Page 63 of Icebound

“Yeah. It was pretty recent after one of my interviews when they bombarded me with contract questions.”

“But you always look so put together on TV?”

“It’s all an act. After the interview, I swore I was having a heart attack, and I threw my stick at Cruz and then yelled at him to take me to the hospital. It was the first time he actually listened, and he stayed until they discharged me. The kid annoys the shit out of me, but he’s one of the good ones. When the doctor said what it was, I felt like an idiot because it felt like my heart was failing, so I’ve been there. It sucks.”

She blinks like she’s processing my words. After a few beats, she blows out a breath. “I’m sorry that happened to you, but yeah, it’s awful. I’ve been dealing with it my whole life, though, so I’m used to it.”

I tilt my head, surprised. “What do you mean your whole life?”

She shrugs, and the thin strap of her dress falls off her shoulder. I zone in on the tiny strand, aching to pull it back up. I ball my hands into fists.

“I mean that I’ve been getting them ever since I was a kid. After my sister, Charlie, died…” She sighs, leaning against the sink. “It took me forever to realize what they were. I always thought I was sick. I mostly have it under control now, but it’s still unpredictable.”

Her words hit like a fist to the jaw. That one panic attack almost broke me, and the idea of facing that hell over and over again?

I can't wrap my head around it. “Damn, I couldn’t even handle one. It was hell for me. You’ve got to be the strongest person I know.”

Her eyes trace the contours of my face. Once. Twice. Again.

“What?” I ask, rubbing my jaw to make sure I don’t have leftover crab cake in my stubble or something.

“I don’t feel strong,” she mutters. “Most of the time it feels like I’m constantly climbing out of this mental ditch while everyone around me is walking up mountains of success, but I’m still stuck, always ending up in the same place no matter how hard I try. I hate it.”

I stuff my hands in my pockets, so I don’t do something stupid like pull her into my chest and never let her go. “Not everyone can climb up a mountain. That takes a hell of a lot more strength if you ask me.”

She glances at the hand dryer, and her mouth pulls down at the edges. The back of my neck starts sweating the longer she stays silent, but then, she leaps into my arms and wraps her hands around my neck, pulling me against her soft body. Her glasses fly off her face from the force of her hug, clattering to the tile.

I’m frozen, hands dangling at my sides because she feels too good against me, but I snap out of it quickly. I wrap my arms around the curve of her waist and pull her as close as possible, telling myself that this is how I would hug any woman.

Except, I don’t rest my cheek and breathe in the scent of every woman’s hair when I hug them while imagining what’s under her dress.

Nothing, I bet, because I don’t see any panty lines, and I’ve been trying to figure that out all night.

Nina doesn’t say anything as I hold her, or maybe she’s holding me. Who the hell cares? We’re holding each other. Every time she breathes, that nipple piercing that’s going to be the death of my resolve brushes against my chest. It makes me a jackass for noticing, but I do. Her hair also smells like citrus. I notice that too.

I trace my fingers over the curve of her spine. “Don’t,” she mumbles against my suit, but her grip stays tight. “I’m all sweaty and flushed.”

I lift her chin, bringing her mouth closer to mine. Dammit, I want to kiss her. “Good. I like you all sweaty and flushed.”

Fucking hell.

I shouldn’t have said that.

She stiffens in my grasp, her tits brushing me with each heavy breath. She’s making those same noises she made in the kitchen, and heat rushes to my dick at the memory. I force myself to step out of her embrace even though I’m imagining her bouncing naked on top of me.

“You know…” She bites her bottom lip. “If you like me all sweaty and flushed, you could see me that way tonight.”

Tempting.

She’s too damn tempting.

I groan into my hands, lying straight through my teeth. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m too old for you, Nina, and I don’t think of you like that anymore… I just meant that you look fine sweaty or not.”

Her face turns even more red, and now I feel shitty. “Fine? The compliments just keep coming.”

I wince at her sarcasm. “Sorry. Want me to take you home?”

She looks down at her dress, fisting the silk in her hands like she doesn’t want to look at me, and I feel terrible for lying, but this is better than leading her on and pretending like we have a future when our reality is a hard stop.