Frozen Negotiations

Chapter Two

The generator’s hum dipped, faltered for a second, and the light bulb flickered wildly. A deeper cold immediately began seeping through the cabin’s wooden walls.

Grayson didn’t move from his chair, his gaze fixed on the struggling machine. “It’s deciding for us,” he said, his voice a low rumble in the semi-darkness. “Heat or light is a luxury we’re about to lose.”

Iris wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “Some vacation this is turning out to be.”

“Was yours so desperately needed?” he asked, not looking at her.

The question hung in the chilled air. She heard the genuine curiosity beneath his critic’s tone. It felt like the first real question either of them had asked.

“Yes,” she admitted, the word leaving her in a cloud of vapor. “The deadlines are a conveyor belt. Finish one book, the contract for the next is already waiting. My agent, my editor, the readers… it’s just noise. A constant, screaming noise. I booked this place because it said ‘no cell service’ in the description. It was the only ‘off’ switch I could find.”

The light flickered again, and in the resulting shadow, Grayson let out a slow breath. “The noise,” he echoed. “I know it. For me, it’s the silence.”

That made her turn her head. “Silence?”

“The weight of it. Reading manuscript after manuscript, holding the power to dissect a year of someone’s work in a thousand words. The expectation that my judgment is the final word. It’s… corrosive.” He finally looked at her, his brown eyes stark in the dim light. “I came here to remember what it’s like to not have an opinion.”

The generator sputtered violently, and the light died completely. The darkness was absolute, save for the faint, cold blue glow of snow against the windows. The only sound was the wind and the generator’s failing, erratic gasps.

“It’s going to freeze in here,” Iris whispered, her bravado vanishing with the light.

“I know.” His voice was closer. She heard the creak of the floorboards as he stood. “Theoretical negotiations are over. We require a practical solution.”

She felt him move behind her, his presence a solid, warm force in the dark. “What solution?”

“Shared body heat. The most efficient method.” His hands found her shoulders, his touch firm, guiding. “Sit.”

He lowered himself back into the large armchair. After a moment’s hesitation, her playful nature yielding to the primal need for warmth, she let him guide her down. She settled between his legs, her back to his chest. The intimacy was immediate and shocking. He was solid and warm, his thighs framing hers.

His hands settled on her hips, his palms hot even through her jeans. He pulled her gently until she was snug against him. His breath ghosted across the side of her neck, a warm contrast to the icy air.

“Better?” he murmured, his voice vibrating through her.

“Yes,” she breathed, her own voice unsteady. The professional rivalry, the sting of his past words—it all melted away, rendered trivial by the simple, desperate fact of their shared warmth.

“Tell me about the book you’re running from,” he said, his lips nearly brushing her ear.

She shuddered, and it wasn’t from the cold. “Why?”

“Because I’m not your critic right now,” he said, his hands tightening slightly on her hips. A silent, dominant claim in the dark. “And you’re not the author I reviewed. We’re just two people trying not to freeze. So talk to me.”