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‘Ah. So that’s how we’re going to proceed, is it?’ I asked softly. But he caught the steel I hadn’t disguised. ‘First, we skirt each other warily, assessing weaknesses before we land the first punch?’
This time his lips twisted in a cynical twitch. ‘I’m sure you have far better things to do than to
waste time delving into what makes me tick.’
His tone suggested he applied a very heavy vice versa to his statement. And despite the icy
weather, my blood heated up. I reined in sweet, exhilarating control with a subtle clench of my
fingers.
‘You’re right. But I wouldn’t have needed the time anyway. I know exactly who you are, Mr Scott.’
This time the gleam in his eyes was fairly mocking. But before he could tailor words to that look, I added, ‘And I also know exactlywhatyou are.’
The gleam faded as if extinguished, his face settling into an inscrutable mask. And even though his gaze stayed on mine, everything about him bristled with restlessness. An almost visceral need
to...deny.
Except he couldn’t. Not without denying a vital part of himself. Not without perhaps...letting
himself down? But he strained against exposing his true self to me until his struggle was as real as the snow beneath his feet.
God, what had happened to him?
An equally visceral need to know attacked me, punching right through my defences to that secret
vault I’d sealed shut once and for all.
Five seconds ticked by. Ten.
After twenty, his head snapped forward, his jaw jutting out with aggression that spoke of his
turmoil. An aggression I wanted to wield beneath my fingers. To test and twist and mould into
something sublime.
My breath shuddered out, astonishment at my train of thought nearly overwhelming me.
‘The day needn’t be wasted. Or we can waste time and your money on a hypothesis that leads
nowhere.’
I allowed myself a small laugh, saw a slight tensing of a different kind in his frame as he heard it.
‘My hypothesis is definitely leading somewhere. Otherwise why else would you be so wound up? But
by all means let’s change the subject.’ I waved a hand at the vast white tundra. ‘Take me to your mama bear, Mr Scott.’
CHAPTER TWO
SHE WAS A SPOILT, overindulged princess.
The kind who watched a few episodes of a reality show about surviving in the wilds of Alaska and
suddenly decided they wanted todabble in nature. The type who got it into their heads that stroking a seal or two and posting a selfie with the Arctic wildlife or atop the odd ice floe automatically granted them environmental activist status.
I didn’t need to look back at where she was perched on the sled behind me to visualise her