless.

He and Max came to a stop in front of Henning’s office. Henning reached for the handle, but before he turned it, Max quietly cleared his throat, getting his attention.

“I wouldn’t have pushed you to do this if I didn’t think it was a good option. For both of you.”

Henning scowled. “For me? I highly doubt that.” He blew out his breath in frustration. “You have no idea.”

“Maybe I don’t,” said Max, his voice almost maddeningly easy and smooth. “Or maybe I can guess why you’d want to stay far away from her. And why you said yes to this job anyway. But I pushed because I think this assignment is different than any other one for you.”

Henning grunted in response. That much was true. But it didn’t mean he’d survive this week with his sanity intact. Before he could respond, his phone rang. His heart thumped in his chest. It couldn’t be Alya, taking him up on his impulsive offer of anything...could it? Henning squashed that thought as he pulled out the phone and looked at the screen. Suzanne. He sighed.

“It’s my sister,” he said to Max. “I should take this.”

Max nodded and clapped him on the shoulder again before walking away. Henning pressed the button on the screen to answer.

“Hi, Suz,” he said, opening his office door. “What’s up?”

“Kids melting down, work and an occasional conversation with Kenny,” she said dryly. “The usual.”

Henning smiled. His older sister’s house was pure chaos, but she was happy. She and her husband Kenny had tried for years for a baby, first by themselves and then with some help. Suzanne was at the point of desperation when finally, little Molly came. And then Liam. Growing up, their parents weren’t much for outward displays of emotion, and though Henning was close to his sister, neither of them were much for probing conversations. Suzanne had never said a lot about the whole experience with infertility, but just stepping into her house, he knew she was happy. Seeing that was still one of the best things in his life.

Henning headed across his office for his desk and sank into his chair.

“I was calling to see if you have plans this Saturday,” said his sister. Dishes clattered in the background. “Molly has a dance recital. Princess themed, of course. And we’ll go out to dinner afterward.”

Henning took a breath and dropped the bomb as gently as possible. “Thanks, but I’m going out of town tomorrow.”

“What?”

The shock in his sister’s voice made him roll his eyes.

“You know, on an airplane,” he deadpanned. “They even let me on those things.”

She gave a huff of exasperation. “Stop it. You know I’m just in shock that you’re actually going somewhere. Are you...” Her voice turned syrupy, exaggerating the incredulity in her question. “Are you actually going on vacation, Henning?”

“Nope,” he said curtly. “It’s for work.”

“You sit in front of a computer for work these days,” Suzanne said. “Explain.”

“I need to be on the ground for this one.”

She was silent for a bit, and the clattering of dishes died down. “You said you’d never do this kind of thing again,” she said slowly.

Yeah, he did say that. But the last thing he wanted to do right now was discuss why Alya was the exception to that promise. Suzanne was quiet for a long time, so he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk, waiting her out.

“Where are you going?”

“Northern Sweden. The Icehotel. Danger level is very low.”

More silence. Henning swiped a hand over his face. He knew exactly what his sister was thinking about now, but he didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t love the location of the assignment, but he wasn’t going to let it be an issue.

“It’s cold there,” she said quietly.

He frowned. “I’ve been in the cold since...” Fuck, he really didn’t want to talk about this. “It’s under control, Suzanne.”

“Is there a woman involved?”

Henning choked in his next breath, then disguised it as a cough. “What?”

“You heard me,” said Suzanne. “Is there a woman involved?”

He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. “Yes, the assignment involves a woman, but that question makes it sound like something it’s not.”

“I knew it,” she whispered, but he heard it, loud and clear.

He huffed out a breath. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”

“Okay, Henning.” Her words had a hint of that syrupy tone again.

“Look up Behind the Runway on YouTube. You’ll see what I mean.”

“I’ve watched it. The behind-the-scenes show about modeling?” His sister paused, and he was pretty sure understanding was sinking in. He wasn’t a fool. There were so many reasons that whatever connection he had felt with Alya in the conference room would die a quick death as soon as they entered that scene, and his scars were just one of them.

When Henning didn’t respond, Suzanne finally said, “I see. Do you want me to water your plant while you’re gone?”

“My pla—?” He caught himself. Right. The plant his sister’s family had given him for Christmas. The dry, brown tangle of leaves in the corner of his living room.

“Don’t worry about coming all the way into town,” he said quickly. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You already killed that plant, didn’t you?”

“Um, maybe?”

“Henning.” She said his name slowly, adding a dramatic pause before continuing. “The kids picked it out for you.”

He cringed. “I know. I’ll get a new one before they come over here next time.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it.”

He did.

“At least it wasn’t a puppy,” he grumbled.

A puppy was the kids’ first idea, and thank God he had nipped that one in the bud. Judging from how plant ownership had gone, his sister was probably thinking the same thing. Suzanne meant well, but he was the last person a helpless little animal should be dependent on.

“I know you would have done better with a puppy,” she said softly.

Henning wasn’t sure about that, but he let the statement stand.

“Take care of yourself, Henning,” Suzanne added. This time, there was a mix of worry and affection in her voice. “Please.”

“I’ll call when I get home.” He swallowed back his own emotions and ended the call.

Henning set his phone on his desk and ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. It had taken his sister only one short phone call to uncover all the conflicted feelings for Alya that he was trying to tamp down. Which meant he was going to have a hell of a time putting aside every reaction he had to her the moment he showed up at her door tomorrow morning.

But he’d do it. His job was to watch her every moment of the day. And every long hour of the night. Just the two of them, alone in the darkness, in a remote resort in northern Sweden.

Holy hell.

CHAPTER THREE

HENNING STEERED THE big black SUV over the packed snow that made up the desolate road to the Icehotel, keeping his gaze fixed straight in front of him. The pine forests, covered in white, stretched out along the road on both sides. Alya was looking out the window at the passing landscape, dotted with occasional houses painted bright red and topped with snow. He didn’t need to look in her direction to know what she was doing.

He’d been tuned in to her every movement since he’d picked her up at her Sydney apartment. That was expected. What was unexpected was the sense that she was just as tuned in to him. He had kept himself awake half the night going over her response to him yesterday in the Blackmore Inc. conference room. Imagining all the other ways he wanted to end that meeting.

“It’s cold here,” said Alya, clutching her down jacket tighter around her. “I mean, of course it’s cold, but I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

Henning knew exactly what she meant. When they’d stepped out of the airport, the wind found its way through his jacket immediately. He had seen snow in person, but nothing like this endless blanket of white. It was fascinating to look at, or at least it should have been. Now, the fascination was tainted by the memory of the ice-cold concrete floor of the warehouse where he had lain, watching his team member die from the shards of glass that had hit them both in the explosion. But he could put that reaction aside for the next few days. Besides, he was Australian for fuck’s sake—of course he reacted to the cold.

Henning checked to make sure the seat heater was on max and hiked up the temperature a couple notches. “I thought you were from Russia.”

“We left when I was six,” she said with a snort of laughter. “And I think my parents did a better job of dressing me for the weather.”

Henning smiled. “I should probably call them for some tips.”

He glanced over at her. Other than the parka and boots, Alya was dressed for late summer in Australia. She’d walked onto the airplane in tight jeans, a silky top that showed skin, and sunglasses. The look-don’t-touch vibe rolled off her. A good thing, as far as Henning was concerned, since the travel portions of the assignment were the most unpredictable—and the most critical for her to feel safe. While he accepted that he could never completely shut down his reaction to her, this cool, polished Alya was easier to separate himself from. But right now, after a day of traveling halfway across the world—hair mussed from fits of sleep, curled up in her puffy down coat with her feet tucked under her—keeping a professional distance was close to impossible. Had he caught her staring at his ass when they were getting off the plane? That didn’t help. It triggered a vivid image of her that he’d conjured up in the shower the night before as he came: Alya up against the door, his cock deep inside her as he put his mouth on her soft, slim throat.

Heat flooded to his groin. Fuck. Enough of that.

No encounters with Nick. No scenes that called attention to her personal life. That was his job. Nothing else. Unless she said explicitly that she wanted more. It was this last thought that had kept him up way too late.

Alya yawned and reached into her bag, pulling out the master schedule, scanning the pages.

“Today you have a meeting when you arrive, and then there’s drinks in the Icehotel, right?” he asked.

She nodded. “I was just checking to make sure we have time for a nap between those two.”

“Can you nap in that igloo?” He had seen photos of the Icehotel rooms, glowing with the tint of ocean blue. They were works of art, really, elaborate beds, chairs and sculptures carved from enormous blocks of ice. Strikingly beautiful but not made for casual napping.

“I could probably nap anywhere at this point, though I think the frozen portion of the hotel is more like a museum during the day,” said Alya, stifling another yawn. “But we’re not staying in the part of the hotel with ice rooms tonight. We’re scheduled in the regular heated building, right next door, for the first night, so we can use the beds in our room anytime today.”

Use the beds. Unfortunate phrasing. As the words left her lips, an image came of using a bed, naked, with Alya riding on top as he fucked her. Henning swallowed back a groan. How long had it been since he’d gotten laid? Too long, clearly.

There were places he could go to fuck, clubs where women got off on having a big, scarred man over them, holding them down, just the way they asked for it. And the women had no problem with his limits either—they had no interest in touching or kissing him anyway. Maybe he should have gone there last night, just to burn off some of this intense want.

But Henning had quit, cold turkey, when he found himself searching for tall, blonde women with endless legs. He had never had a preference before, and he knew exactly why this one was forming. Which was more than enough reason to cut that habit off immediately. What he felt for Alya was so many worlds away from what he wanted from those women. Henning couldn’t bear to mix the two worlds.

So it had been a while. Maybe that was why he had thrown caution to the wind and offered Alya anything she needed. Or maybe, after watching those blue eyes come alive under his gaze, he couldn’t resist.

During his undercover work with the AFP, he had built a career in part on reading people, looking past what they said and concentrating on what they did. Yesterday, he hadn’t missed the way Alya had stepped closer instead of backing away from him, the way she’d licked her lips, the way her breath came faster when she’d touched him. In the days before the disastrous bust that marked the end of his AFP career, he had gotten more than his fair share of attention from women. And he understood his responsibility as a man bigger than most other people, the responsibility of making sure he understood exactly what a woman wanted from him before he touched her. His days of propositions in bars were long over, but he hadn’t forgotten how it all worked. He had to be really fucking careful.

The GPS on the car told him they were nearing the place. He pulled off into a little parking lot in front of the unassuming wooden buildings. Tall pine trees rose up on both sides, and Henning assumed the actual Icehotel lay somewhere behind them. He found a parking spot at the far end of the lot, and turned off the car. Then he rested his hands on his legs, ready for whatever came next, but Alya made no move to gather her belongings and climb out. Instead, she turned to face him. He had the feeling she wanted to speak, so he watched her, waiting her out. After her chest rose and fell a few more times, she met his gaze.

“Yesterday, you said you had no other in-person clients,” she said. “Why did you take this job?”

Henning swallowed, taking his time to consider his answer.

Because I couldn’t say no to you. Because the chance to be next to you for five days was too much to resist.

No, he definitely couldn’t go there. Instead, he went for an easier truth. “Because you deserve to feel safe.”

She tilted her head to the side. “So does everyone.”

“Of course,” he said. “But after what happened in the AFP, I won’t take an assignment unless I’m sure I understand all the threats and would do whatever it takes to keep that person safe. Anything.”

As the words left his mouth, he knew he shouldn’t have said them. They hinted at both the past that haunted him and the intensity of his feelings for her, neither of which had any place on this trip. Henning scrubbed his hands over his face. The bristles from his unshaven jaw pricked at his right hand, but under his left hand the scar that pulled at the side of his mouth was unnaturally smooth. A reminder of how wrong things could go.

Alya’s expression was completely unreadable. “Henning, I’m going to ask you something I’ll probably regret, but here it goes.” She took a deep breath. “If I kissed you right now, would that interfere with our bodyguard-client relationship?”

He stilled. He didn’t even breathe, but his cock jolted to life. Did he hear her right? Fuck, he had thought about kissing her so many times it was hard to register this was really happening. In his head, he could imagine the kiss as his old self, before the attack, before the scars. Soft, beautiful before it turned hungry. Perfect.

But deep inside, his past was still an open wound. Lying on that cold warehouse floor, fighting his own pain while trying to save Sanjay, watching the bastard who caused the explosion get away, he had seen his actions for what they were. Selfish. He had been blinded by his own goal, taking a risk to grab the leader, a risk that ended Sanjay’s life. That was reality, a cold, hard reality he would live with for the rest of his life. Never again would he let his own wants drive his actions. So how could he consider kissing Alya, knowing all this?

Henning blew out a breath. Shit. Why the hell was he thinking about all this right now?

His expression had no doubt grown darker because her smile had faded.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice filled with false cheer. “Should have gone with my first instinct to keep my mouth shut. Let’s just pretend I didn’t say that. I’ll find someone else to proposition.”

Henning flinched. A storm hit him, a storm of protectiveness and something else he didn’t want to acknowledge, despite the ache of his cock.

“No.” The word came out sharp and urgent before he could stop himself. Alya drew in a quick, startled breath, and he winced. But fuck, no. The idea of watching her flirt with another man was doing crazy things to his insides. It sent a surge through him, twisting into every long-dormant competitive urge to show her all the ways he could satisfy her better. It was the kind of drive he used to thrive on.

No. Just no. He had sworn to himself when he took this job that it had to be all about her. So what the hell was he supposed to do with this situation? Let her go off and find another man, someone who probably wouldn’t give a shit about what she needed? If he said yes to this, gave her what she wanted, it would have to be with his sole focus on her, not selfishly chasing his own needs.

He reached for Alya, touching her cheek, coaxing her to look at him. She did, meeting his eyes, and he found traces of embarrassment. Did she think he was rejecting her? Hell, no. Take it easy. He swallowed.

“There’s nothing in the world I want more than to kiss you right now,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to ever think otherwise, no matter what happens.”

Her eyes widened, and they came alive with unguarded interest. So much better. He pushed on.

“And, to answer your question, no, it wouldn’t interfere. Especially not if the doors are locked.”

A slow smile spread over her face, a glow of happiness returning. Damn, it was breathtaking. Then she reached for the dashboard and pressed the lock button.

Henning’s body jumped to attention, his cock all in, the eager fucker. Slow the hell down. He took a deep breath. This was for her. He had to get it right.

“But before we continue, I need to tell you something,” he said, keeping his voice quiet. “I haven’t kissed anyone since before the attack where I got these scars. It was five years ago.”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve been celibate for five years?”

The uninjured corner of his mouth tugged up. “That’s not quite what I said.”

Understanding registered in her eyes. “Got it,” said Alya, and a hint of amusement twinkled in her eyes. Thank fuck for that.

Henning pressed on. “I’m telling you because I don’t even know if I can kiss you the way I want to right now. The way you deserve.”

She quirked her eyebrow at him. “And what do I deserve?”

“A kiss promising you that you’re the only thing in the world that matters.”

She blinked, swallowed, as if his words were sinking in. Good. Because he wasn’t fooling around here. Anything that happened with her would get his full attention. She was quiet for a while, and then she straightened up in her seat.

“You know what I think I need?” she said with a little smile. “Something that’s hot and fun with someone I can trust. And I’m pretty sure that’s what I’ll get.”

Henning blew out a breath. He could do this as long as he kept his focus on her.

So he looked straight into the endless oceans of her eyes and shut everything else out. “Okay. We can try for that.”

Holy shit. Alya took a couple steadying breaths, trying to slow down her runaway heartbeat and jump-start her brain. Last night, alone in her apartment, this had all sounded way more reasonable. Somewhere around midnight, Alya had decided to simply ask for what she wanted: a few days of sexy fun. Except, the morning after, when Henning showed up at her doorstep, she still hadn’t quite figured out what to say.

Are you interested in spending a few of your off-duty hours naked with me?

Maybe a little too direct. Alya had spent a good portion of the seemingly endless procession of flights to Sweden contemplating how to test Henning’s interest. His aloofness during the travel had her second-guessing the idea, but once they got into the car, the intense attraction she had felt after yesterday’s meeting was back. So, she went with it.

Then came the words she was sure she’d never forget: A kiss promising you that you’re the only thing in the world that matters. She couldn’t resist the intensity in his voice. How did he know this was her personal kryptonite, the thing he could say to send her body into flames? But these were dangerous words, too much like the lies that kept her going back to Nick Bancroft, long after she should have fled for good.

Except Nick was the past, and she wasn’t that woman anymore. Just a few days of fun.

Still, the questions kept rolling through her mind. Did the scars around his mouth hurt him? Who had he had sex with for the past five years without kissing? And, most of all, how did she make sure not to get sucked in too deep?

Alya filed her questions away and took off her seat belt. She reached over and unlocked Henning’s. He slipped it off his shoulder but made no move to touch her. His eyes were hot but guarded, burning into her. He seemed to be waiting for her, so she unzipped her down parka and shrugged it off.

He smiled a little. “Getting hot already? We haven’t even started.”

“I was up late thinking about this last night.” She winked at him playfully. “Move your chair back a little.”

“Anything you want,” he said softly, amusement dancing in his eyes. The more they talked this way, close, intimate, the more she could read him. He unzipped his own coat and eased the seat back, tipping it at an angle, making enough room for her to climb on. So she did. The car was big, but so was Henning, so they shuffled and laughed and adjusted until she was facing him, knees tucked on both sides of his thick thighs. His body radiated heat, and God, it felt so good. He felt so good.

“Your hands are big,” she said, fitting them against her own. His were so much thicker and longer.

“Does that turn you on?”

She laughed. “Maybe?”

Some of the lightness in his eyes faded. “Meaning you wish it didn’t?”

She paused. “It’s just complicated.”

“We can stop anytime.”

“I know.” She could see he needed that reassurance that she would speak up if she wanted to stop, and he relaxed a little under her touch, his smile slowly returning. But stopping wasn’t her worry at all. It was that she really, really liked this—his size, the way he was with her, everything—and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know why. But that didn’t have to figure into kissing him.

Henning slipped his hands around her waist and cupped her ass, bringing her up against him, closer, until she brushed against the enormous bulge in his pants. His eyes were heavy with humor and lust. Right now, Henning was worlds away from the hard, impassive bodyguard who had traveled next to her all day. For all his big body and muscles, he was...gentle with her. There was no other word for it.

...you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

Alya swallowed. He was talking about the kiss, not making some larger declaration. This was sexy fun, just what she had wanted. And she wasn’t going to taint it with her past hang-ups. So she pushed all of those ideas out of her mind, and focused on the stunning man in front of her. The man whose heavy cock was currently pressing against her.

“So you want this kind of kiss?” he asked, smiling.

She nodded and moved up and down against his erection, using it to stroke her clit. He flexed his hips and ground against her, sending more sparks of pleasure through her. He did it again, rubbing his cock in every sensitive place, making her moan and shudder.

“Yes,” she said, a little breathless. “This is definitely the kind of kiss I want.”

He flexed his hips again, and her eyes rolled back as another wave of pleasure coursed through her. Oh, yes.

Henning looked like he was enjoying this slow, hot grind just as much as she was, but after hearing about his five-year kissing dry spell, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was also distracting her. If it was easier to give her his cock than his mouth.

“Henning?” she whispered.

“Mmm?”

“I want to kiss.”

He stilled under her, his fingers tense. Then he nodded. “I do, too.”

His gaze was dark, unreadable. She lifted her hands to his face, and, gently, she cupped his jaw. He closed his eyes as her fingers met his skin. Slowly she ran her thumb over one of the ropy scars by his mouth. A rumble came from deep inside him.

“How does this feel?”

He paused, his breath uneven. “Intense.”

“Does it hurt?”

Henning gave a raspy laugh. “Hell, no. Very much the opposite.”

“Good.” Alya smiled. “Ready?”

He nodded. Alya leaned forward, resting her hands against his biceps. She waited there, looking for hesitation. There was tension, so much tension, as they waited there on the edge of this precipice. But he gave her a little nod, willing to jump. So she brushed her lips against his, testing. His cock throbbed against her, and the muscles of his arms hardened under her fingers. She tested again. His lips felt...different. A good different. She stayed there, not moving, breathing in his warm scent, getting used to this new tentative exploration. Letting him get used to her. More breaths, each uneven rasp stoking heat inside her. She pressed her mouth more firmly against his, and this time he responded. He parted his lips and tasted her. Every brush of his lips, every swipe of his tongue was achingly slow.

Alya tilted her head, learning how their mouths fit together, learning what made him groan. His hands tightened around her, and she slid her fingers along his jaw, the heaviness of each scar line weighing under her hand.

And then something flipped. It was as if he finally let the pent-up want from those five years loose. His kisses turned greedy, and a growl escaped from his chest as he nipped at her lips and sucked on her tongue. All the softness from before was fading, and God, how she loved this new, hungrier side. She moved, letting the stiff, thick ridge of his cock drag along her core, and he responded, tilting his hips, giving them both that exquisite friction. Sighs. Moans. Wordless pleas from her lips for more. Her body was on fire, the pressure building inside as his cock moved against her clit. She kissed the scarred corner of his mouth, his jaw, finding the rough lines, the smooth lines, the stubble. She wanted all of it.

“Fuck, you turn me on.” His whisper rasped in her ear. “I want to make you feel good. Can you come like this?”

Alya hadn’t thought that far, but now that he mentioned it... “I think so.”

“Good.” His teeth scraped her neck. “Hang on tight.”

She rested her hands on his shoulders and closed her eyes. Damn, just the muscles of his shoulders were enough to send a jolt of pleasure through her. Then, he began lifting her up and down in a slow, steady rhythm that was...oh, God, it was exactly what she wanted.

“Like this?” he whispered. “Does this feel good?”

His voice was a rasp in her ear, a low, rough invitation.

“Yes, Henning,” she moaned, her head dropping to his neck as the pleasure built.

The moment his name left her lips, a new rumble came from deep in his chest. Then another. Sounds of raw, insatiable hunger, of contrasts, pleasure and pain, want and fear. And need. So much need. His voice called to something buried inside her, uncovering it. New desires bubbled, still not fully formed. The aching sound grew louder, but it was her own moan that filled the car. She was right there on the edge of coming as he thrusted his hips harder. She searched for his mouth again. The kiss was rough, each aching stroke of his tongue matching the thrust of his cock against her.

Pleasure shot through her as she moved, drawing out the orgasm, losing herself in the heat of their bodies, in the scent of sex, in him. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she rested her cheek on his thick shoulder, breathing in his scent. Henning’s heart thudded in her ear.

What had just happened? The connection between them was so powerful, almost as if—

Slow down. She wasn’t going to mistake pleasure and affection for something else. The ecstasy-induced haze was clouding her brain. So, instead, she took one last, long inhale of turned-on male and put a little distance between them.

“Well, that was certainly a full-service kiss,” she said, her voice languid with pleasure.

Henning chuckled, the sound echoing deep in his chest. “It exceeded expectations in every way.”

She really should get up, do...something, but he was so warm, and she really didn’t want to move. Henning’s cock throbbed urgently against her. She peered into his dark brown eyes.

“You didn’t come yet,” she said with a little smile. “I can help you with that.”

He shook his head. “It would be messy, and it’s going to get cold in here soon. I’ll take care of that later.”

“You’ll take care of it?” She tilted her head at him. “Alone?”

“I’m good at it,” he said, laughter in his voice.

Alya raised her eyebrows. How much lightness and humor did this man have, buried inside him? “I’d like to see that.”

His cock pulsed against her, and he groaned. Then a hint of a smile drew at the uninjured side of his mouth. “I bet you would.”

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