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She couldn’t help looking at him then, at the aristocratic lines of his face. Frozen. Cold. And a sudden memory came rushing back to her, of a woman moving through the children grouped in the common area at Worthington. Tall and slender and impossibly elegant. Impossibly beautiful. Libby had watched her in awe along with the rest of them. She’d never seen anyone quite so lovely in all her life.

The woman had been all dressed in white and had headed straight to where Kai had been sitting with some of the younger kids. She’d put a hand on the back of his chair and bent down to say something to him. He’d looked up at her, and Libby remembered acutely the look on his face. Awe. Wonder. Amazement.

You lost him in that moment.

The thought wound through her brain, sharp and cutting. A ridiculous thought, because how could she ever have had someone? Kai had never been ‘hers’. Yes, she’d hero-worshipped him, had followed him around wherever he went like a little dog, but that had been because she’d been eight years old. He’d been twelve, much too old for an eight-year-old to view as ‘hers’.

It had hurt when he left, though. Don’t lie.

Libby forced herself to look away from him, as a pain she didn’t want to acknowledge cut through her. Ridiculous to feel that way after so many years. A child’s pain. He’d been taken away without any goodbyes, leaving everyone behind, and all the kids had been envious. To be adopted by that beautiful, rich woman and taken away to live in a castle or a mansion or Disneyland, or any one of the hundred little fantasies the other kids had spun. But all Libby remembered was the terrible hurt that he hadn’t even said goodbye, he’d just gone. He’d never even looked back.

So stupid to feel that way now, because seriously, would he have stayed for her? Refused being adopted merely to be with some silly little eight-year-old no one even wanted? Of course he’d had to leave. It made sense. Wouldn’t she have left, if she’d had the chance?

But look at him now. What kind of life has he had?

She didn’t want to think about that. Or rather, she was afraid to think about that, because she suspected Neve had done something to him. Changed him. Why else would he have turned into this…cold, snow giant of a man. Frost by name and frost by nature.

‘That’s terrible,’ she said softly. ‘We always celebrated birthdays in the home.’

He lifted one powerful shoulder. ‘It’s just another revolution around the sun. What does it matter?’ His gaze returned to hers. ‘Come here,’ he ordered.

Instantly, her heart sped up, beating fast and hard in her chest. Oh, so he was going to want his payment, was he? ‘Why?’ she asked, even though she already knew.

His eyes glittered. ‘I want that kiss you promised me.’

‘Did you bring any mistletoe?’ A stupid attempt to lighten the moment, of course.

‘No,’ he said. ‘We don’t require mistletoe.’

She took a silent breath and willed herself to stop being so nervous. It was a kiss, that’s all it was. Nothing more. And she’d promised him. She was a woman of her word. ‘You don’t know the meaning of whimsy, do you?’ she said, forcing herself up off the couch.

He said nothing, merely watching her with a curious intensity as she came over to where he stood by the Christmas tree. It stole her breath, that intensity, made her skin prickle and a strange ache throb between her thighs. No one had ever looked at her that way, least of all a man like this one. Beautiful. Powerful. Rich. He owned a massive company, could have bought a small country if he wanted, but he didn’t want that. What he wanted was her.

She stopped in front of him, staring up into his icy eyes, and it occurred to her that while he wanted the kiss, she was the one giving it to him. She could deliver it however she chose. And perhaps the way she delivered might bring a little warmth to his eyes. Soften the hard, sharp edges to his face. Send a message to the little boy he’d once been, who was possibly still there under all that ice.

‘We do this my way,’ she said. ‘Since I’m the one granting you the kiss.’

His gaze had dropped to her mouth, staring at it as if he couldn’t wait to taste it, which made her pulse race. ‘Fine,’ he said.

Libby raised her hands and took his face between them. His eyes widened in surprise. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

‘Giving you your payment.’ His skin was shockingly warm against her palms, with the slight prickle of his whiskers. His hair was silver, so would his beard be silver too? She stroked her thumbs across the sharp planes of his cheekbones, and the clear, icy grey of his eyes darkened into charcoal. She could see shadows there and storms and flickers of silver hunger. Grief and a tearing loss. It was like seeing a river rushing beneath a glacier, such frozen stillness on the surface and a wild, roaring flood beneath.

Her heart squeezed in her chest, a wave of pity, of sympathy filling her. She’d already thought that something terrible had happened to him, and now she knew it for truth. But she wanted to know what it had been, what had made him like this, so cold and remote, like the fjord he currently lived beside.

Not what. Who.

She took a little breath. Of course, who. She’d already thought that Neve must have had something to do with it. That could wait, though, she had a kiss to deliver. So, she drew his head down, at the same time as she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

* * *

Kaius felt every muscle in his body tighten as her lips touched his. Her hands on either side of his face were warm, her touch almost tender. But it was the kiss itself that held him fast. He felt it like the first touch of spring sunshine after a cold, dark winter, a warmth that nearly made him gasp.

He’d become Neve’s lover at eighteen. He’d been a virgin and in love with her, and she’d noticed his interest and had invited him into her bed. The sex had been pleasurable, yet when it was over, there was always a part of him that was still hungry. He felt like Tantalus, eating and eating and eating, yet never feeling full. Starving to death while feasting. Eventually, after he’d proposed to her and she’d refused him, he’d cut that hungry part out of his soul. It had been easy, and afterwards, everything had been better. He slept with women, but didn’t allow himself to feel anything more than a physical release.

He’d had many kisses, yet no one had kissed him like this, soft and light as a butterfly’s wing. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had kissed him at all. He wanted to press his mouth harder to hers, so he lifted his hands and slid his fingers into her wealth of glorious, golden hair, and it was just as soft and as warm as he’d expected it to be. He curled his fingers, gripping gently, and Liberty made a little sound in the back of her throat. It sent a hot flick of heat through him, and he opened his mouth against hers, touching her lips with his tongue, wanting more heat, more warmth, and she gave it to him almost helplessly. Her mouth was so warm and she tasted so sweet, like nothing he’d ever tasted before, and he could feel that warmth seeping down through him, settling into him, making him ache. Then the ache deepened, a prickling sensation as heat returned to the parts of himself he’d thought long dead, and he became conscious of something deep inside him, something powerful and hot, like magma in the center of a volcano.

Desire flooded through him, so intense he could hardly bear it, and he found himself kissing her harder, deeper, pulling her softness against his body, trying to draw more of her heat into himself. He could feel her hands moving from his face, her fingers sliding into his hair as she arched against him, kissing him back a little hesitantly, as if she wasn’t quite sure of what she was doing, and that somehow made it hotter.