Page 13 of Heart of Frost and Scars

“What?” She flutters those long, sexy lashes, raising my body temperature.

“You’re beautiful.”

“You don’t have to say that anymore.”

“Why the fuck not?” I frown, not understanding.

“I know those months in the cabin took a toll.” She smooths a hand over her hair, catching a red lock between her fingers. “But I’m no longer starving. My confidence will improve as I gain the weight I lost. I’m working on it.”

Anger flares in my chest. Not at her but at the thought that she might believe her worth or beauty has anything to do with her condition.

“Woman.” I bend closer so she can see the sincerity on my face. “You’ve always been beautiful to me. Not because of how you look but because of who you are. Even when things were at their worst, it didn’t change how I saw you.” I reach out, grazing a thumb along her jawline. “You are strength and courage in a world that was falling apart. You’re the fire that warmed the coldest nights and the light in the darkest times. Your beauty isn’t just in your appearance. It’s in your spirit, your resilience.”

She’s quiet for a moment, staring at me. I know she’s processing my words, maybe not fully convinced but affected by them nonetheless.

“Every time I looked at you, even when you were struggling, I saw the woman who challenged the wilderness with me, who fought through every day with a heart full of hope. Do you know how attractive that is? You’re hot as fuck, and I will keep saying it as long as I live because it’s the truth.”

Her eyes soften, moisture gleaming. “Thank you,” she whispers, “for seeing me like that.”

“Why are you thanking me? Resting my eyes on you is a goddamn privilege.”

“I totally want to hump you right now.” She bites her lip.

My cock jerks as I recline in the seat and pat my lap. “Hop on. Or…” I jab a thumb over my shoulder. “We can move to the divan.”

“Not here. But soon.” She lifts a booted foot and nudges it between my legs. “I promise.”

The jet banks, and we turn to the windows.

Below, Anchorage stretches like an intricate, tangled web of concrete, the buildings rising in clustered columns toward the sky. And green. So much green. Not just trees but fields of vegetation I’ve never seen before.

I grip her ankle and remove her shoe. Lifting the other, I remove it, too. With her socked feet on my lap, I massage her delicate arches, feeling her tremble, her anxiety rolling off.

“It’s like watching a living map unfold.” I turn my face toward the window. “Everything is so interconnected. So designed.”

“It’s a different kind of wilderness. One made by humans.”

As the plane cruises higher, I’m mesmerized by the transition between untamed landscape and the structured chaos of civilization. Roads carve through forests. Buildings cluster like flocks of resting birds. Gleaming threads of rivers wind through it all.

I trace the curve of her ankle. “Makes me feel small.”

“Small but not powerless. Part of something bigger.”

The scenery is vibrant, like her eyes, pulsing with life and movement in a way that both thrills and terrifies me.

“We need to learn a lot quickly,” I say, thinking aloud. “Driving, using phones, getting IDs.”

“And therapy.” She lowers her feet and reaches for my hands, her fears momentarily forgotten as she considers our needs. “We’ve all been through so much. We can’t ignore how it’s impacted us. That includes Monty, too.”

If Monty is dangerous to her, he won’t live long enough for therapy. I don’t care that he’s my brother. I’ll kill him myself.

Tanya returns with our drinks. “Vodka and bourbon.” She folds down a table between our laps and sets the glasses on it. “Lunch will be served shortly. May I take your coats?”

We shed our outerwear, and I nod my thanks, not used to this level of service.

Frankie unlatches her seat belt.

“What are you doing?” I reach for my belt, ready to go to her.

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