Frozen. Morgan Q O'Reilly

      “No one will ever be able to convince me that Hell never freezes over,” Noreen muttered as she looked over the flat, frozen vista on the far side of the thick window before her.

      Blinking travel fatigue from her eyes, she focused past the reflected images of the people behind her in the large Ryadstholm Depot, many rushing in from the huge inter-galaxy cruiser on the launch pad. Even more were lining up to board it. Instead, all she saw was white landscape against a midnight-black sky. Outdoor lighting obscured the stars.

      Just before opening the doors to let her disembark, the captain had said the early morning temperature was fifty degrees below zero, Celsius. Her guess would put it down around minus sixty. Not that it mattered much. Cold was cold.

      “This isn’t Hell,” a deep voice replied from behind her shoulder. As she shivered, she saw a blond man’s reflection in the window. “Noreen Tibbetts?” The voice was slightly hesitant, as if reading from a slip of paper. A different kind of shiver traveled down her spine. One that made her feel a little warmer.

      Turning to face the speaker, she didn’t appreciate the look of amused condescension before his eyes traveled the length of her body and returned to her face. Their gazes met, and she found herself mesmerized by the deepening of his already dark blue eyes. Dimly aware of a faint ringing in her ears, much like the sound of two pieces of heavy steel colliding, she fought for control as his stare fanned a tiny spark of heat deep inside. Shaking her head slightly to break the heat wave rising between them, she purposely ignored the shocked look he wore as she stepped back until a row of connected chairs stopped her retreat.

      She wasn’t staying long enough to dally with the locals. Especially not these locals. Still, had they been this magnificent before she left? After all, Hans, her bodyguard, was a very fine specimen of manhood, but this man made him look like a thug. Oh Freya, don’t think about such things. This man was an escort, nothing more. A transport driver. Chauffer. Hired help.

      “Fine, have it your way. Helvete.” She gave him an insincerely sweet smile to cover her sudden lack of breath and wildly beating heart. No need for panic attacks!

      His gaze had just wandered to her secretary, Fiona, obviously waiting with her, but cut immediately back to Noreen at her use of the local term. Let him figure out how she knew the old Nordic word for Hell. She knew the word in more languages than he was probably even aware existed.

      Before he could question her, she regained control of her emotions and nodded to the bulky bundle in his hands. “Is that for me?”

      “Yes. I wasn’t told there were two of you, though.” Uncertainly he set down a pair of boots and held out an insulated parka and high-waisted pants that matched the outerwear he wore. His unzipped parka showed a thin, white silk undershirt clinging to what looked like a muscular chest. “They’ll be more comfortable without the jeans and sweater you’re wearing.”

      Ignoring the lift of his eyebrow and the challenge in his eyes, she squared her shoulders, took the outerwear from him and set it on a chair. “My secretary has accommodations here and will see to the bulk of my luggage. That pile will go with me now.” With a wave of her hand she indicated half a dozen soft and hard cases, then grasped the bottom of her wool sweater and lifted it over her head. Hans, with the help of Sophie, her personal maid, had control of the trunks and suitcases that made this pile look like luggage for a day trip.

      The blond man’s gulp was loud enough for her to hear as she carefully pulled the sweater over her neatly coiled hair. Bet he wasn’t expecting her to strip down in the public lounge to the clinging fire-red silk shirt she wore under a bright blue wool sweater. Handing the discarded garment to Fiona, Noreen quickly toed off her woolen shoes and shimmied out of her jeans.

      Lust flared in his eyes as his gaze swept her lower body encased by clinging silk leggings to match the top. Disregarding the sudden pebbling of her nipples in response to the nearly physical caress of his perusal, Noreen glanced at Fiona and saw her secretary smirking at the man’s reaction. So he noticed she only wore the long silk underwear and no other under items?

      Knowing she’d be in tight quarters for a few days, she’d opted out of wearing additional under things. Stepping into the thick cold-weather pants, Noreen added an extra wiggle as they slid up over her hips. When she felt her unbound breasts jiggle in response, she glanced up in time to see his jaw tighten. Yup, he noticed. Not laughing was a strain as she watched him shuffle his feet and make a point of looking away.

      “So, handsome escort, what might your name be?” A quick tug tightened the shoulder straps that held up the garment. Through the silk of her leggings, the soft fur lining was a lover’s caress against her body. Fur seal, a distant cousin to the seals of Earth, highly prized for its deep sable softness. Per local custom, she mentally sent a sigh of thanks to the spirit of the animal who’d given up its life to feed the tribesmen, and its skin to keep her warm. One of the very rare luxuries of living on the iceball, known to the universe as Nordia.

      After a startled frown, a slow smile spread across his face at her impertinent tone. It was almost too easy to bet no one usually talked to him so casually. Liked a sassy female, did he? Maybe the trip would be entertaining after all.

      “Gunnar. Gunnar Zaren. Princess Coreen personally asked me to make sure you arrived in Stravicsholm safe and whole.”

      “I’m honored.” It was hard keeping the sarcastic tone from her voice, and she muffled it further by turning to pick up the parka after stomping her feet into the tribal-made fur-lined boots he’d also brought along. Thankfully they were broken in and the waterproof tanned skin soles molded softly to her feet.

      Yeah,

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