CHAPTER NINE

      EVERYTHING WAS FINE.

      More than fine, as a matter of fact. Thor was not in the habit of having emotional responses to his sexual exploits, because there was no place for such absurdities in the face of a mere physical release, and he was determined that this should be no different.

      Because it was no different, he told himself sternly.

      The only thing that made his night with Margot unlike other nights he’d had was that she’d gotten a rare glimpse into the personal life Thor preferred to keep as private as possible—despite what everyone thought they knew about him, thanks to his successes and that damned will. It was an error he would have prevented if he’d thought it through that morning. And one he’d compounded by talking to her about things he never, ever discussed.

      Never.

      Thor had no idea why he’d done any of that—and he had no intention of ever repeating his mistakes.

      There were some rules even he never broke.

      The professor had left in a taxi Thor had ordered himself. And once she had gone, Thor took great pleasure in telling himself that he could breathe again. That the world made sense again. That the strange urges and feelings that he’d experienced during that storm were more about the storm than anything else. They weren’t about Margot, because they couldn’t have been.

      Because that didn’t make any sense.

      That wasn’t who Thor was.

      Thor had spent the whole of his childhood watching the people in his life claim that love was the reason for all of their bad behavior. All of their weaknesses and vices. All of the cruelties they’d visited upon one another, whether by design or indifference.

      Thor had no intention of falling into that trap himself. And he’d spent decades more or less immune to emotion, which was a terrific way to make certain he steered clear of it all.

      This was no different, he assured himself. He was no different now than he’d ever been. It had been a long night, that was all.

      He spent the next week congratulating himself on his wisdom in sending his purple-haired American on her way before he could confuse the issue further with more private thoughts he should never have shared with her.

      And not only because he could see that sympathetic look on her face every time he closed his eyes.

      Thor couldn’t say he particularly cared for the revelations he’d had about how his behavior matched Daniel St. George’s famously debauched approach to life in general and women in particular, but he could handle that. After all, there was an easy solution if a man no longer wished to be the kind of man-whore Daniel St. George had always been.

      And Thor quickly discovered that abstaining from the pleasures of the flesh was far easier than he ever would have imagined.

      He removed himself from the hotel a few days after Margot left, telling his staff that a change of scene was in order.

      It was good to get back to his house in Reykjavík. To remind himself that his real life wasn’t that brooding hotel, but one stuffed full of his art, his books and all the things he’d collected over the years to show he was not and never would be his father. He had no interest in spending his life in an antiseptic warehouse the way Daniel St. George had.

      Thor spent his nights in his clubs in the city, doing his usual rounds to make sure they were all running as smoothly as he liked. He made note of every detail about each place, then sent his thoughts and suggestions to his managers ahead of the monthly managers’ meetings he insisted upon.

      It wasn’t until he found himself standing out on Laugavegur an hour or so before dawn one night, the bitter wind licking at him straight off the harbor, that he understood what he was doing.

      He’d been so busy congratulating himself on taking a break from the hotel and his reputation that he’d somehow failed to notice that what he was really doing out here every night was looking for Margot.

      And it was one thing to tell himself lies while he was tucked up in warmth and luxury. It was something else again when he was out in the thick, heavy dark of the approaching winter, just Thor and the night sky.

      He found he didn’t really try.

      And the not trying felt a good deal like surrender.

      Worse still, it appeared that his stubborn professor was full up on her research, because she was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t in the bars or the clubs or any other of Reykjavík’s hot spots—and this was Reykjavík. There were only so many places.

      If she’d been out at night, conducting her interviews, he’d have run into her already.

      Thor was standing out in the cold, pretending he was clearing his head after the loud live music he’d been listening to at the last bar.

      He’d been pretending a lot of things lately, it seemed.

      The truth was, Thor had been alone all his life, in one way or another. He had been alone in his parents’ painful loop of unrequited love. He had been alone when he’d made his way in the world. He’d been alone when he’d built himself a tidy little empire and he’d certainly been alone throughout his adult life.

      It had never occurred to him that there was another way.

      And yet despite all of that, Thor had never been lonely.

      Until now.

      And he didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

      Margot locked herself in her bright and cozy little sublet, flatly refusing to entertain the dark emotions that traipsed around inside her. Instead, she threw herself into her work.

      Because everything was different now. She could feel her shift in perspective like a kind of bone-deep tremor all throughout her body. It was a