‘Problem?’ I asked as I approached.
Jensen Scott turned.
And every single one of Elsa’s proclamations zinged off in my brain.
Fuck-me eyes. Tick.
I was hit with a set of eyes so glacial and blue and transparent, the hard kick to my gut took me by surprise.
Killer jawline. Tick.
His square jaw looked sharp and solid and chiselled enough to cut diamonds, despite being covered in a dusting of dark blond stubble and snow flecks.
Fuck-me body. Tick.
Even under several layers of insulation, the Viking-god build of the man was unmistakeable. His shoulders went on for ever, as did his rangy torso and tree-trunk legs.
The fuck-me hair I couldn’t verify on account of the snow-white beanie covering him from forehead to nape. Not many guys managed to pull off a beanie. Jensen Scott managed to pull it off with extra aplomb.
Suck-me lips.
My own addendum to Elsa’s list.
Tick.
A thinner upper and slightly overfull lower, his mouth was the perfect ingredient for wet-making sex fantasies. The kind you could imagined latched onto your clit for hours while his tongue went to work.
A flash of heat blazed through me, welcome only because of its life-saving purposes. The rest of it—that sweet sting to my clit, that plumping of my labia, the slow slide of hot liquid I hadn’t felt in a while and almost convinced myself had become unimportant—I intended to ignore the same way I’d been ignoring the demands of my libido for the better part of a year. It wasn’t worth it any longer to go against what I’d denied for the better part of a decade. What I now knew went deeper than a mere proclivity—my utter and unapologetic need for complete control. A hunger I’d attempted to feed with the wrong men and the wrong choices until I’d decided, no more.
Those eyes that looked as if they were sparked with sky and snow narrowed at me. ‘And you are?’
I chose not to be offended. Hell, I was even a little glad to not be instantly recognised. ‘I’m in charge here,’ I stated.
To his credit, he didn’t do that subtle double-take some men did when confronted with a woman in charge. Nor did he look to Larry for verification. He simply accepted my word, even while his nostrils flared with his displeasure.
‘The problem is that Larry here has been less than candid with me, haven’t you, sir?’ he accused. His deep, low voice held the faintest Scandinavian accent, probably from his Danish motherland. The kind that made my ears prickle with a need to hear him speak more, just so I could hear the inflexions in that beautifully modulated accent.
Or perhaps it was that sir?
I kicked myself into touch, tightened my hold on control before even the mere idea of indulging in scandalous thoughts strayed into my consciousness.
‘How exactly have you been deceived?’ I pressed.
I trusted Larry implicitly. He’d been with me almost from the beginning of what had been a throwaway job cobbled together by my family to shut me up. A project they’d hoped would occupy my time and stop me demanding an active seat in the boardroom. Little had they known that I would breathe my very life into it until it was an equal force in its own right on the Mortimer Group business radar.
That the award-winning charitable foundation Fortune 500 companies clamoured to be a part of and the associated Mortimer Quarterly magazine named the number one for three years running would become an integral part of the family company.
These days I turned away more requests from family members eager to promote their own sectors of the family business almost as much as I turned away other public business requests.
In content and advertisement alone, the magazine was scheduled almost twelve months in advance. Which was why nothing could be allowed to get in the way of its smooth running.
Not even the man lauded as a genius with a camera. The man currently casting a disdainful eye over the assembled crew, the two heavy-duty glacier helicopters standing two hundred feet away waiting to transport us away from this beautiful-but-deadly frozen tundra once we were done, and the half-dozen tents set up around the camp, before meeting mine.
His eyes lingered a second or two longer, a touch of sensual awareness stealing into his face when his gaze dropped to my mouth. And stayed.
Two of the huskies began yapping at each other. A sharp whistle from Jensen silenced them immediately. He blinked and shifted his gaze, and that tight little frisson of awareness dissipated. ‘This isn’t what I signed up for.’
‘Let me get this straight. You turn up an hour late only to inform me that you won’t be doing the job you’ve been contracted to do?’
Everyone around us grew still.
‘I despise subterfuge, Miss...what did you say your name was?’
‘I’m Graciela Mortimer.’ I held out my hand.
Recognition finally dawned as he slowly tugged off his thick glove. His gaze left my face, travelled down my body to my feet before rising again. His large hand engulfed mine and his expression heated up by a degree or two. Not the kind of instant appreciation I was used to but even that sent another spark of awareness through me. Drew my attention back to those lips. To everything I would’ve let myself imagine they could do. If I were interested.
Which I most definitely was not, I told myself, ignoring the slight surge of disappointment when he dropped my hand and tugged his glove back on.
‘Miss Mortimer. I wasn’t aware you would be here.’ His tone suggested what most did. That the Ice Princess of Charity only got involved with her work when it was time
