Fire And Ice

‘Veterinary. I grew up on dairy farm. I would like to stay, but father has six sons and I am runt.’

Julia couldn’t help but cast him a dubious look. Runt wasn’t exactly the word that sprang to mind when she took in all of that brawn.

He went on, ‘I do not want small slice of pie. I want whole. I will play hockey, and then I will live here and work here. Business is good, but it is better to learn to talk to people, make them feel better.’

He looked at her with clear blue eyes, and as he returned her smile a pair of deep dimples appeared.

Delight ran through her like warm water. Julia smiled back and curled her fingers around her cup.

‘That’s very helpful, Mikhail,’ she replied quietly.

‘Mick,’ he said, and held out his hand. ‘I go by Mick.’

Julia shook, and with a gasp realised she hadn’t introduced herself properly. ‘Oh, call me Julia.’

He raised a brow. ‘Not Miss?’

This time the giggle escaped. ‘No, not Miss.’

She raised her cup and took a sip of coffee. One mouthful and she coughed, and with a wave of her hand dismissed his concerned expression.

‘You make a strong cup of coffee, Mick.’

‘Too strong?’

‘No, not at all,’ she lied and set the cup back down. One sip would be enough to keep her alert until midnight.

He nudged her with his elbow. ‘Strong is good. Puts hair on palms.’

This time, Julia couldn’t keep the laughter in. She clapped her hand over her mouth but still sputtered around her palm.

The frown returned, and under its glare it took her another few moments to put a stopper on her sniggering.

‘I think you mean chest, not palms,’ she managed, and suffered a fresh attack as he looked down at his hands. ‘The expression is “puts hair on your chest”. Palms is…something else.’

‘You sure? Men on team said –’

‘The men on your team were being assholes. Trust me, it’s chest and not palms.’

He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded and tugged his collar aside and smiled. ‘Hair on chest, then.’

And what an inviting chest it was. Just that little flash was enough to add a little more sensation to her flash fantasy: the brusque friction of hot skin and coarse hair rubbing against her breasts.

This surprise arousal made her ticklish and struck her dumb for a moment. Surly had further softened, and a lazy smile curved his mouth.

She fumbled for the remote, feeling foolish for squirming like this under such intense scrutiny. Relief went through her as she found it wedged between her ass and the cushions, but it was short-lived when, as she whipped the remote towards the television, it slipped out of her sweaty palm and smacked him in the chest.

‘Oh, fuck, I’m sorry!’ she exclaimed and reached for the remote, and stopped herself just in time. It had landed between his legs, sticking up perfectly vertical from his crotch.

Ninjas didn’t seem like such a bad idea at that moment.

Mick collected the remote and held it out, but he didn’t let go once she had it in her hand.

He leaned forward and his grin widened. ‘Is “fuck” first lesson? How do you say in French?’

Julia couldn’t get her tongue to work, and she couldn’t stop the grimace that she was sure made her look like an imbecile.

‘In this country they usually just say “fuck”,’ she managed to croak.

He raised his brows. ‘Just…“fuck”?’

Julia pressed her lips together. She couldn’t even imagine such a wicked word chucking into the atmosphere with that growling accent close to her ear.

‘I think we should just focus on the introductions for today.’

It took some time, but as she led him through a series of formal and informal greetings her blood cooled and she got back into her usual groove. Mick had little trouble committing them to memory, but saying the words in the proper accent eluded and frustrated him. His cheeks reddened and his scowl returned, and his words became short and clipped.

Julia turned off the television and sat back with a sigh. ‘You need to take a break. You practically have smoke coming out of your ears.’

He turned his scowl full force on her. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s an expression. It means your brain is working too hard, like a machine that needs greasing. We still have forty-five minutes left, so why don’t you take a five-minute break? I haven’t eaten yet, so I’m going to throw a Pop Tart in the toaster.’

His lips remained in a tight line and his forehead broken by lines as he glared at his open textbook.

‘It is not an easy language, this French. Reading is easy. Speaking and listening, not easy at all.’

Julia laughed as she rose. ‘Some people would say that Russian is hard to learn.’

‘That is a lie,’ he said firmly, and his growl followed her all the way to the fridge.

She glanced at the clock. Five minutes would give her enough time to pop a tart and brew a less hair-raising pot of coffee, and to give Mick enough time to chill out, though it did cross her mind to offer him a belt of whiskey to mellow him out.

As she waited for the toaster she turned at the sound of the couch springs creaking. Mick entered the kitchen, his empty cup and her full cup in his hands.

‘You are a student at the university, are you not? History?’

‘That’s right. Coach Gwynn’s brother is my adviser,’ she told him, and stepped aside as he placed the dirty dishes in the sink. ‘He told me you didn’t speak any English when you first came to this country.’

‘Very little. Coach speak Russian, so not so bad to start. Team mates help – except for hairy palms.’

Julia snorted, and held her hands up when the question appeared on his face. ‘I’m really not going to be the one to tell you.’

‘You must. I need to know why I punch them in face.’

She doubled over, then cringed as she found herself giving in. ‘People say that a man gets hairy palms when he…pleasures himself too much.’

Mick cocked his head, one brow raising up. ‘That is stupid.’