“No, I don’t mind,” Chloe said warily.
Daniel waited for his best friend to say something. Graves was wild about her. Daniel never
imagined a man more worthy of his sister, but he took care of her, protected her. They took care of
each other. Sought and cuddled each other. “That all right, Graves?” Daniel asked.
“Yeah, man, of course.”
“Of course it’s okay,” Chloe said at the same time Graves brought three cups of coffee. “But why
would you go with me when you could take anyone?” she asked.
Daniel grunted. “Not anyone.” The misery in his chest began to tighten at the reminder. “I’ll pick
you up Saturday at eight then.” He kissed her forehead and stood, and she caught his hand.
“It’s her again, isn’t it?” Chloe asked, her eyes searching his expression.
Daniel just nodded and headed for the elevator.
“Are you talking about who I think you’re talking about?” Graves asked.
“Yeah.” Daniel waited for the elevator.
“The Ice—”
“Yes,” Daniel cut him off, raising a hand. “Her.”
Graves nodded, no judgment in his hazel eyes. He wasn’t a very talkative man, and thank God for
that. Monica was a topic that always hurt to speak about. She had been the “big white elephant in the
room” with his friends his entire life. No one dared mention her—at least rarely. She was a hot button
for him, and nobody pressed it. Especially Graves, his closest friend. He knew what loving Monica
had done to him in his twenties. Daniel hadn’t loved a woman ever since, had never again allowed
himself to be vulnerable with one.
Until Monica had climbed into his car and calmly asked if he’d have sex with her …
Damn her!
So she could go seduce a senile grandfather? Not even Viagra would make the motherfucker hard
enough to give Monica what she needed. Damn her!
He and Graves quietly slapped each other’s back and Daniel left, thanking him for sharing Chloe for
the evening, all the while seething inside. Angry at Monica, angry at himself for opening himself to
her again. For thinking he could get past that thick head of hers.
He was brooding in the elevator, realizing he felt just as bound and tied as he had when she had him
on the bed. Tied up and helpless. He’d lose her if he went after her. He’d lose her if he backed off.
She’d been fucking lost to him since he was twenty-three.
His scowl bit into his face. As he climbed into BUG1, he pulled out his cell phone and called one of
the contacts he’d e-mailed a couple of hours ago, asking about Roland Gustafson. “Tell me you found
something.”
The voice on the other end chuckled. “As a matter of fact, I did. I was just going to drop the info by
your office.”
“I’m on my way.”
Chapter Five
Friday morning, a day before the gala, Monica stared in growing surprise at the set of photographs on
her desk. They were pictures of her … with a winter wonderland in the background. In some of them,
she was alone. While in others, she was embracing … Daniel.
Her fingers shook as she lifted one for her inspection, her own gaze looking back at her, holding her
transfixed. She had never, ever, seen herself this way before. The eyes that stared back at her were the
eyes of a woman deeply in love. Deeply. In. Love.
Her throat ached with defeat, for she could deny it to Daniel all she wanted, but there was no
denying it to herself any longer. She loved him. She loved him so much the feeling infused every
particle of her being, every pore in her body.
She didn’t want to be so vulnerable, had never wanted to feel this. But now she stared at the familiar
stranger on the photograph, feeling completely surprised and awed by what she saw. The woman
staring back at her didn’t look lost, as she’d felt that day. In fact, there was a startling focus and
clarity in her eyes. This was not the Ice Maiden. No. This was Monica. And the camera had never
captured her like this.
But Daniel had.
Her irises were darker, her pupils large, her fingers lightly biting into the powerful flesh of his back.
This woman would fight like a lioness for her man, and for the cubs he gave her. If her lion ever
strayed, this woman would fight to survive—and she would win. Her stomach moved at the
realization. She looked calm and happy. Strong. In love.
Not scared, not of him, never of him. Perhaps of herself.
She expelled a breath, and looked at another image, and in all of them, she was there. No Ice
Maiden. Only Monica. Monica in his arms. Monica alone, open, in love, and strong.
When her parents died so tragically, she had learned the hard way that human beings were