As he continued to move and flinch, the silk blanket on top of him shifted. Each time more of his chest showed. Koori couldn’t help her gaze from drifting down to his body. He was a tall man with wide shoulders, solidly built and appealing to her eyes.
She couldn’t remember the last time a man of his coloring or stature had stumbled into her snowstorm. Maybe never. He intrigued her on so many levels; it was a muddled mess in her mind.
Guilt at admiring him as he lay unconscious pulled her gaze away and back to the business at hand. She was here to heal him, help his fever dissipate. It was just that his reaction to her touches seemed like those of a man in the thrall of pleasure.
Setting the cool, wet cloth on his forehead, Koori found she couldn’t control her curiosity any longer. Slowly she slid the blanket down, revealing more of him.
She knew he was na**d, as she had been the one to remove his wet clothing, but at the time she had only thoughts of his survival on her mind. But now, rare carnal notions swam unhindered in her head.
Licking her lips, she raked her gaze over him, taking in every angle and slope of his well-defined form. He was a man made for the rugged outdoors. His strong but lean arms and trim waist told her he was athletic, maybe a runner, or a hiker—if she remembered his muscular legs correctly. And she had to admit, she did remember the powerful length of them as she had removed his pants.
As Koori took in his beautiful features, she found she itched to touch him. The tips of her fingers actually tingled in anticipation of the hot smoothness of his flesh. Uncertain of how her body would react, she drew a finger down his body, tracing the line between his chest muscles.
The warmth at her center grew, swirling lower to between her legs. The sensation surprised her as she hadn’t experienced that kind of pleasure in more years than she wanted to think about. It had been torture to be alone for so long. Once she was a very sensual being, a woman who enjoyed the sexual arts, who excelled at them. It had been so long, she’d forgotten who that woman truly was.
But now, touching this man, the ice solidifying her insides started to melt. Maybe with him she’d finally have a chance to be free of her cold constraints.
Closing her eyes, she settled her hand over his chest. Under her palm she felt the thump of his heart and the heat of his blood rushing through his veins. It’d been so long since she heard that sound, so long since she experienced the rush of life-giving essence that the power of the sensation surprised her.
She moved her hand over him, feeling his flesh, his heat, reveling in his mortal qualities. Oh, what she’d give to be like that again. To have the sensation of touch, and pleasure at her beck and call. To be a real woman again with a man at her side. A man eager to please her, eager to do whatever she wanted him to. Oh, how she longed to have that delight.
Her guilt long gone, Koori let her hand travel lower still. Eyes open wide, she watched as her fingers traced a circle around his navel. She played one tip through the light sprinkling of tawny hair that dipped even lower under the blanket. She knew where it led and for the first time in a millennia, she hungered for it. To feel the hard length of a man in her hand would be her greatest pleasure.
Darien let out a sensual moan as if he was privy to her erotic thoughts. The sound lifted her gaze and she brought it back to his face.
His eyes were open and watching her.
Startled, she snatched her hand back. She dropped her gaze and busied herself with the bowl of water. Embarrassment surged over her, and she wanted to dig a hole in the ice and climb in. Instead, she took up the bowl and started for the door.
Darien reached for her, grasping her wrist. “Wait,” he croaked, his voice barely audible. “Don’t go.”
“You must rest.” She pulled from his grip. He was too weak to offer any resistance. Head down, she continued toward the door.
“Please.”
His plea nearly stopped her, but she knew she had to go. She’d been a fool to do what she did. And she’d been caught at it.
When she reached the threshold and turned to close the door, she noticed that he had fallen back asleep. It was for the best, because if she had turned and he’d been watching her, with his vivid blue eyes beckoning her, she was uncertain she’d have been able to leave.
Chapter 5
A stiffness in his neck brought Darien out of a restless sleep. He’d been dreaming of pale eyes in a blinding snow. He’d been dreaming of her, the ice maiden, again.
In one feverish dream, he swore she’d touched him. And not a slight brushing of fingers but a sensual caress full of passion. The image had been so real in his mind that even now he ached in remembrance.
Lifting his arms over his head, he stretched. His body felt better, not as sore and stiff. He wondered how long he’d been in and out of consciousness. A day? Two? A week?
He ran his hand over his chin. His usual five o’clock shadow was now a good half-inch scruff. By the feel of it, he imagined he looked like a crazed mountain man, with his longish scraggly hair and full unkempt beard. He’d just about kill for a shave right now.
After stretching again, Darien sat up. Nausea didn’t plague him this time, and he was able to swing his legs over the mattress, and his feet to the floor. Surprisingly, the ice floor wasn’t cold.
He stood up and surveyed the room, keeping his eye on the closed door. He really didn’t want to be in the buff if he suddenly received company. Although if the ice maiden chose to return at that moment, he wasn’t too sure he’d be too put out by it. There was no denying that she was unearthly beautiful and his groin twitched when he thought about her.
An image of them locked in an embrace, her lips traveling his chin and down his neck made his groin twitch even more. Had he dreamed that?
He ambled to the corner where his stuff had been placed. His right leg was still a little achy and he massaged the thigh as he moved. He dressed quickly, and then took stock of the equipment piled high. Everything was there, intact, no obvious damage to any of it.
After he surveyed his items, he put his attention to the walls around him. He placed his hand on the sparkling crystal and rubbed it up and down. It was definitely crafted from ice. It amazed him that something like this could exist. A room, possibly a whole house, constructed from frozen water. Although, there were a few ice bars in Hokkaido; Japan’s northernmost island was famous for them. As were other countries including Norway and Sweden, even Canada. So, Darien assumed it was possible. But it just seemed so surreal. Especially since everything in the room had been created from it: the chairs, the bed, the gorgeous four-tier chandelier hanging from the high ceiling that shed no light. All seemingly impossible but all as real as he was.
Or maybe that was the issue. Maybe he wasn’t real anymore. He still hadn’t resigned himself to actually being awake and aware. There was still the remote possibility that he was in a coma and dreaming all of it.
Curious to see more, he ventured toward the door, opened it and peered out into another large area, also made of ice. This room seemed like a lofty sitting room or parlor, and images of old English castles came to his mind. That’s what it all seemed like to him as he turned, eyeing the surroundings—a huge elegant palace made of ice. So instead of the ice maiden, maybe she was the ice princess.
And was he to be the prince charming coming to rescue her? He laughed at that. If Darien was a prince then he was surely dreaming. Besides that, he realized that he had been the one in need of rescuing. If that was indeed what she had done—saved him from freezing to death in the blizzard.
But then all the stories told about her would be untrue, the myth of Koori-Onna a false one. Or this was something else altogether. Maybe he was here for a completely different reason.
Darien continued his search of the palace, becoming more and more intrigued with every ice furnishing he came across. Chairs, tables, the mantel over an unlit fireplace, everything crystalline and glowing pale blue from the inside. It was breathtaking but eerie. And a whisper of dread crept over him. It was too pristine and perfect as if it was constructed all in the hopes of being torn down. As if a well-placed hammer could shatter it into a million tiny crystal shards.
Darien marveled at everything as he walked through rooms and down halls. One thing he did notice was that none of the rooms had windows or doors that led to anywhere but more rooms. The three doors he’d come upon he had opened in hopes of finding a way out, only to find another room to explore.
He didn’t know how long he’d moved through the palace. It seemed like hours, because when he happened upon the last room his legs were shaky, but it might’ve been because of what he found.
This room was different.
It wasn’t as large as the others and had lower ceilings. In the middle of the room was a pool of water, a hot springs. Steam rose from the water, filling the area.
Then he saw the ice princess soaking in the water, na**d. The steam wasn’t so thick that he couldn’t fully see her beautiful curves and perfect pale skin.
Her eyes widened when she saw him, and her arms instinctively wrapped around her body, covering her na**d br**sts.
Hand out toward her, he approached the pool, cautiously. “Don’t be afraid.”
She watched him curiously but said nothing. By the look in her eyes, he didn’t think she was all that indifferent to him coming across her.
“Do you understand English?”
She nodded.
“I want to thank you for saving me.” He rubbed a hand over his chin. “At least that’s what I think you did,” he mumbled as an afterthought. He looked at her, waiting for a response to anything he’d said. She just watched him with those impossibly pale eyes.
He gestured to the pool, hoping to find common ground with her. He was completely out of his element here. How did a man talk to an ice princess supposedly from a thousand-year-old myth? “The water looks inviting. May I join you?”
She didn’t answer him, but he thought he saw something change on her face. She didn’t look so cold, so unapproachable. Was there an invitation in the slight twitch of her lips?
Slowly, he slipped his boots off and stuffed his socks inside the opening. Hooking his thumbs into the hem of his long-sleeved henley, he pulled it up and over his head. He set it next to his boots, and then proceeded to remove his khaki pants. He shed them quickly, to not frighten her or, he had to admit, embarrass himself. He left his shorts on.