Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Keep your knees soft,” Jessica calls out, demonstrating with the same irritating ease as Sloane. “And remember to bend slightly at the waist.”
Sloane circles back to where I’m clinging to the wall, executing a graceful stop that sends a spray of ice in my direction. “You know,” she says, eyes dancing with amusement, “for someone so obsessed with control, you’re remarkably bad at this.”
“I’m strategizing,” I say with all the dignity I can muster while essentially hugging a wall.
She laughs, the sound echoing across the ice. “Is that what we’re calling it?” She spins in a lazy circle around me. “Come on, Cole. Let go of the rail.”
“I’m good here.”
“The great Cole Asher, afraid of a little ice?” Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she demonstrates another perfect figure eight. “What would your board of directors say?”
“They’d recommend a thorough risk assessment before proceeding.” But I find myself loosening my grip anyway, drawn by the challenge in her voice.
My first step away from the wall is . . . less than graceful. Sloane’s laugh turns wicked as she watches me wobble, my usual poise absolutely useless while she glides around me like some kind of winter spirit.
“Not so perfect at everything, are you?” she calls, executing a wobbly but passable turn.
I watch her hair catch the light as she moves, the way her cheeks have flushed with cold and joy. “I don’t need to be perfect,” I tell her honestly. “I just need you.”
The words surprise even me—I’m not a man who admits to needing anything. Or anyone. Sloane freezes mid-glide, her eyes finding mine across the ice. For a moment, everything stills—the gentle scrape of blades, the winter wind, even my carefully maintained control.
“Cole . . .” Her voice is soft as she skates back to me. When she reaches for my hand, I realize I’m no longer gripping the rail. “That’s good,” she says, threading our fingers together, “because all I need is you too.”
The raw honesty in her voice catches me off guard. We stand there, both a little stunned by the weight of what we’ve admitted, until Jessica’s voice breaks the spell.
“All right, Sloane—show me what you’ve got. Those edges are looking pretty sharp for someone who claims to be rusty.”
Sloane’s eyes light up at the challenge. She squeezes my hand once before letting go, then pushes off with newfound confidence. I make my way back to the rail—somewhat less shakily than before—and watch as she picks up speed, her movements becoming more graceful with each pass. When she launches into a spin, her body a perfect silhouette against the winter sky, I’m reminded that she’s always had this kind of grace. I’ve just never seen it quite like this.
“Not bad,” Jessica calls out. “Want to try a jump?”
Sloane’s answering grin is all the response needed.
The afternoon becomes something I didn’t know I was missing—the two of us stealing kisses in the middle of the rink, drinking hot chocolate spiked with peppermint schnapps, falling more times than I care to admit. For a few precious hours, we’re just a couple enjoying Christmas in New York. No deadlines, no threats, no constant surveillance.
As the winter sun starts to dip, I find myself settled on one of the benches, nursing aching muscles I didn’t even know I had. I’ve long since admitted defeat to the ice, content to watch Sloane continue to practice moves with Jessica. She’s been relentless, making up for lost time, each successful jump bringing back more of her old confidence.
When she finally skates over to join me, her cheeks are flushed with exertion and joy. She sits beside me, leaning into my shoulder despite my wincing.
“Thank you for this,” she says softly. “For knowing what I needed before I did.” Her eyes meet mine, clear and certain. “About this morning . . . I know the security is necessary, and I want you to know . . . I choose this, Cole. I choose you.”
I’ve spent my life maintaining absolute control over everything and everyone around me. But her choice—her willing acceptance of my protection rather than fighting against it—affects me more deeply than I expect. For a moment, I can’t find words.
Later, back in the penthouse, I watch her practically skip to her studio, full of renewed energy while I contemplate whether crawling to my office would be less dignified than my current attempt at walking. As soon as her door closes, I pull out my phone, trying not to wince as I shift in my chair.
“Knox. The plans we discussed for Christmas. Make sure that happens. She’ll be ready.” I pause, watching Sloane through the cameras as she begins sketching with renewed vigor. “And I know you disagree about tomorrow night, but I’ve decided. We’re going. It’s time to show the world exactly who my Ice Queen is.”