Breaking the Beast on Ice

Chapter 6-Physical Literacy

“Oh, how do you propose to do that?”

Harper’s voice is breathless and fragile, but it clenches something deep inside me. Her pulse hammers against the rough skin of my thumb.

I hold on to the connection, keeping my grip and gaze steady but light enough so that she can pull away if she wants to. But she doesn’t. I may be a lot bigger than her, but it almost feels like she’s the one pinning me in place.

It’s clear that she thinks I’m playing her. Her shoulders are rigid, and her chin tilted. She still looks like she does not give a damn about me, but the little slip about Emma being gorgeous seems to say something else.

Fuck. That’s just my imagination talking.

It’s hard to think clearly when I can still remember her in her - forget it. I shake my head and focus on the brilliant mind she is known for. The poise. Neither of those things suggests that she may consider him as nothing more than a means to an end.

“By closing the distance, of course, Heiress,” I say, cutting her off before she can throw the press conference back in my face. “That was a snapshot of a moment at best, Holloway. You still hesitate and flinch when I get within three feet of you.”

“I - don’t know how t-to do physical spontaneity, Vane.”

“You will have to learn, Holloway,” I murmur as I approach her.

For a moment, I forget the threat Emma poses to this little facade Harper and I are playing at. I am overwhelmed by her scent. It’s expensive, like everything about her. Clean. High society.

“We have a charity gala to attend. So, you better be prepared,” I continue.

“What?”

“Yes. Your father just sent a text.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she grumbles. Her jaw clenches. The ice queen is quickly clawing back to the surface. “It’s too early for Emma to have leaked anything.”

“But I also said that we need to prove to everyone that there’s no absolutely f*****g way I am dating someone else if we are very much in love.”

“Very much in love?” she splutters. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“We must get ahead of ourselves or else…”

I deliberately slide my hand down to the skin of her neck, my thumb tracing a line on her collarbone. Harper gasps, but she does not back away from me; her palms press against my chest to keep whatever gap is left between us.

“Rule number one,” I rasp, using my other arm to pull her against me. “When I touch you, don’t push me away. Lean in. Let them see how good we are together.”

“Silas,” she breathes, her fingers clutching the fabric of my shirt.

“Oh, yes, Harper,” I croon. “That’s the way. Call my name. Remember why both of us are doing this. To make that happen, you must look like you belong to me. When we walk into the gala, your hand will be clasped in mine or pressed right there against my chest. You will show everyone that Emma Rhodes is nothing but a bitter lie.”

She stares up at me, her chest heaving. For a moment, I see something other than defensive anger in her eyes. There is something more vulnerable lurking there. Still, she’s trying to read me. She’s trying to see if all this is just a game to me. After all, I play games for a living. Don’t I?

Harper has no idea that it’s so hard to keep my hands to myself when she looks at me like that. Maybe it’s because I’ve been f*****g celibate for months, not that I advertise it. Emma Rhodes has done a number on me. Some women are too crazy to be trusted.

“I? I will show them?” Harper asks, her lips curling in distaste.

“We will show them. But can you do it?” I ask, my voice dropping low. “Can you handle the practice?”

Harper draws a shaky breath, but her eyes are steady on me. Her fingers relax against my chest, but they remain there.

“Of course, I can,” she purrs, but there is nothing submissive about her voice and stance. There’s an icy edge that makes my heart race. “Can you? I don’t want you fumbling your lines.”

I chuckle darkly at her sass. I suspect not everyone gets to see this side of her. I do release her a little reluctantly. The sudden absence of her warmth leaves me staggering, but I will be a damn fool if I let her see it.

“I never forget my lines, Harper,” I say, wondering if there is a lie in my words. “Now, get yourself ready. Do you need to call your friend Alexa to prep you for tonight?”

I don’t wait for her response. I turn on my heel and walk away from her.

My phone vibrates again, and I try my best to ignore it. I pull the stainless-steel refrigerator open and grab a bottle of water. I drain half of it with one pull. Suddenly, I’ve become so thirsty, yet the water does nothing to quench it. Heat courses through me. It’s strange how a frosty queen can give me that feeling.

I walk into the living room and stare at everything I’ve managed to earn through the years. I have come so far. Yet, people still hold me down.

The Butcher.

It sounds like I’m a sort of intimidating force. A rough player on and off the ice. In some ways, I am. Meaningless encounters used to be my way of pushing away people. Except these days, my reputation has been attracting unsavory characters. People worse than I am.

Get it together, Vane.

Emma Rhodes and Grant Holloway in one day are too much to deal with. She’s going to destroy what I’ve been trying to work toward saving, and he is trying to save his money more than his own daughter. Now, only mere moments from the Emma texts, Holloway wants to accelerate our drama.

By the time the sun dips below the horizon. I am in a white dress shirt, adjusting the cuffs. My tie hangs loose around my neck. I walk to the living area, looking like this, while Harper strides to meet me in a deep emerald gown that glitters and dazzles. With her platinum blond hair, she seems like she’s made of beautiful metal, cold and arresting.

However, as she gets closer, some of the illusion stutters. Her fingers fiddle with the clasp of her diamond necklace.

“Need a hand, Heiress?” I ask, my voice cutting through the quiet hallway.

She jumps slightly, her eyes snapping up to meet mine. Her cheeks flush prettily. It’s unscripted, and we have no audience.

“I can manage,” she says tightly, though her fingers slip again, the diamonds clinking softly against her skin.

“Clearly,” I murmur, stepping up behind her.

The proximity hits us both like a physical jolt. In the reflection, I am massive, dark, and still half-unbuttoned; she is delicate, silver, and immaculate. I don't wait for her permission. I reach out, my large, calloused hands gently brushing her fingers out of the way.

The moment my skin meets the bare nape of her neck, a visible shiver runs straight down her spine. Her chest rises in a sharp, caught breath.

“Hold still,” I growl softly, my knuckles skimming the warm, sensitive skin at the base of her hairline as I take the clasp.

My hands are rough and built for throwing punches. With them so close to her skin, I become more aware of how fragile she seems. How slender but curvy in all the right places.

I turn her gently so that she faces the mirror on the wall. I want her to look at her reflection, but she’s looking at me, my heavy frame crowding her from behind.

“You're trembling again, Harper,” I whisper, my thumbs brushing the sides of her neck as the clasp finally clicks into place.

“It's just cold,” she lies, her voice breathless.

“We have regulated temperature inside here,” I counter, my hands slowly sliding down her shoulders, my palms sweeping over the bare, silky skin until they rest on the tops of her arms. I squeeze gently, feeling the tight, rigid knot of muscles in her back. “If you look this panicked when I touch you in a private hallway, the cameras are going to eat us alive in an hour.”

Harper swallows, her eyes flashing with that fierce, stubborn pride that I am growing to crave. She leans back just a fraction until the smooth fabric of her dress presses flat against the crisp fabric of my shirt.

“Then keep touching me,” she challenges, her voice hardening with an addictive, desperate defiance. “Until I stop flinching.”

A dark, lawless hunger snaps inside my chest. I don't break eye contact in the mirror. I slide my hands down her arms, my fingers tangling with hers, pulling her back until she is entirely anchored against me, her head resting just below my chin.

“Be careful what you wish for,” I growl.