Breaking the Ice (Timberwolves #1)

by Lizzy Ripp

  "You know what happens when you assume," he quipped and she had to fight the urge to slap him.

  "I'm being serious!" She said, pulling her hand free. "I'm trying to say that I'm sorry for misjudging you, okay?"

  "Okay," he said, all trace of a smile gone from his face.

  "Okay?" She asked uncertainly. "That's all you've got to say about it?"

  "Well, I would like to say one other thing," he said, his face serious.

  "What is it?" Julia asked, her heart beginning to pound.

  "Can I please get out of these pants? I'd rather not be photographed walking around downtown looking like I've pissed myself in public."

  Julia stared at him for a moment, torn between a sigh of exasperation and laughter. In the end she simply settled for a smile.

  —

  It turned out that Yaro's place was nearby - just a few blocks away from the cafe. He began to head that way without asking whether or not Julia would like to accompany him, seeming simply to assume that she would. Their hands had somehow come undone, whatever familiarity that had sprung up between them in the aftermath of the coffee-shop incident having vanished, replaced with the sort of shyness that exists between crushes in middle school. Neither acknowledged it.

  Julia noted with some interest that Yaro didn't live in a wealthy area of the city - or at least, not an ostentatiously wealthy one. Most of the other players she knew lived in glitzy apartments overlooking the water, or in the leafy suburban areas over the bridge in coveted, old money neighborhoods.

  Yaro, on the other hand, had chosen an area that was charitably called "eclectic" - home mainly to artists, photographers and musicians and just on the edge of one of the city's most unsavory neighborhoods. Nobody gave him a second glance in this area - even if they did recognize him, the inhabitants of this particular neighborhood were too cool to admit it. Wordlessly the two of them walked into a building that, to Julia's eyes, didn't appear to be residential at all.

  As they walked up the wrought-iron stairs, they passed open photography and art studios that seemed to confirm this fact. Yaro didn't say a word, trudging up the stairs in silence and with ease, skipping every second or third stair as his long legs dictated. Julia struggled to keep up with his heroic pace, her legs beginning to tremble at around the sixth story.

  Just when she thought she going to have to stop and take a rest in the middle of the stairs, they finally reached the top floor - occupied only by Yaro's apartment. As he struggled to open the door ("It sticks sometimes," he grunted), Julia felt the strangeness that had sprung up between them begin to dissipate, replaced by a feeling she couldn't quite understand. What she did know was the she had liked the way it felt when he'd held her hand - it had felt safe and reassuring. And she liked the way the back of his neck looked as he bent over his keys. Something about it made her want to run her hands over the nape and to feel his skin beneath her lips.

  What on earth was wrong with her? She shook her head, as if to shake off a fog and noticed that Yaro was staring at her quizzically - it looked as if he were waiting for the answer to a question.

  "I'm sorry," Julia shook her head again. "Did you say something?"

  "I said, are you coming in?" He laughed. "But I think you were off in another dimension."

  "Oh," Julia said. "Sure. I could come in for a bit."

  With an embarrassed smile, Julia walked through the open door and gave a small squeak of surprise as a dog bounded up to her and leaped up to her chest.

  "Max! Down!" Yaro snapped his fingers at the dog, who took no notice whatsoever, snuffling at Julia excitedly, his tongue lolling out to one side. "Don't worry, he's harmless."

  Julia couldn't stop laughing as the dog, wiggling all over, licked her chin, dancing on his hind feet with gusto. He was making little sounds of delight that were impossible not to love. Yaro seized him gently by the collar and pulled him back down to the floor, giving Julia some much-needed breathing room.

  "Sorry," Yaro said. "He loves people. A little too much."

  "It's fine," Julia said. "I love dogs, so it evens out okay."

  The two of them eyed each other awkwardly, the laughter dying down and Max looking excitedly from one to the other in quick succession.

  "So this is your place, huh?" Julia said, just to break the silence, walking around the huge loft apartment appraisingly, picking up small knick-knacks and putting them down, feigning interest in everything she saw.

  "Yep, this is it."

  "It's very... Open," she said. It was a single, albeit extremely large room. It looked as if it might have been a photography or dance studio at one point, with windows that took up nearly the entirety of one wall, letting in a huge amount of light and giving the entire place an almost otherworldly feeling. The floor had been redone in warm timber, making it feel warmer than it otherwise might have given the massive amount of space, and it had been lovingly restored - whether by Yaro himself or someone else, she had no idea. Undoubtedly he had enough money to hire someone for this sort of thing.

  Must be nice, she thought wryly.

  One thing she could not fail to notice - there were no photographs of anyone else in the entire house that she could see. His bed was up on a raised loft platform that was open to the rest of the room, but made somewhat private by the height. But the rest of the walls were adorned only with art. There were no friends or loved ones anywhere. Only Max and Yaro.

  "Yeah. That presents problems sometimes," Yaro said. "For example... When I need to change."

  "Yeah. Oh!" Julia said, realizing what he was getting at. "Right. Um. Do you want me to...?"

  "Avert your eyes please," He said primly, climbing the ladder in one fluid motion. She turned towards the door, tapping her foot and patting Max's head idly as she listened to him rifling through drawers.

  As he changed, she walked the perimeter of the apartment with Max, taking a closer look at the art he had on display. There were four paintings - one on each wall - of the same sequence, and they were fascinating. Dark and ominous, yet with a touch of whimsy that intrigued her, they were landscapes of the more rugged parts of their city, where the surf crashed to shore, where the mountains rose, craggy and imposing in the rain and where the forests ran deep and dark like something out of a fairy tale.

  She was so absorbed in the paintings that she didn't even hear him coming up behind her to stand at her side, contemplating the picture before them with a seriousness she realized must mirror her own expression.

  "Do you like art much?" He asked, as if striking up a conversation with a fellow admirer in a museum.

  "Yes, I mean - I wouldn't call myself an expert or anything, but I do like it. And I like these. They're like...being in a dream. Or the beginning of a nightmare."

  He nodded, appraisingly. "Interesting."

  "Where did you get them?"

  "I made them."

  "What?" Julia asked, turning on him, her mouth falling open. "You told me you didn't have any hobbies!"

  He shrugged. "I don't really consider it a hobby," he mused, running a hand over his chin and surveying his work critically. "It's something I've always done but... I don't know. Hobby doesn't seem to be the right word."

  "I can see why," she said. "You could be a professional with work like this. She shrugged her shoulders. "Not that I know much about art or anything but... It looks incredible to me."

  He looked down at her and couldn't help but smile. "You know for someone whose job it is to spin things, you’re surprisingly open."

  Julia furrowed her brow, producing a tiny crinkle that Yaro got the sudden urge to kiss. "I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not."

  "Definitely," he said - and that warm glow descended upon the two of them again.

  It was at this moment that Julia had to wonder just exactly what was going on. This morning, she'd been miserable about the prospect of spending an entire day with Yaro Sharapova and convinced she was going to ruin her career because of her inability
to feign the remotest interest in him. And now? Today had felt... incredible. He'd been nothing like she'd expected based on their surly and terse earlier interactions, or based on the gossip Christina had leaked to her about his personal life – which, around altercations in bars, relationships with models and a blazing career showing no signs of slowing down.

  He was so different than she expected. He'd been...intelligent and interesting and interested in her. Or at least, it seemed that he was. It was all happening so fast it was making her head spin but right now the only thing she could be completely sure of was the fact that he smelled incredible and that she liked his hands very much and couldn't stop thinking of how they would feel on her skin.

  Julia was unconscious of the fact that Yaro was looking at her and experiencing thoughts in much the same vein. She was breathing so shallowly he wondered if she might be allergic to something. She was staring straight ahead at the picture without seeming to really see it at all, her luminous eyes wide and bewildered. She was biting her lips - small and pert and lovely - in a way that made him want to do the same.

  He'd enjoyed his time with her more than he thought he might - his suggestion last night had been made on a whim, as something that would serve the both of them well. He hadn't expected to actually enjoy his day with her as much as he had. Or at all. She's always seemed to just be... There.

  He hadn't expected her to be so endearing. Or sexy.

  They met one another’s eyes searchingly, looking for something that couldn’t be confirmed with words.

  Almost before either one of them knew what had happened they were in each other's arms, kissing each other hungrily with a fervent energy that took each by surprise. Although Julia wasn't what you would generally call short, Yaro was, after all, unusually large and he had to bend over quite substantially to meet her lips – something he did automatically, drinking in the sweet, tenuous taste of her, biting gently down on her lips just as he'd longed to.

  Julia, for her part, was standing on her tip-toes, her hands on either side of his face, enjoying the feel of his stubble beneath her fingertips and his full lips on hers. His smell, taste, all of it was intoxicating and she felt suddenly as if she were very drunk. She made a tiny sound against him and he pressed against her harder, lifting her in his arms as if she weighed no more than Max. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his torso (he was so substantial she could barely get them the full way around) as he carried her to his sofa.

  Julia's mind was screaming at her to slow down, to think about what she was doing - but her body had other things in mind. It was pawing at Yaro of its own volition, with no input from her brain whatsoever. She was just reacting, lost on a wave of sensation. He was such a large presence, every part of him - yes, she confirmed with a quick palming of the area in question - every part of him was huge and imposing compared to her. His hands on her skin were as electrifying as she'd imagined, and she gasped as they roamed, slipping under her clothes to touch the sensitive, hidden skin. She threw off her shirt – still somewhat sweaty from yoga class, she noted regretfully - and threw it across the room. His hands were instantly on her breasts, making her arch her back into them. She could feel him hard against her, his lips now making a trail down her neck that was making her shake.

  Yaro for his part was every bit as surprised as Julia was by the turn things had taken, but going with the flow was something of a specialty for him and so he decided not to question it. He made a mental note to deal with a few things later - including finding out things like her middle name, and where she came from, and what she dreamed of - but all of this could wait. Now there was pure sensation and that was enough. She was much more forward than he'd anticipated, which he noted with pleasure. Her hands - small and dainty, were running up and down his torso under his shirt and his muscles rippled pleasurably under her fingers. Suddenly her hands were fumbling with the band of his shorts and he was just reflecting on how well his day was turning out when a knock came at the door - accompanied by a female voice calling his name.

  Julia and Yaro both froze like a cartoon put on pause. Their eyes met, Julia's narrowed and Yaro's wide.

  "Yaro!" The voice called. "Did you forget what time it was?"

  Okay, thought Yaro. This is okay. I can salvage this situation. He looked back at Julia.

  Her face had fallen and any and all sexual energy that had been vibrating off her dissipated as abruptly as if a switch had been turned off. Making a small sound that went straight to his conscience, she got off the couch, curling into herself and started shuffling around for her shirt.

  "I can explain," he said. "Just wait up a sec."

  Julia didn't say anything, throwing on her shirt and heading towards the door. "There's nothing to explain," she said, and all the familiarity that had grown between them during the day was gone. She spoke to him the way she did at work - as if he were a colleague she was dealing with and nothing more.

  "It's not what you think," he began, leaping off the sofa and moving towards her when that same voice at the front door stopped him in his tracks.

  "Yarooo. I brought that little nurse number you like," then after a pause in which Yaro reflected that the situation was now probably significantly less salvageable, she went on: "What are you, with someone? She can totally join in, I don't mind."

  Julia stared at him frankly, her expression distinctly unimpressed.

  "Yeah," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "I'm gonna give that a big miss. But thanks for the invite. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

  "Julia -", he began, but she was already flinging open the door, revealing his friend with benefits, Rhochelle - a half-Filipina glamour model type who worked at an escort agency in town.

  She smiled brightly at Julia - who did not return the smile, but instead turned to face Yaro with an expression on her face that said, quite openly: "Really?"

  "Julia," he said, "You're overreacting."

  Rhochelle's eyes widened and Julia looked as if steam might come out of her ears.

  "Oh, hon’," Rhochelle said. "That is not something you ever say to a woman. Like ever."

  Julia, caught between wanting to thank Rhochelle for having her back and wanting to murder Yaro, just wanted to head home and hide forever. She settled for turning on her heel and racing down the hall as fast as her sneakers would allow, leaving Yaro and Rhochelle staring after her.

  Rhochelle turned back to Yaro, grimacing. "Sorry...", she said. "Should I come back?"

  Yaro sighed deeply. "I could use a friend without the benefits right now. If you're up for that then..." He opened the door. Rhochelle, giving him a sympathetic smile and a pat on the cheek made her way inside.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "STUPID, STUPID, STUPID," Julia berated herself as she walked along the frigid streets, her arms folded around her middle, her head tucked down against the wind. She just wanted to be home and to make the most of the hours between now and when she would have to lay eyes on Yaro again.

  She picked up another huge coffee from Starbucks on the way home - something sweet and comforting and covered in whipped cream and sprinkles - and made her mind up to ensconce herself inside for as long as she could.

  When the door was closed, her cat, Jasper, had made his way out from his usual napping spot on top of her folded scarves in the closet, and rubbed his back along her legs. At his touch, she let her head and back fall against the door and let out a sound of rage and despair that had emanated from her more days than not in the past few weeks. Jasper, only somewhat alarmed, regarded her solemnly with his big green eyes, and then retreated back to the quiet of her closet.

  How could she have been so stupid? How could she have actually thought things would be so easy - that Yaro was a good guy? She had KNOWN better, she'd seen it firsthand, she'd been told countless times about his exploits by Christina and nearly every paper in town. She was a stupid, naïve girl - and she was paying the price.

  Then, as if her fragile ego needed anymor
e bruising, she felt her phone vibrate with a message - not from Yaro, but from Cassie West.

  "Hey!" she messaged, with an accompanying smiley face. "Just wanted to check in and see if you were okay. Panic attacks are rough. Please don't worry about our situation - I'm completely flexible."

  Almost before she realized what she was doing, Julia pressed "Call" on the contact and found herself speaking to Cassie directly.

  "Hey," Cassie picked up on the second ring, her voice bright and sweet and friendly. "It's so good to hear from you!"

  "Yeah," Julia said, pinching the bridge of her nose and speaking even before she knew what she was saying. "Do you want to get a drink?"

  ---

  Despite her initial desire to stay hidden in her house like a mole in a burrow, there was something to be said about getting dressed and commiserating with another girl over mid-afternoon mimosas - even if that girl was a TV star who made her feel like some sort of rat-woman in comparison. But the fact was, she liked Cassie. She liked her friendliness and her open, easy manner. She was someone, despite being a bona-fide drop-dead-gorgeous celebrity, that you felt like you could talk to. And boy did Julia need a (somewhat) neutral party to unload on.

  "I'm really glad you called," Cassie said as Julia, who had done a slapdash job of putting herself together and was feeling it now in the orbit of Cassie's otherworldly beauty, sat down.

  "Oh, I know, I'm so sorry about this whole mess," she began, "It's just -"

  "No," Cassie shook her head. "That's not what I mean. I told you - I'm not bothered about all this," she said, waving her hand between them to indicate the situation at hand. "I just meant...", she bit her lip, suddenly sounding shy. "...You seemed like a nice person," she said at last. "I'm not from here. You probably know that," she smiled. "I don't have that many friends in the city. It's really nice to meet people."