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during your last call.”
    Cold, like a bucket of icy water thrown over her, engulfed her.
    Get a grip, girl . She embodied the Ice Dragon at work. Men twice her age cowered in their shoes when she sat across from them at a boardroom table. Surely she could deal with one single man, even if he fired her blood, held her heart, and soothed her soul.
    “This is what we signed up for. You know that.” She threw the sheet off, scooted to the edge of the mattress. But before she could get up, he lunged for her and wrapped one hand around her wrist.
    “You won’t even tell me your name?” he asked.
    “Trust me. It’s better if you don’t know.”
    Better for me —at least that way, she could hold on to the remembrance of their time together. Even if she never graced another man’s bed, she would live with the memory of their night, know that once, her life had been perfect.
    Because he hadn’t known her, and she him, they came together and worked magic that had been unhindered, uncolored by previous perceptions and ideas.
    “Why?” he asked.
    She trained her eyes on him, to drink her fill of his beautiful face. Not a hard task, to make her mind commit every square inch of him to memory. He would always burn bright and alive inside her. She’d cherish that thought, fall back onto it whenever her life made her that reefed island again.
    “I want you to remember one thing about me,” she said.
    He sat up straight but didn’t let go of her wrist.
    “For the first time in my life, I’ve been me, and nothing else. Thank you for letting me experience that.”
    The doorbell chimed.
    Without a word, he released her. Agony tore through her heart with thick, blunt claws when she saw how his face grew shuttered. He knew she would leave—what she gave him as explanation would never be enough, but that’s all she could afford.
    She got up and dressed with her back to him. She didn’t dare turn, afraid she’d cry or even run to him and beg him to never let her go.
    Her shoes were in the living room, and she slid her feet into them, didn’t bother to tie the straps around her ankles. The faster she got out of that villa, away from him, the better. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold onto the calm façade and not break down.
    When the doorbell chimed again, she rushed to it with shuffling feet. She opened the door to find the same driver from the night before. He tipped his hat, told her he’d been sent to take her back to reception.
    She nodded in greeting, not trusting herself to speak, and had one foot lifted forward when the front door banged shut in front of her.
    “I don’t want you to leave, Simmi.”
    Her lover stood next to her dressed in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. In the narrow entrance foyer, he sucked in all the air around her, reduced her surroundings to his presence.
    And, did she hear right? He’d used her name?
    “Wha…what did you say?”
    “You heard me.”
    She blinked. “No. What did you call me?”
    “Simmi.”
    A gasp tore from her lips. “I…I never told you my name.”
    “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know who you are. Simmi Moyer, Vice-President, Legal Affairs of Dunmore Group of Companies.”
    She took a step back and bumped against the door panel. He’d known all along? “How?” Had Madame Evangeline divulged her identity? The woman had assured her no names would be exchanged unless the two parties decided to do so.
    “My name is Lars Rutherford, and—”
    A fist slammed into her stomach. “—you’re the regional director of Elriksen Shipping,” she finished for him.
    “If you’d let me tell you, you’d have found out I knew all along who you are. But you refused to tell me your name, or anything about you. Why?”
    “Because…” I was afraid . Afraid he’d play her, or treat her like all the men she’d gotten embroiled with so far in her life.
    He moved forward until his broad chest stood inches from her. Lars Rutherford, the