Breaking the Ice by Esme Taylor

CHAPTER TWENTY

Hettie

Saturday morning came and went in a blur of kisses, sex, whispers, and screaming orgasms. I couldn’t seem to get enough of this man. I wanted to be near him all the time.

Not just for the sex. Though, that was a pretty amazing bonus.

No, I wanted to be near him because he made me feel confident enough to be myself, something I hadn’t been in such a long time. So long, in fact, I’d nearly forgotten what it was like. And I have to say, confident Hettie rules. Not only is she happier, but she’s also banging a Viking and making him groan out her name every time he comes.

“What are your plans for the day, Viking?” I asked, running my fingers through his freshly showered hair so that I could get a better view of those icy blue eyes I’d come to love so much.

“Well, if we continue to carry on like this, Etta, the only thing I’m going to do today is you. In all seriousness though, I do have to do some work for a couple of hours. Come home with me?” he asked. “You can watch Hallmark movies and eat all my ice cream.” I groaned as he pressed his erection against my aching entrance. I swear this man was always hard and I loved every second of it. After all the sex we’d had recently it was a wonder that either one of us could walk properly.

“I would love to stay with you and eat all of your ice cream, but I think I need to spend a night here alone. Just to prove to myself that I can. Do you mind?”

“I absolutely mind, but I also understand. Are you sure you want to stay here alone tonight, though? I can always come back later.” I kissed him deeply, my tongue slipping into his mouth in search of his, while my fingers moved over his chiseled chest, knowing exactly how and where he liked to be touched.

“No, I need to do this,” I muttered as our kiss broke. “I need to prove to myself that I’m not too scared to be here. Besides, I think my lady bits could use a night off from your Viking longboat.” A deep, low laugh escaped him, vibrating through me and making my exhausted lady bits flutter with excitement.

“Go, do some work and I will see you tomorrow. Deal?”

“Deal, but only if you agree to come to the house for brunch? I need to know you won’t be away from me for too long.” I nodded in agreement.

“I’ll have Mike pick you up at eleven. Until then, I’ll be counting down the hours till I can get my hands on you again. After that, you’re mine for the day. And fair warning, I fully intend to do many, many unspeakable things to you. I suggest you come prepared.”

“That sounds like my kind of warning,” I replied, biting on his lip as he hissed in appreciation.

“Fuck, Etta, I’m going to go, because if I don’t, I’ll have to take you again and you’ll never get rid of me.” He stood and reached for his phone, quickly tapping out a text that I assumed was instructing Mike to bring the car.

For a second, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to have Reid stay with me. To never leave. I imagined our lives together, having him with me forever. But that isn’t possible, I reminded myself, forcing the thought from my head.

I knew Reid didn’t do relationships. He’d practically said as much himself. And then there was Max’s warning. Which meant only one thing––whatever this is between us, it has a shelf-life.

I’d already had more of him than any other woman he’d been with, so until the time came, I intended to enjoy whatever this was.

Once he had pulled on his jeans and t-shirt, Reid leaned down and scooped me out of the bed, wrapping my naked body around his waist. As if reading my thoughts, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, his words soft and low.

“Etta, I don’t know what you’re doing to me or what this is, but I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never wanted to share my life with anyone––until you. You seem to be creeping in, and I don’t think I could stop you, even if I wanted to. I’ve never been so glad that someone tried to dump their tea all over me in a coffee shop. I’m glad you stayed with me.” He pulled me in for a warm embrace, holding me close before gently laying me back on the bed and covering me with the sheets.

“If you need anything today, Etta, call me. I’ll be here in a heartbeat,” he instructed, slipping on his boots and leaning down to kiss my temple. “Set the alarm and be safe.” I nodded, yawning as I curled up in the sheets, my thoughts running wild.

Am I falling for this man? And is it possible that he could feel the same about me? Before I could ponder the possibilities and what they could mean, I drifted back off to sleep.

◆◆◆

I woke up a few hours later and decided to take a long hot bath, allowing the water to soothe my aching body. Between the mugging last week, the attempted break-in, the pool, the sex––oh man, all the sex––I could feel all the tightness in my body.

As I let myself sink under the surface of the water, my mind flashed back to the pool. The look of fear on Reid’s face when he pulled me from the bottom, the way he trembled from being in the water––it was enough to bring me to my knees. Everyone always sees him as this big strong man, but there are times when I get a glimpse of the scared little boy that’s hiding somewhere inside of him.

From the moment we’d met I could sense that he was hiding something, but I also knew not to push him. Reid was a flight risk, that much was clear. I knew that if I had any chance of keeping him around, I needed to let him tell me in his own time. Regardless of how much the reporter in me wanted to pick apart his story and get to the truth.

Hoping to distract myself from the puzzle that was Reid Hudson, I decided to start working on my new assignment for the paper. I figured I would start by heading to the bookshop to buy new copies of all Spenser Johansson’s books. The last thing I wanted to have to do was scribble in the margins of my copies. I don’t mind folding the corners over to mark where I need to when I read, but I draw the line at defacing those beautiful words in my well-read copies.

I also needed to locate a map of our coastline, so I could try to track all the areas Lewis believed were used in Johansson’s books. While I’m not sure I agreed with Lewis that it was someone who lived locally, I wanted to show him that I’d done all the research.

I’m sure that whoever it was had hidden themselves for a reason. Perhaps they didn’t want to be dragged into the limelight and have their entire life scrutinized. That is probably why I hated being a reporter. I wanted to create stories, not chase them. And I certainly didn’t want to blow them up.

I was standing in my room, wrapped in a towel trying to decide what to wear when my phone rang. When I glanced at the screen to see who it was, I was surprised to find it was my parents calling.

“Hey, parents,” I greeted them, putting the call on speakerphone. “How are you both doing?” I asked as I pulled on my underwear, a black fitted t-shirt with a large set of gold sequined lips printed on it, along with some skinny blue jeans and my black converse.

“Never mind us. How are you, honey? We’ve not spoken to you since you told us about the break-in. Are you okay? What did the police say?”

“I’m fine,” I reassured them before giving them the latest update I had gotten from the police. “They have no leads, but they believe it was just someone trying their luck with my house key.”

I spent the next few minutes trying to convince them I was being as safe as I could, right down to having cameras and an alarm fitted. Of course, I left out the part about Reid being the one who’d had them installed. My parents were great, but I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready to tell them about my encounters with the Viking. I knew they would ask way too many questions that I didn’t have the answers to.

After ten minutes of reassuring them that I was fine and didn’t need to come home for a visit, they moved the conversation to my article about the ball that had been printed in the paper. It always made me laugh any time they mentioned one of my pieces. Despite the fact that they lived fifty miles away, they still paid for the subscription to the paper I work for so they could see all the dull, non-stories I wrote.

“By the way, that was such a beautiful picture of you, Hettie,” my dad gushed proudly. “You looked like a film star.”

“Photo? What photo?” I asked in confusion.

I had chosen the five photos for the story, but none of them included me. In fact, I didn’t see any pictures of me at all. One picture was of Reid handing the donation over to the chair of the charity, one of the organizers, one of the mayor and his wife chatting with some local business owners, another was of a group of people on the dancefloor, and the final image was an arty shot of the bar with some Vodka shots lined up. Of course, that was right before we drank them.

While my parents were on the phone explaining the image, I quickly located my laptop and opened my web browser to the paper’s website. I searched until I found the online version of the story. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut the moment I saw it.

The photo of Reid had somehow been replaced with an image of me. It appeared to have been taken from a distance and the creator had manipulated the image so that it looked as though I were staring down the lens of the camera. The rest of the room had been blurred out and, although it was a black and white photo, I looked like I was glowing.

What the actual hell? I thought, my blood running cold.

“Mum, Dad, I need to go and sort out a problem with the story. Can I call you back later tonight?”

“Of course, honey.”

“I love you guys,” I told them, before hanging up and immediately dialing Lewis on his mobile.

As soon as he answered I snapped. “Why is there a picture of me with my article?”

Lewis then proceeded to explain that the photo had been in the pile of approved photos he’d been given.

“I thought it was a little strange that you’d chosen a photo of yourself, but it was such a wonderful shot that I didn’t really think anything more of it.” He assured me that he would get to the bottom of what happened, starting with the photographer and the copy editor and that he would get back to me on Monday.

Satisfied, I thanked him and apologized for interrupting his weekend before hanging up and studying the photo more closely. While I couldn’t deny it was a good photo, I also couldn’t shake the way it made me feel. I felt exposed. As if someone had tried to look into my soul without me noticing. The thought made me sick.

My initial response after seeing the image was to call Reid and run to the safety of his arms, but then I remembered my plea to be independent. I had made a vow that I wouldn’t allow myself to be scared by everything that had happened recently. And I fully intended to follow through.

Re-energized, I grabbed my bag, put my earbuds in, clicked on the power playlist on my phone, and walked to thebookshop while singing the lyrics to Kelly Clarkson’s Miss Independent in my head.