Page 7 of His Innocent Unwrapped In Iceland

Isla blinked. Yes, that’s right. She was Mrs North now, wasn’t she? She leaned forward and took the phone, raising it to her ear. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m staying to clear up matters here.’ Orion’s deep voice was as cool as the snow falling outside. ‘Also to have a word with your father. I’ll meet you at the airport.’

The airport. They were going to airport. Andhewas going to talk to her father.

‘I see,’ she said, ignoring the anger that had resumed boiling at the calm way he’d taken charge of everything. ‘I’d appreciate it if you informed my father to be clear to the media and the board that this wasmydecision, not some shady backroom deal you two did between yourselves behind my back.’

‘Of course,’ Orion said smoothly and without a trace of shame. ‘After all, itwasyour decision.’

Isla gritted her teeth. ‘And the reception? The guests?’ There, she could sound as cool and as calm as he did.

‘Leave that to me. I’m sure you’d prefer to avoid any awkwardness.’

It was so close to the truth that she was very tempted to open the car door and go running back into the church just to prove him wrong. But thatwouldbe letting her emotions get the better of her. Perhaps it would look more powerful if she let him explain. After all, this was all his doing.

‘Fine,’ she said, giving him nothing.

‘Good.’ He sounded infuriatingly smug. ‘My jet will be waiting for you to relax in.’

‘Lovely.’ She meant the opposite.

‘We’ll be taking a flight to Iceland where I have a lodge. We can spend some time there talking about where we go from here. Or would you prefer the tropics?’

She and Gianni had planned a week’s honeymoon in the Caribbean. She hadn’t been looking forward to it, though she hadn’t been able to put her finger on why. Probably because she hadn’t felt she could take a week off, nothing at all to do with the thought of spending a week in Gianni’s company.

‘Does it matter?’ she asked, feeling suddenly exhausted.

‘No,’ Orion said. ‘Iceland it is.’ Then his voice changed, warming fractionally. ‘Don’t worry, Isla. I’ll deal with it all.’

There shouldn’t have been any reason for her to like the way he’d said that any better than the way he’d said everything else. Yet for some reason she found his casual reassurance...relieving. Because right now, yes. She wanted someone else to deal with it.

Someone who won’t make a mess of everything.

‘I should speak to David myself,’ she said, ignoring the thought.

‘Perhaps later,’ Orion said casually. ‘I’m talking to him right now. All you need to do is get on the plane.’ Then without even saying goodbye, he ended the call.

Isla let out a breath, handed the phone back to the driver, then leaned back in her seat as the car finally pulled away and into the snowy village road.

Her thoughts whirled, but she ignored them all, staring out at the snow falling on the villages they passed. Trying not to feel the slight pressure of her new wedding ring on her finger, or think about the million questions she wanted answers to. Because the man she wanted those answers from wasn’t here.

Eventually the car pulled into a private airfield, where a sleek little jet waited on the runway. The driver helped Isla out of the car and up the stairs, and soon she was inside and ensconced in another extremely comfortable soft leather seat.

She took off her veil and folded it neatly, setting it onto the seat beside her, before drawing the shawl more firmly around her shoulders. A stewardess approached with a glass of champagne, which Isla found a little on the nose since there wasn’t anything to celebrate from her perspective. But since it seemed churlish to refuse and quite frankly, she could use a drink, she took it.

A short time later, the jet’s door opened in a rush of cold air, and Orion strode in.

Snow dusted the shoulders of his morning suit and his coal-black hair, but he didn’t look cold or seem bothered by it in the least. In fact, judging from his expression, what he seemed was extremely pleased with himself. Not unlike an ancient Roman emperor about to embark on a triumph down the Appian Way. Isla was almost surprised that he wasn’t cloaked in purple and wearing a laurel wreath.

A good thing. It would suit him far too well.

She tried to drag her gaze away from him as he paused to talk to the stewardess, but it was difficult.

He was her husband and the electricity that had slid beneath her skin during their kiss at the altar was again humming and crackling, making her feel restless, unable to sit still.

She hadn’t liked it then and she didn’t like it now, most especially because she had an idea what it was: physical attraction. She’d hadn’t felt it with Gianni and she’d liked him, so why she should feel it for a man who was essentially the enemy, she had no idea. It bothered her, especially when that brief kiss at the altar still burned in her memory.

Forcing her gaze from Orion’s mesmerising figure, Isla stared out the window into the swirling snow as the plane taxied down the runway and lifted into the air, trying to think of absolutely nothing. But then, as they reached cruising altitude, she became aware of someone tall and powerful and very definitely male approaching and sitting in the seat opposite her.

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