Page 14 of His Innocent Unwrapped In Iceland

Before he could think better of it, he murmured, ‘Come here, Snow White,’ and swept her up into his arms. ‘I’m supposed to carry you over the threshold.’

‘No.’ She’d gone stiff as a board. ‘I don’t want you to carry me.’

‘You’re freezing and your shoes are going to get wet.’ He settled her more firmly against him as he turned towards the lodge. ‘Also, I’m cold too and I could use the extra warmth.’

There was a fiercely resistant look on her pretty face, yet her body slowly relaxed against his. Clearly the cold had overcome her pride. ‘Don’t take this as a sign I like you,’ she said. ‘Because I don’t.’

‘Noted.’ The tart note in her voice made him smile as he strode along the lit stone path that led to the huge wooden double front doors of the lodge. ‘Tomorrow we can discuss why exactly you don’t like me.’

‘No, we can’t.’

He glanced down at her, amused that despite her grumpy tone, she’d somehow nestled even closer. She was very warm in his arms, the scent of her body sweet in the frigid night air.

‘We don’t have to discuss anything if you don’t want to,’ he said, purely to annoy her. ‘You can try and take some more kisses from me instead.’

She gave a little snort, but even in the darkness he could see her blush.

He’d had the staff member who managed the property prepare the lodge for their arrival, and the woman was there to open the big wooden double front doors for them. He stepped into the welcome warmth of the flagstone entrance way, the door shutting firmly on the arctic winter night.

He didn’t pause, heading straight into the lounge to the right of the front doors. It was a vast area with big floor-to-ceiling double-glazed windows that looked out over the lake. The floor was rustic wood overlaid with thick rugs and a huge fire burned down one end. There were a couple of low sectional couches upholstered in pale leather and a low coffee table that had been rough-hewn out of a piece of pale wood and the top sanded smooth.

He carried Isla over to the couch near the fire and put her down so she could get warm, then he went to see the property manager to make sure the luggage had been unloaded and everything had been prepared to his liking. Once that had been sorted and the woman had left in the helicopter back to Reykjavik, he went back into the lounge.

Isla had slid off the couch and was sitting on her knees in front of the fire, her hands stretched out towards the blaze. She still had her shawl around her shoulders and the snow that had settled on her and her gown had melted, leaving her hair and the silk of her dress sodden.

His snow maiden melting in the heat.

An unexpected and unwelcome protectiveness rose inside him and before he could stop himself, he said, ‘You need to get out of that gown and into a hot shower, and then put on something warm.’

‘Love to,’ she muttered, not moving. ‘But I don’t have any clothes with me since I wasn’t exactly expecting to be taken to Iceland on my wedding day.’

‘Then isn’t it a good thing then that I had your luggage put on the jet when we left England?’ he said. ‘It’s upstairs in your room now.’

‘Of course you did.’ She looked at him, her lush mouth trying very hard to compress itself into a firm line. ‘Though I’m not sure my bikinis will be useful what with all the snow.’

He smiled. ‘Oh, you’d be surprised. Come. Let me show you upstairs to your room before you freeze to death.’

‘I’m quite happy here, thank you.’

‘Isla.’ He pitched his voice low and with an element of command in it, and was gratified when she blinked and looked at him. ‘I know you don’t like me, you’ve made that clear, but this is childish. You’re cold.’

Anger flared briefly in her dark blue eyes then she looked away, long golden lashes veiling her expression. ‘Fine.’ The word was determindedly neutral. ‘Show me where my room is then.’

Interesting how she simply shut away her emotions. Interesting too to note that she hadn’t shut them away completely, because the stain of annoyance lingered in her cheeks and her shoulders were tense.

He was reminded again of a fizzing champagne bottle imperfectly capped, though that implied light bubbles of joy and she wasn’t fizzy like that. She was more like a volcano, with fires burning hot and slow deep inside. A woman of passion. And a woman who had difficulty keeping that passion locked down.

You could let that passion out. You could make it explode.

Oh, he certainly could, and he was starting to think that maybe he would. Her kiss still burned on his tongue, the taste of her as sweet as her scent.

He’d like another, a deeper taste.

He kept all these thoughts from his face as he turned and led her up the rustic wooden stairs to the second floor where the bedrooms were located. He’d made sure she’d been given one of the large rooms at the end of the hall that looked out over the lake.

Inside was a rustic-looking four-poster bed hung with curtains and piled with pillows, and a white faux fur bedspread. There were rugs on the floors, the thick pale curtains pulled across the windows to shut out the freezing night.

His property manager had already unpacked for her and a delicate white lace nightgown that seemed to be sheer all the way down was laid out on the bed.

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