11. The Frost Queen’s Undoing
Chapter 11
The Frost Queen’s Undoing
Ori
“E
xcuse me, can I borrow your bathroom?”
I glance up from my work, forcing a smile for the scantily clad woman hovering by my office door. “Promise to bring it back?”
She furrows her brow as my witty retort flies straight over her head. “What?”
I wave my hand and bite back a laugh. “Go ahead. Last door on the left.”
“Thanks.” She mumbles her reply while adjusting her top, shooting wary glances toward the skimpy fabric to confirm its placement.
Might as well ask the obvious question.
“Aren’t you cold?”
It’s a legitimate inquiry, considering she’s wearing a bustier with no coat and it’s barely 35 degrees outside. When you add in the wind chill, it’s arctic level.
“Freezing, but I want to look good.”
“I suppose you mean for the holiday fair? ”
And I know she doesn’t give a rat’s ass about looking good for my benefit.
Her focus is entirely on the men of Black Lotus, who are currently ensconced in the parking lot beneath a massive black tent—complete with a heater, alcohol, and a bevy of women.
Of course, maybe she’s set her sights on Braden or Zane. They’re both wildly handsome. It’s not like every woman has a thing for Asher Hammond.
The busty blonde nods, glancing towards Main Street. “I got here early. Had to beat the rush. You know how women are around him.”
I click my tongue against my teeth and roll my eyes. I can continue this farce, but what’s the point? “Women love Ash, and he loves them.”
“Exactly.” She straightens, adjusting her top once more. “How do I look?”
Fucking ridiculous.
But I bite my tongue and force a smile in the young woman’s direction. “Hot as hell. No doubt you’ll catch Ash’s attention dressed like that.”
She releases a sated breath. “Perfect. Thank you. See you outside.”
“Can’t wait,” I mutter as she heads for the bathroom, her heels tapping against the hardwood floor.
The truth is, I have zero desire to attend this street fair. Call me a hothouse flower, but my options for the day are either freezing my tits off in the cold or seeking out the warmth in Black Lotus’s tent—while witnessing Ash’s flirtations with his harem.
A tricky decision.
One that Mina has apparently made for me as she pokes her head into my office. “Come on, it’s time to make an appearance.”
“Do I have to?” Yes, I’m whining.
“For a little bit, at least.”
“But we have an entire setup inside the store, where it’s warm. Why should I traverse outside when my customers are already inside?”
“Tradition.”
Desperate times call for desperate measures. Time to break out the theatrics.
I heave a dramatic sigh, slumping over my desk as if the mere idea of this excursion has drained the life from me. “I’m not equipped for this level of cold. It’s inhumane."
Mina walks across my office, patting my head like a spoiled dog. “Poor little city girl. You’ll manage. Besides, the guys were asking where you were.”
“What guys?” I mutter, my head still hiding in my arms.
“The hotties from Black Lotus, that’s who.”
I tip my head up, resting my chin on my hand. “I highly doubt they care.”
Mina shrugs, grabs my coat off the corner rack, and deposits it on my desk. “Ash seemed real interested in why you were still holed up in here.”
Now I know she’s lying.
Ash and I haven’t spoken since that night at the bar, when he flirted openly with another woman right before kissing me and intimating that my friend Roger couldn’t satisfy my needs.
Since Roger is happily married to James, I’m inclined to agree with him.
I wonder if Ash took that redheaded bartender up on her offer after I left. My money is on yes, although Mina finds the entire situation adorable.
After telling her the details of that run-in, she declared Ash was jealous, and that precipitated his behavior. Why else would he have kissed me in plain view of his next conquest?
My response to her absurd idea? Ash enjoys toying with women, and at this point, I’m just one of many—a footnote in his massive black book. Hell, it’s more than a book. It’s a damn encyclopedia.
Sure, the war between the shops is over, and there’s a noticeable change in the atmosphere, at least for our employees. Ash drops into the store daily, but he never lingers. He grabs his coffee, shoots me a wink and a wave, then returns next door.
That’s the extent of our relationship—or whatever you call it.
It seems the man maintains a tight schedule, and there simply isn’t room in it for me.
Not that I care … or am counting how many days it’s been since our fateful night together in the basement.
“I’ve got an idea,” I exclaim, rubbing my hands together. “I’ll give you the rest of the afternoon off so you can hang out with the guys. Spend time with Braden. I’ll stay here and manage the store.”
For a second, I think my plan might convince her, but one look at Mina’s exasperated face and I have my answer.
Not happening.
With a huff, I close my laptop and start layering for the weather. Unlike Ash’s fan club, I won’t risk frostbite.
I yank the scarf from its hook, wrapping it tightly around my neck—more to vent my irritation than to ward off the cold. Then I snatch up the hat and jam it onto my head. Finally, I grab my trench coat, shrugging into it with sharp, jerky movements.
“Let’s get this over with,” I grumble, as I trail Mina through our store and out into the parking lot.
Don’t get me wrong, I adore the holiday season. I’m a nut for festivities and all the trappings related to Christmas. What I’m not a fan of is pretending to be disinterested in front of Sparkwood’s resident bad boy.
So far, it’s been a non-issue, since I’ve barely seen Asher in the last few days. I can pretend he, and our fun-filled romp, are only figments of my imagination.
But now, that figment is live and in color and I am so unprepared for this moment.
My sole armor for this battle is sarcasm—the biting edge of my personality that serves to protect my heart from utter decimation.
Not that Ash has my heart by any stretch, because that would be a stupid and pointless endeavor.
Right?
But my crisis with Ash is momentarily forgotten when I step into Sparkwood’s winter wonderland. I’ll give it to the locals—they know how to throw a party—even if frostbite is a side effect of attendance.
Up and down Main Street stands a bevy of tents and carts, each one offering local fare and crafts. Lights hang on everything from lampposts to awnings and fire pits burn in the middle of the street, offering a warm reprieve from winter’s chill.
The aroma of gingerbread and mulled wine dance across the air, and my stomach rumbles in response .
“Pretty, right?” Mina asks, waving at a few patrons as they stroll by, their arms laden with packages.
“Beautiful. A storybook come to life.”
Hell, even the men from Black Lotus have joined in on the festivities, although their tent decor leans more toward gothic Dickens than Santa’s workshop.
Mina and I enter the tented area, and I realize if Ash’s speakeasy looks anything like the interior of this temporary hangout, he’ll have an instant hit on his hands.
Velvet drapes hang along the walls, helping to block the chill while providing a holiday aesthetic and battery-operated lanterns flicker throughout the area. A small bar sits in the back corner, next to a portable photo booth.
Judging by the dozen or so women hanging out in the tent, Ash also brought along his collection of fuck buddies.
Or at least this week’s installment.
I sound like a bitter hag. The embodiment of the crotchety old maid Ash believed me to be—at least until I proved I can also deliver one hell of a good time.
A good time Ash never wants to experience again. At least, not with me.
Why would he? The man got his wish—my signature on our newly revised deed.
Although Mina disputes my theory, I reckon that was Ash’s intention all along. Butter me up, rub me down, hand me the pen, and duck out the door with nary a backward glance.
Well played, Asher Hammond. Well played.
Still, I can’t hate the man for using his talents to his advantage. Isn’t that what we all do? And he never lied about his intentions with me. Ash promised to love the fuck out of me that night and he made good on his threat .
I just wish I could write off the evening as easily as he did.
But, until I reach that juncture, I need to fake it.
How hard can it be?
Glancing around the tent’s interior, I realize the woman in my store earlier was overdressed. Some of these chicks are wearing little more than lingerie.
Each one is pretty and playing up their assets to the fullest, so there is no mistaking their intention.
Right in the middle of the melee stands the man they’ve all come to see—Asher Hammond.
He’s casually dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, every inch of him epitomizing the quintessential heartbreaker.
Every move, gesture, and smile from the angelic bad boy oozes charm. He’s effortless.
I hate him for it.
Then there’s me, on the opposite side of the social spectrum. Stilted and painfully awkward, I lack Ash’s finesse with crowds.
Small groups are where I shine, but when there’s too much noise from too many people, my introverted nature kicks into high gear and I fade into the wallpaper. Or, in this case, the velvet drapes.
Trust me, it’s better for everyone that way.
But as I watch the women flirt and giggle with Ash, I wish I had a bit more moxie at my disposal.
Then again, I’ve never been one to fish for attention, especially not where men are concerned. Way too much upkeep with that crown. And judging by the flock gathered around the man of the hour, that crown has several ladies-in-waiting.
Men are either interested in me, or they’re not, and I refuse to ply them with fake charm and empty flattery to sway their favor.
Seems I’m in the minority where Asher Hammond is concerned.
“He’s popular,” Mina observes, giving me a light jab in the ribs.
Understatement of the month right there.
“Tell me something we don’t know.”
“I know someone who knows way more about him than any of these women.” Mina shoots me a smirk, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
Subtle, love. Subtle.
She’d love for me to cave and provide her with every intimate detail of my night with Ash, but what’s the point? Although I may know him on a deeper level than his current flock, there are a ton of other women who share the same notation on their resume.
I cringe to think how many women Asher Hammond has bedded in his thirty-eight years, or what his final tally will be once his ride on earth is done.
Although, his rampant sexual history is apparently a non-issue with his fan base. He never denies who or what he is, and more importantly, what he isn’t.
Maybe that’s the trick: Ash tells his bed buddies the truth right off the bat so they can’t throw it in his face later. Brilliant chess move.
I still hate him for it … even though I don’t hate him at all.
A thin brunette takes her turn with the man of the hour, lifting her skirt to show off a large floral piece tattooed on her upper thigh .
Ash squats down before her, his fingers tracing delicately over the inked outline, but it’s the look on the woman’s face when he touches her that catches my attention. Pure bliss.
Can’t say I blame her.
The man possesses the most talented digits on the planet.
Brain, please stick to neutral and PG-rated topics.
Too late, as the memory of our night together once again invades my every cell—his long fingers wrapped around my hips as he sank inside me, his gaze never wavering from my face as he whispered how spectacular I felt. How beautiful I was at that moment.
Damn, but he’s good.
“At least you and Ash aren’t at war anymore.” Mina’s statement interrupts my thoughts, and I shoot her a smile before reaching over to squeeze her arm.
“I didn’t realize it was so hard on you guys. I’m sorry about that.”
Mina waves her hand, dismissing my apology. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, it’s all in the past. You two kissed and made up, just like I said you should.”
Mina is lucky I love her. Otherwise, I’d push her pretty ass into the nearest snowbank for her continuous intimations.
“Are you going to drop it?”
“Never. Way too much fun to mess with you.” She jerks her chin in Ash’s direction. “Why don’t you go over and talk to him?”
“And say what? Excuse me, may I cut through your throng of fans? Let me take a number for a moment of your time? Hard pass.” I shake my head and focus my attention on a velvet drape, running my hand along the soft fabric. “I’m happy here on the fringes.”
“Maybe he’s waiting for you to talk to him.”
A snort of laughter flies out of my mouth as I point toward Ash and his eager fan club. “Does he look like he’s waiting? Trust me, the last thing I need is a man with that much competition.”
“With the right man, there wouldn’t be any competition.”
Mina’s sentiment vaguely echoes what Ash told me during our night together. How the right man would claim me, not wait for me to do the heavy lifting.
Case in point: Asher Hammond is not that man, no matter what my hormones say.
I wave my hands around, grateful my friend and I are on the same page. “Exactly. I need one of those. Know where I might find one around here?”
“One what?” a deep voice inquires behind me—a voice with which I’m very familiar.
Crap. How much did he hear?
A slow smile stretches Mina’s face as she gazes over my shoulder. “Ori needs a good man. Know of anyone who might be interested?”
My face flames hot at my coworker’s words.
Seriously, woman, please shut up.
“Oh look, cookies. Have to grab one of those.” Mina scampers across the tent, but I catch the triumphant smirk on her face as she passes.
I’m definitely firing her later.
“I have a present for you,” Ash says.
Turning on my heel, I accept the cup of steaming liquid that he offers with a smile. “Mulled wine. So, this is where that delicious smell was coming from. Thank you.”
He shoves his hands in his jeans and scuffs his boot across the pavement. “I figured you might be cold. Seems all the other women out here are freezing their asses off.”
“Might have something to do with their attire, or lack thereof.”
“Tell me something.” He jerks his thumb toward a small group of women huddled around the heater. “Why do women dress like that and then complain they’re cold?”
He can’t be serious with this question.
Rolling my eyes, I take a sip of my wine. “You know exactly why they’re dressed like that.”
“I do?”
“Don’t play dumb. They, like every other woman out here, want a chance with you.”
“Interesting theory.”
“It’s not a theory.”
Ash’s gaze roves the length of me, a smirk coloring his mouth. “If that’s the case, then how come you’re not dressed like that?”
Conceited prick.
No way will I give his ego that level of satisfaction, especially not after he shot me down for a second round.
He can butter up his harem if he requires accolades.
“It’s simple. At my age, I’m far too practical to catch pneumonia, hoping to catch a man’s eye.” I pull my glasses down and peer at him over my lenses. “Plus, I’m not looking for a spot in your rotation.”
Aloof and haughty bitch, at your service.
My barb hits its target as the smile falls from Ash’s face. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, rocking back on his heels. “Good to know.”
Damn it.
Now, I feel guilty about my snarky comment, which is ridiculous. First, Ash knows he’s adored. He’s got a line of women—a literal line—ready to service his every need.
Second, it’s not like the man actually cares how I view him. I’m one voice in a sea of hundreds.
Third, and the biggest reason, I asked him out. He shot me down. If anything, I should be the one who’s pissed.
Come to think of it, I guess I am.
Still, I hate being that person. Jealousy is a terrible look and even though I wounded his ego, he hasn’t stalked off, despite my caustic retort.
Time to ease the tension in this conversation. I lean into him, giving him a teasing nudge. “There must be one holdout in your crowd of adoring fans. Otherwise, it’s too easy and where is the fun in that?”
Ash glances down at where I nudged him, his expression softening just a touch. The pressure eases, but there’s still a flicker of unresolved emotion in his eyes.
“Maybe you’re right,” he says, as his gaze wanders over the throng of women awaiting his affections. “Too easy gets boring after a while.”
“I’ll give you this, Mr. Hammond. You’re never boring.”
“Neither are you, Ms. Thorne.”
“That’s Ms. Frost Queen to you,” I retort, the sassy edge lining my words, as I bite back a smile.
Ash catches me off guard when he wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me toward him. I glance up at him, momentarily frozen by the intensity of his stare. “No matter how it looks, don’t read too much into it.”
What the hell does that mean? Don’t read into our one-night stand and his subsequent blow-off? Don’t read into the cluster of women desperate to spend an hour alone with him? Don’t read into this moment?
Nice try, Ash, but I’m reading into all of it.
I need distance. Preferably a safe distance of fifty miles or so, but since that isn’t an option, I’ll go with my second-best bet.
Stepping from his side, I allow us both some breathing room. I motion to the table and chairs at the far end of the tent. “Your tent is popular. Is it strictly because you’re playing Santa later or am I missing something?”
Ash quirks his brow at me. “I’m playing Santa?”
“Of sorts. To one or more of these women, anyway. Fulfilling their Christmas wish list.”
He snorts out a laugh and shakes his head before tugging a hand through his hair. “We’ve got the bar and photo booth, which is always a hit, plus I’m doing a live demonstration later. We’re raffling off a custom piece.”
“You can create a custom piece that quickly?” I release a low whistle. “Impressive.”
“It’s actually a list of people who tossed their names in a jar over the last month. They’re already signed up to get the work done, but there’s a waiting list. Six months, at this point. The winner jumps the line and gets their approved design inked today. Although I’d like to claim that I can sketch up a custom piece in twenty minutes, I’m not that good.”
“Oh yes, you are,” I volley back. “And you know you are. ”
A smile creases his face, those dimples evident beneath his beard. “I meant tattooing.”
I press my hand to my chest as I plaster on my best shocked expression. “Obviously. What did you think I meant?”
He leans in, his breath at my ear. “Don’t you dare play innocent. I know how wild you are. You and that smart mouth of yours.”
No, no, no. He is not allowed to segue into sexually charged comments anymore.
But since he is, I’m standing my ground. “Didn’t hear you complaining that night.”
“Why would I? You were fabulous. But be warned. You keep sassing me, and I’ll have to put that mouth of yours to better use.”
How typical. “I’m sure you have plenty of women to fill that position.”
“That I want to hear screaming my name as I devour every inch of her?” He skews his mouth to the right, his eyes sparking fire at me. “Not at all.”
I have two options: continue down this heated path about sensual exploits or ignore his comment and move on to casual conversation.
This time, I’m playing it safe.
My heart and ego still carry bruises from the last time.
Time to turn the focus to his upcoming sexual Olympics, with at least twelve women in contention for a medal.
Taking another sip of wine, I step out from under his arm and twirl around, noting the stern glares coming from the contenders. Seems they don’t like me wasting their man’s precious time .
Tough shit, ladies. I’m hardly holding him against his will.
Maybe they fail to realize that playing too easily into Ash’s hand might render the opposite effect. Perhaps he wants to chat with someone who isn’t undressing him with their eyes and hanging on his every word.
Either way, he’s still here with me.
For whatever reason.
“I see you scoping out the place. What are you searching for—an escape route?” Ash asks, giving me a cocky grin. “There isn’t one, you know. You’re stuck.”
“Damn it. Thought I might make a quick getaway.”
“Running away from me again?”
I shrug, allowing another swallow of the spiced wine to slide down my throat. “Maybe. Sue me, okay? I’m surrounded by Asher Hammond’s hall of fame, which is not a place I ever wanted to visit. You have more trophies than the Yankees.”
Ash rubs a hand over his brow, but he doesn’t deny my claim. Why bother? We both know the truth. “Contrary to what you think, I haven’t slept with any of these women.”
“Not yet, but that will change before the end of the night.” And that knowledge makes me sick to my stomach.
“Do I get a say in these activities, or is it preordained?”
I arch my brow at him and release a heated sigh. “Like you’d say no.”
“Jesus, what you must think of me?” A muscle ticks in Ash’s jaw as he huffs out a breath. But again, he’s hardly denying my words. “What about you? How many men do you plan to take home tonight?”
I sputter my wine, wiping the stray drop from my lips. “How about none?” I gesture down the length of my body before meeting his stare. “I reserve these curves for a select few.”
What I don’t mention? That he’s the first man I’ve slept with in nine months. My guess is he’s slept with ten times that many women in the last week.
There’s that damn nausea again.
But although my statement could be construed as a compliment, it’s obvious Ash isn’t taking it that way.
He averts his eyes, focusing on the far side of the tent. “How many men are in this select group?”
Odd question.
I tilt my head to peer up at him, my lips curled into a teasing smile. “Why do you want to know?”
Ash shrugs and cracks his knuckles as a ripple of tension shoots through him. “Have to know how many asses I need to kick.”
A thrill rips through me at his reply, even if it’s likely just bravado. “Hmm. Interesting.”
“Are you going to answer my question?”
I shake my head and take another swallow of wine, even though I can’t hide the smile crossing my face. “Nope.”
“Really, and why not?”
“Way more fun this way,” I reply with a wink and a quick hip check. “Besides, I don’t care to know your number. No way can I fight off that many women.”
Ash chuckles, the deep sound vibrating through his chest. “You’d fight these women over me?”
“Only to defend your honor.” I set my wine down and raise my fists, adopting a boxer’s stance. “As you can see, I’m fierce and highly intimidating.”
A full belly laugh breaks from Ash’s throat as he looks down at me, his eyes crinkling with mischief. “Not the adjectives I’d choose for you, but I appreciate the sentiment, Little One.”
Little One. It’s hardly the first time someone has commented on my size, but it’s the way he speaks the words. There’s a warm affection lining each syllable.
Or maybe the mulled wine is getting to me and I’m seeing things that aren’t there.
Again.
I lower my fists and relax my posture. “What adjectives would you choose to describe me?”
Ash wraps his arm around my waist, hauling me close again. “No way. You have to answer first. How many asses am I kicking?”
He says the words against my ear, his mouth lingering against my skin a second longer than necessary, and I fight to maintain our cordial camaraderie as my heart hammers in my chest.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “Not nearly as many as I am. Let’s leave it at that. Now, it’s time to turn the focus onto you . See that woman? The one with the short blonde hair?”
Ash follows my gaze to the woman leaning against the bar, but he doesn’t release his grip on my waist. “What about her?”
“She told me personally that she dressed like that for you . ”
Ash snorts out a laugh. “She hasn’t said a word to me.”
“Said plenty to me.”
“Wait a damn minute. Why were you talking about me? Are you two friends?”
“Contrary to popular belief, not all of my conversations revolve around you.” I lean to the side and snatch my glass of wine off the table, acutely aware that Ash’s arms remain wrapped around me.
Trust me, I’m not the only one who’s noticed. There will no doubt be a contract on my life for Ash’s public display of affection toward me.
Eh, his embrace might be worth dying for.
“I’ve never seen her before today. She asked to use my bathroom, right before intimating she planned to feast on you for supper.”
Ash shoots me a grin, an amused sparkle in his eyes. “That’s quite the claim. You let her get away with that?”
“What was I supposed to do? Beat her up?”
“Hey, you’re the one who offered to defend my honor.”
“So, you’re not interested in her services?” Of course, my question is dual-sided. This man is a conundrum.
He considers my question, no doubt aware of the scowl crossing my features with every passing second. “It’s an interesting offer,” he mumbles, biting back yet another smile.
Oh, he wants to play it that way. Fine by me.
“One might say it is. Want me to introduce you? Get the show started?” I pull away from Ash and turn in the woman’s direction. Time for a little fun with our resident Romeo.
“Hell no.” Ash grabs me back, pulling me flush against him, my back pressed to his chest. “You are staying right here.”
Another surge of heat courses through me, chasing away any lingering chill. But I refuse to let Ash in on that fact.
“Are you using me as a human shield now?” I tease, aware of the daggers being shot my way by the surrounding women.
Looks like I need the damn shield more than he does.
“I think I’d aim for someone slightly bigger for that task.”
“I’m not that little,” I mutter, my bottom lip protruding in a pout.
“Yes, you are, but you’re also tough as nails. Scared the hell out of me for six months. That’s why you’re my new bodyguard.”
I laugh and take another drink of wine. “Nice try, but I don’t think you can afford my services. I don’t come cheap.”
“I’m fighting off an army of men and you won’t even offer your bodyguard skills against one woman? What happened to my tough little warrior?”
“What a load of crap. You’re not fighting anyone over me.” There is a bluntness to my words. I’m not challenging him to disagree. Why would I when I already know his response?
Ash pushes my hair over my shoulder, his fingers gliding across my neck and setting every nerve cell abuzz. “Watch me. That select few you mentioned will be zero before the day is out, because I don’t share.”