Idiot. I’m such an idiot.

An hour on the treadmill did nothing to lessen the sting of that humiliating encounter with James. I’m standing under a punishing shower spray, letting the harsh water pressure pummel my body, and sometimes my face.

I suppose the only thing left to do before he has a real professional flown in to replace me is enjoy the spa. The whole thing is open air, laid out like a Japanese garden, set against the constant backdrop of glistening mountain peaks. And at the heart is a hot pool.

I was warned about this thing by the staff. A full, traditional, Japanese-style soaking bath, the water temperature is so hot that any slight movement that causes the water to ripple can be painful. I’m not into Jacuzzi jet bubbles, so this sounded lovely, but Jillian politely handed me a thick fluffy towel with a generous look of worry on her face. “You really want to settle down into the thing, quickly but smoothly, and then let the water stop moving around you. Try not to move at all, and then the heat will go deep into your muscles. And whatever you do, don’t splash or wave, because you really won’t like how long it will take to settle. It will hurt, but there’s nothing else like it if you can get past that part.”

Okay. I’m grateful for the instruction. And she was right—the water is a deep, dark pool, and gliding in is not fun. Bordering on scalding. But a minute or so more and my body has slowly unclenched and adjusted, and if I focus and don’t allow myself to move or float, all I can feel is luxurious heat, and the whole day finally shakes loose and slips away. It’s incredible.

I let my head fall back and stare up at the stars again. Maybe it’s all for the best. This high-end escort business is clearly not my scene. And certainly not something a desperate me should do. I don’t know what the way ahead is, for me or for Denny, but I can’t take care of anyone like this.

I’ll drive for Lyft. Sell cemetery property. Hell, at this point, even becoming a stripper would be a step up from glorified hooker. I don’t even respect this job, not really. Why am I getting my feelings hurt over the Ice King not respecting it either?

It’s as though just thinking about him is making my Spidey sense tingle. The back of my head literally tingles, partly from the heat…and partly because James really is standing on the terrace less than ten feet from me, watching.

I turn just slightly to face him, but even that motion is enough to make me wince when the slight wave in the water snaps my skin like electricity.

He steps forward, frowning. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Certainly not in that pool. How can you stand that thing?”

“Just trying it out,” I say lightly. “I like it hot.”

His eyebrows go up, but he doesn’t bother with a reply.

I see my ridiculous streak is going strong. “Do you need me? I can climb out.”

“No, no,” James says. “Stay put. Really.”

I do, if only to equalize the heat on my skin. The water settles, and I carefully look up at James, waiting.

He looks off into the distance. He’s doing his best impression of a stone statue again, but just when I think he’s decided not to speak after all, his eyes snap to mine.

“I want to thank you for your help at the luncheon today. I froze. I know you saw that. You’re…” his mouth curls up at one corner. “You’re a perceptive woman.”

The way he says the word ‘woman’ sets my lips and fingertips tingling, and not from the heat of the water or the cold in the air.

I would shrug, but it would hurt. Instead I say, “That’s what you’re paying me for.” I try to joke a little, keep my tone light. This time, though, instead of going stony or angry, James winces.

“I don’t love the fact I had to pay someone to pretend to be with me this week.” His hands haven’t left his pockets, but I see his wide shoulders shrug. “I was serious about the need to foster a certain perception for certain associates. Grief or tragedy is like blood in the water for people like them, but that doesn’t make this any less humiliating.” He stops and meets my eyes head-on, unflinching. “I don’t pay for women.”

The Ice King, they call him. Imposing, ruthless, one hundred percent in charge, all the time. But even he seems insulted at the idea of paying for affection rather than it being given freely, or it being earned. I had no experience to speak of when I first came here, but I’ve always respected a sense of honor in people. And been attracted to it in men. I can’t help but respect and be attracted to it in James. Only a man with as much money as he has, or a woman with as little of it as I have, can understand what it can and can’t buy.

Still neck-deep in the bath, I can’t move except to settle my head more comfortably and watch James through my lashes.

“You’re not enjoying having all these people here, either.”

He tilts his head, both acknowledging the remark and silently inquiring as to the reason for the observation.

“Aside from the fact that you’ve made it virtually impossible to reach the place without wings, rotors, or pack animals, you seem to bristle at the sight of so many bipeds in your domain. So why build a resort at all?”

“My wife.”

He says the words so softly and casually, yet I still jerk in the water and feel immediately scalded for the trouble.

“The woman in the picture you saw. That’s—that was my wife, Annette.”

My heart rate is rising, and I feel a warning flutter in my head, as though the heat is getting to me.

“She died a little over a year ago. Car accident,” he continues. “I built a house here on the mountain, long before we ever even thought of a resort. It was my refuge, the place I’d go to escape. Even more remote before because there was no landing strip or helipad. Annette was very social, though. She hated the solitude, even though that was the whole point for me. She pushed and pushed for the idea, handpicked the designers. The exclusivity was our ‘compromise.’ ” He says the word as though it tastes bitter. “But opening it up to the public, even an exclusive public, was all her idea.”

“So, you gave her what she wanted.”

He sends up that barely perceptible shrug again. “She was my wife.”

Perhaps it’s because I know exactly what he went through that the story of the car accident doesn’t shock or shake me the way it might do someone else. Denny survived his accident, but at great, great cost—not just monetary, but the physical toll was so severe it seemed his spirit died in the accident. So, I feel the survivor’s remorse and recognize it in another person who went through the same crushing ordeal. And I admire James more for stoically giving his wife her desire to build what she wanted, the resort of her dreams, even though it meant commercializing his favorite sanctuary.

“You ask why I seem to hate having people here. If I had my way, none of this would be here, and I’d be back up at my lodge on the ridge. Alone.”

“The ridge?” I ask. Some part of the resort I don’t know about?

James juts his chin toward one of the slopes behind my left shoulder, to the east. “My private home.”

“Is that where you skied in from the other day when I arrived?”

I see his teeth gleam in the dark. It’s first time I’ve ever seen him smile. “Yes, I have a private lift to the house if I want to use it, but I usually climb or have my pilot drop me there. Skiing or snowmobiling is the only way to get down.”

“That’s amazing.” I mean it. I am in awe of everything he’s built here. So why does it make me sad, somehow, too? I shake my head. Time to get out of the water before my brain cooks.

I grit my teeth and then surge out of the water at once. I’m released from the heat before it can really scald me, the water sluicing off me in what feel like streams of electric eels. It’s painful and exhilarating at once, and I perch at the lip of the tub, my skin literally steaming. I’m still so heated, though, I don’t feel even a little of the cold air. I pull in deep breaths. The air is so thin and clean up here that my heads feels light.

“So why the party? Was this week a way for you to venture out, or are you just counting the days before you go back into hiding?”

“Hiding?” He repeats the word on a cough.

I smile and pat my skin with the fluffy towel Jillian gave me and look up at the sky. “You didn’t build a resort. You built a fortress. Was that her idea or yours?”

The stars are twinkling and moving. A little too fast, in fact. I try to plant my hands, but I’m moving, too. I see James lurch forward.

He catches me up in his arms, and it’s only then I realize I must have gotten punch-drunk and dizzy from the heat of the tub. I feel James’s hands pass over my body, over my suit, carefully probing. Finding no broken bones or soft bits where there shouldn’t be, he sets me on my feet and wraps the towel around my shoulders.

“Okay, plant your feet and give it a second. Hell of a head rush, climbing out, if you get overheated.” He’s solicitously rubbing the towel over my skin, patting me dry.

The world has stopped spinning, but that doesn’t mean something’s not still scrambling my senses. Everywhere he touches me feels like an electric shock.

My light head spins in a heady heightening of my senses. He smells wonderful—masculine and clean, like rich cologne and male—and his hands, cupping my shoulders, are big and strong. Something tightens in my belly, and I want him. Oh God. Days of tension have me drawn so taut, I feel a swelling sensation between my legs, a kind of heaviness—and I know I’m getting wet for him. I want him to peel the towel back and brush a big hand under the fabric of my bikini bottoms. I want his strong fingers to part my lips and dip into that sweet spot…

“James.” I pant his name.

His eyes widen just slightly. Then his face darkens. “I don’t pay for sex, Darcy.”

I run a hand along the nape of his neck. “What bothers you more, James? That you don’t want to pay for sex, or that you want me even so?”

Because he’s standing so close to my hip, I can feel the effect that little taunt has on the Ice King’s composure. A certain part of him goes stiff as ice, and not from cold.

My boldness doesn’t go the way of the lightheadedness—now it’s just an excuse to say what I want, to goad him into a reaction. The way he’s holding me to him, and the soft, sensitive feel of my drying skin under the pressure of his wide palms, is just fueling a deep and different heat.

It’s like watching an out-of-body encounter. I don’t know the drawling, sexy temptress teasing James right now. But for once, the King has nothing to say. I turn and trail my fingertip along his lower lip, and lean in close, still skimming, but not really touching. Not yet.

“I want you to hear what I’m about to say to you. I want you to pay attention. I know you’re not used to listening to anyone, but I want you to hear me. Are you ready?”

His gaze flickers to my lips, and then back up to meet mine.

“You’re paying me to be in this building, not your bed. I know what I’m supposed to do and what you expect of me. But…” I take his hand in mine and bring it to my breast. His hand flexes, and he cups the soft globe in his hand before I rub the center of his palm over my nipple. I jump a little at the sensation, my breath catching. Then I slide his hand down further, leading him to my bikini bottoms, urging his fingertips just past the string tie and over the part of me that’s slick and needy with desire.

I can feel the moment his control snaps—the way his fingers part my slit. Both of us exhale at the same moment.

I grab his wrist. “You did that, James.” My voice shakes as he strokes toward my center, skating in the slickness. “You can’t pay for that,” I whisper.

He teases at my entrance. I want to push his hand against me. God, I want his fingers in me.

With every bit of self-control I have, I tug his wrist, urging him away from where I really want him.

My legs are trembling as I watch him suck a deep breath back. “Darcy.”

“James?” I want to tease, but it sounds ragged. “James—I told you what you’re paying for, and then I showed you what you’re not. Decide what you want and let me know. Good night.”

I don’t intentionally twitch my ass as I walk away from him, but I can’t promise that it didn’t happen anyway.