My heart banged harder against my ribs, my palms growing sweaty as I approached the conference room and opened the door.
Jensen looked up from where he lounged in the seat at the head of the table, eyes just as chilled as the last time I’d looked into them.
Despite the cold reception, I froze, my senses needing a moment to absorb him.
He wore a dark navy suit, clearly bespoke, gloriously highlighting every superb physical attribute.
His hair was combed, but it still achieved that sexily dishevelled look. The stubble he’d cultivated during our time in the cabin had now grown into a short, sexy beard, making his face even more wickedly handsome.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Mortimer. I hope I’m not disturbing you too much?’ His deep, gravel-smooth, desperately missed voice slid over me like silk.
Ice-cold silk.
My fingers tightened on the door handle as I shifted my gaze to where Elsa stood frozen next to him, her eyes wide with interest as they flicked from Jensen to me and back again.
‘You can leave now, Elsa.’
Her lips drooped with disappointment, but she nodded. ‘Oh...er... Okay. Sure thing. The projector for your presentation is all set up for you, Mr Scott.’
His smiled warmed for her but turned frigid a moment later. ‘Thanks, Elsa.’
I shut the door behind her and approached, only then taking in the leather case that contained his trays of photos before my gaze swung back to him.
In time to catch a flash of hunger before he checked his expression.
I wanted to pepper him with questions, demand that he tell me everything he’d done since we last saw each other. But wouldn’t that be prolonging the agony?
I took a deep breath, forced my gaze away from his face to the photos laid out on the conference table. ‘Shall we begin?’ I said briskly.
‘Yes. Let’s,’ he rasped, his voice brisker, perfectly emulating the Arctic wind I yearned to feel against my skin. Because, absurdly, it suddenly symbolised bliss and freedom I was terrified I’d never experience again.
A different sort of shudder moved through me, a forlorn little forecast of what my future held. Desperately, I pushed it away. ‘Is this everything?’ I waved my hand at the tray.
He laughed, harsh and bitter. ‘Are we really going to do it like this?’
‘Do it like what, Mr Scott?’
Without answering me, he rose, strolled down the length of the conference room to the door and turned the key in the lock.
A million butterflies fluttered in my belly. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
He ambled back to me, looking sleek and delicious in his suit. ‘I thought giving you a week to think things through would work,’ he repeated.
I deliberately raised an eyebrow, despite my heart leaping at that fixated look in his eyes. ‘Then you obviously don’t know me well.’
He stopped a few feet away, his gaze not leaving my face. ‘And whose fault is that? One of us ran away the moment things got a little too personal, and that person wasn’t me.’
Shame engulfed me but years of staring opponents down weren’t easy to dismiss. ‘Is that why you’ve locked the door? To physically restrain me?’
Distaste washed over his face. ‘That’s so we’re not disturbed, not so you can’t leave whenever you want to. I’ll never keep you prisoner, Graciela. Not unless you specifically ordered me to.’
A fever started in my belly, heating me up from within. I fought to deny it. ‘Not going to happen.’
Briefly, his nostrils flared, his expression dimming before he turned to the table. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair before curtly nudging his head at the tray. ‘Fine. Looks like you want to keep hiding from reality, so let’s get on with this, shall we?’
He started the projector. I grabbed the remote and dimmed the lights and took a seat, forcing myself not to glance his way. Not to breathe him in.
He negated all of that by dragging his chair closer, until he was a tempting arm’s length away. For the next long while hundreds of pictures scrolled across the screen, each one stunning enough to make paring it down to the essential twenty-five I needed for the magazine near impossible.
When we reached the images he’d taken on the night of the borealis, fine tremors shook through me, memory attempting to shake free everything I needed to hold inside. Every frame he’d captured was overwhelmingly breathtaking, unique enough to draw a gasp.
I felt him lean in close but couldn’t move away. Didn’t want to.
‘I’ll never be able to experience another borealis without thinking of you,’ he breathed in my ear. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. A lump had lodged in my throat; with selfish pleasure I took from his words. Yes, I didn’t want him thinking of anyone else but me.
Abruptly, he moved away, hit the button again, and we scrolled through the last of the images. When Jensen activated the lights, I blinked, still awestruck by the power and beauty of the pictures.
‘How the hell am I going to choose?’ I blurted.
His smile was stiff and cold. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
I stared at the display on the table, at a loss as to where to start.
Impatient fingers drummed on the table, then, ‘Do you want my help?’ Jensen offered.
I hesitated, the idea of handing over such an important decision to him stopping me for a moment.
The drumming stopped. He lounged back and folded his arms as he watched me back. ‘Don’t worry, Graciela. You’re still in charge. I’m merely lending you support.’
My heart fell at the mild sneer in his voice. And again, I wanted to throw caution to the wind, rewind to the blissful moments on his cabin sofa. To the
