There was a solution to the problem. There always was. And he would find it—something he could do to get the Orsinis, father and daughter, out of his life.
He was, above all else, a logical man. A pragmatist. And pragmatism, not emotion, would save the day. Control over your emotions was everything.

There is something undeniably addictive about a romance where two people spend more time trying to convince themselves they should stay apart than giving in to the inevitable. The anticipation, the stolen glances, the constant battle between logic and desire—when done well, it can be just as exhilarating as the happily ever after itself. The Ice Prince delivered exactly that kind of reading experience. In my search for more of the classic category romances that first made me fall in love with the genre, Amazon’s “Find Similar Books” feature recommended this gem, and I could not be happier that it did. It reminded me once again why revisiting these older Harlequin Presents and category romances continues to be so rewarding.

Prince Draco Valenti has spent his entire life hiding behind an icy exterior that earned him the nickname “The Ice Prince.” A self-made billionaire determined to restore honour to his family name after a childhood marked by neglect, cruelty, and unimaginable loneliness, he has built his world on discipline, control, and emotional distance. Anna Orsini could not be more different. A twenty-six-year-old lawyer with a sharp tongue, fierce independence, and absolutely no patience for arrogant men, she has her own reasons for rejecting the idea of happily ever after after witnessing her mother’s submissive marriage to her father. From the moment these two meet, sparks fly in spectacular fashion. Their first encounter is explosive, confrontational, and bursting with the kind of unwanted attraction that neither of them wants to acknowledge, making every subsequent interaction deliciously entertaining.

What elevates the romance beyond sizzling chemistry is how beautifully Sandra Marton peels back the layers of both protagonists. Draco’s arrogance is very much a suit of armour, forged by years of abandonment and hardship, while Anna’s fierce independence stems from her determination never to become the kind of woman she watched her mother become. Neither believes in love. Neither intends to surrender control. Yet every encounter chips away at those carefully constructed defences until resisting each other becomes almost impossible. The emotional conflict never feels manufactured because it grows naturally from who they are rather than from unnecessary misunderstandings.

And then there is the chemistry. This is how you write tightly wound sexual tension. Every shared look, every verbal sparring match, every accidental touch carries enough electricity to make the pages crackle. By the time Draco and Anna finally stop fighting what is so obviously inevitable, the explosive culmination was everything. They are equally consumed by their attraction, equally stubborn, equally determined not to admit defeat, and that balance made every scene between them immensely satisfying. Neither Draco nor Anna ever really stood a chance. Their very first meeting sealed their fate long before either of them was willing to admit it.

What I loved most, however, was that beneath all the passion lay two deeply damaged people who simply wanted something they had never truly experienced before. Draco’s painful childhood and relentless drive to rebuild both his family’s legacy and his own sense of worth made him a hero I could not help but root for. Anna’s refusal to compromise her independence, coupled with the vulnerability she tries so hard to conceal, made her the perfect match for him. Watching them slowly discover that strength and love are not mutually exclusive was every bit as rewarding as the romance itself. The ending, too, was exactly what I wanted. After everything they endure, seeing Draco come for Anna and watching her finally stop resisting the feelings she had been trying so desperately to suppress made for a wonderfully satisfying conclusion.

Recommended for: Readers who love enemies-to-lovers, explosive chemistry, emotionally scarred protagonists, possessive heroes, and category romances where the sexual tension is every bit as memorable as the love story.

Final Verdict: A delicious battle of hearts, pride, and passion where neither protagonist ever stood a chance, and that is precisely what makes The Ice Prince unforgettable.

Favorite Quotes

When she woke, the cabin was almost completely dark.
And she was cocooned in warmth.
Male warmth.
Somehow she was lying in the stranger’s arms, both of them covered by a soft blanket. Her head was on his shoulder, her face buried in the curve where his neck met his shoulder.
He was asleep. She could tell by the deep, slow exhalations of his breath.
Move, she told herself. Anna, for heaven’s sake, shift away from him.
Instead, she shifted closer. Closer. Drew his scent—masculine, musky, clean—deep into her lungs.
Her hand rose. By itself, surely. No way would she have deliberately lifted it, placed it against his jaw, rubbed her fingers lightly over the sexy stubble.
The sound of his breathing changed. Quickened. Her heartbeat quickened, too.
“Hello,” he whispered.
Anna touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. “Hello,” she whispered back.

Room 314 was at the end of a dark hall. He strode along a frayed carpet runner until he reached it and then he hit the door once, with his fist.
It opened instantly.
“Wow,” Anna said, “that’s the quickest room service I ever—”
“Anna.”
She was barefoot, swaddled in a voluminous white terry-cloth robe, her face bare of makeup and as beautiful as any ever sculpted by Michelangelo. Her hair was a damp tumble of golden curls; her eyes were wide with shock and as blue as the deepest part of the sea.
“Draco?” she whispered.
He stepped into the room. Shut the door behind him without once looking away from her.
“I am not room service,” he said in a low voice. “And I am not a man you can toy with.” He paused. He could feel the rage in him changing to something dark and hot and far more dangerous.
“Anna,” he said roughly, “goddamnit, Anna…”
“Goddamnit, Draco,” Anna said, “what took you so long?”
And then…
Then she was in his arms.

“I want you in my bed, not on a plane, not in a hotel room.” He gave a soft laugh. “It makes no sense, I know, but—but that is what I want, Anna. You and me and a quiet place that belongs only to us.”
Gently he cupped the back of her head, tilted it so that their eyes met.
“I love having sex with you,” he said gruffly. “But it’s time to make love.”
What he’d said hung between them. He hadn’t planned it; he wasn’t even sure what it meant. He only knew that it was true. He, the pragmatist, the man who thought making love was a phrase used by romantic fools, wanted to do exactly that.

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