Jana_Downs_-_Bringing_Home_the_Ice_Prince.pdf

Bringing Home the Ice Prince • Jana Downs

Bringing Home the Ice Prince

lone. It was the story of his life. Colton Stanton, Cole

for short, took a sip out of his polar bear coffee mug

and let the hot chocolate warm his insides. The

flames crackled in the fireplace; despite the warmth

emanating from therein, he‟d have to add wood soon.

He could already feel the heat ebbing as his fire lost energy.

He sighed deeply, set his mug on the coffee table, and stood.

No matter how warm he made his house, it wouldn‟t warm

the ice that seemed to encase his soul.

Cole had left his North Carolina prison as soon as he‟d

turned eighteen. NYC had seemed like the Promised Land for

someone like him, a place where he could lose himself in the

anonymity of the city. A place where no one would care that

he was a foster brat. A place to start over. He‟d worked hard

to put himself through school, managing to snag two

scholarships sponsored by the state after his first semester.

He‟d always pushed himself academically. All the sappy

Lifetime movies he watched told him that education was the

only way out of a penniless existence. He‟d gotten his

master‟s degree in literature and taught part time at a

community college as he worked on getting noticed for his

writing. Cole had always been a writer and often lost himself

in the worlds in his head. His fiction tended to be

heartrending depictions of love and loss with happy endings,

in stark contrast to what he actually knew of reality. Finally,

in his late twenties, he had sold one of his manuscripts to a

Bringing Home the Ice Prince • Jana Downs

major publisher, and his life had completely changed. He

filed that under the “how the hell had that happened?”

column in his mind. Then he‟d filled his world with all the

things he‟d lacked in his childhood. Well, almost everything.

Some things were still missing.

Dragging himself out from the shit swirling in his head

like the world‟s largest toilet bowl, he threw another log on

the fire and stared into the crackling flames, contemplating

the moment he‟d decided to abandon New York and

everything about his life there. I should probably shoot Eric

an e-mail to let him know I’m still alive , Cole thought, going

back to his plush green couch and burrowing under his red

fleece blanket. He and Eric had worked together for the past

five years, ever since his first book was accepted for

publication, and somewhere along the way he‟d become more

than an editor. He‟d become a friend. A copy of Lisa

Jackson‟s latest thriller lay open on the armchair, waiting.

Cole rubbed his eyes and yawned. Maybe he‟d e-mail Eric

tomorrow. His eyes were heavy and his body warm beneath

the soft blanket. Before he could convince himself to cross

the wood floor and pour himself into the cool bed in the

other room, he was asleep.

hard knock on the front door jolted Cole out of his

rest. He stretched with a groan of pain as his

cramped muscles protested the movement after

sleeping in an uncomfortable position on the couch

Bringing Home the Ice Prince • Jana Downs

all night. The fire had long since died, and the hardwood

floor was freezing on his feet as he stood.

“I‟m coming!” he barked at the door. He wondered briefly

who could be banging on his door this early in the morning.

Nestled in the rural North Carolina mountains, his home

rarely received visitors. He had surprised himself by buying a

home in the place he‟d once called a prison. He‟d first

returned on the insistence of a friend who wanted to visit the

Biltmore House in Asheville. Despite his bad memories of the

state, Cole had found himself falling in love with the quaint

historical charm of the town like so many other city dwellers

did, and he decided to buy a vacation home near there. The

seclusion and natural beauty acted like a calming balm to

him after a hard write, and he‟d made it into his own rural

retreat. Not many people knew who he was or even that he

lived in the area. In fact, the only other person he‟d had at

his home in months was the elderly Mrs. Bryant, who

hobbled up the hill every Sunday to bring Cole a home-

cooked Sunday dinneragainst his adamant protests, of

course. It couldn‟t be Mrs. Bryant, though, because unless

Cole had lost his ever-loving mind, it was Thursday.

Cole smoothed his hands down the front of his sleep-

wrinkled shirt and swung open the heavy oak door. He

blinked several times in confusion. Was he still asleep?

There on his front porch, in two inches of snow, wrapped up

like a seasoned Eskimo to stave off the cold, was Eric. The

early morning sunlight poured over his broad shoulders and

etched out in detail the natural highlights of his golden hair,

and then, just to fuck with Cole‟s equilibrium, decided to

play “mesmerize like a kaleidoscope of beautiful” with his

Bringing Home the Ice Prince • Jana Downs

emerald eyes. The eyes that Cole had been practically

drooling over since first staring into them.

“Good morning,” Eric said brightly. “Did I wake you?”

Cole blinked again. His brain still wasn‟t processing

Eric‟s presence on his doorstep. He looked so out of place in

such a rural setting. A native New Yorker, Eric was most at

ease in the rolling urban sprawl. Cole had never been able to

picture Eric here.

“You going to invite me in, or am I supposed to stay out

here and turn into a popsicle?” Eric demanded in his usual

straightforward manner. His bluntness was one of his most

endearing qualities.

“Yeah, sure. Sorry. Wasn‟t expecting anyone. Come on

in.” Cole stepped back to allow Eric to enter his home. He

shifted from foot to foot as he watched Eric sweep the room

with his discerning gaze. His home was built for comfort;

everything was plush and soft, in stark contrast to his New

York apartment, which was the epitome of functionality. He

knew for a fact that Eric‟s own apartment was more modern

in its décor. “Toe off your shoes so you won‟t get water on the

floor,” Cole said.

After he took Eric‟s coat and sat him on the couch, Cole

retreated to the bathroom. He stared at the unforgiving

reflection in his mirror and winced. His dark hair was stuck

up every which way, and his brown eyes had black circles

underneath them. He brushed his teeth quickly and washed

his face, hoping that it would clean him up a bit. He also

needed a shave, but that would just have to wait.

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