Sterling: A Carolina Reapers Novel

by Samantha Whiskey

  I had never once uttered the Zolotov name out loud, and thought about that family the least amount possible. My parentage might be one of the best-kept secrets in the NHL, but for all intents and purposes, I was a Sterling, just like my mother and grandparents. The other half of the family tree could rot off for all I cared.

  London looked at me like she was reevaluating, her black, delicate brows knitting.

  “What?” I asked, my voice coming out all scratchy. Shit, the woman even smelled incredible. She wore just the right amount of perfume, and I wanted to slide my nose along the slender line of her neck and breathe in.

  “You’re just…” She shook her head. “Not how I pictured you.” She nibbled on her lower lip.

  “You’ve pictured me?” I kept my eyes locked on hers, instead of staring at that plump bit of flesh she tortured with her teeth. There had to be a halo waiting for me somewhere. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been attracted to a woman and not made a move, not that this was exactly a move-making situation here.

  “No!” She did that adorable blinking thing again, and her cheeks flushed with color. “I mean, I’m the new game day coordinator for the Reapers, so when the news came down yesterday that you’d signed, I looked you up, of course.” She swallowed like there was more to the story than she was willing to share.

  “Right. You have me at a disadvantage there,” I teased. “If I’d known you were signed to the Reapers, I definitely would have looked you up.” A grin spread across my face.

  She snorted and rolled her eyes, but hey, she was breathing slower now. “Do you flirt with every woman you meet?”

  “Only the ones I’m stuck in elevators with.” That was a lie. I’d done more than my fair share of flirting and fucking when I’d joined the NHL, but I’d slowed that second part down in the last year. Nameless hookups after random games were getting old. “And in my defense, you did say I could distract you.” My grin widened.

  She rolled her eyes again. “Why is it men think that sex is the answer to every question?”

  My dick twitched at the word sex, but I ignored the horny fucker. “Not every question. Just the right ones.”

  Her gaze flickered to my mouth before she huffed and looked away. “Not in my experience.”

  “Then you’re answering the wrong questions,” I teased.

  She swallowed, her breathing picking up again as she stared at the opposite walls. “What is. Taking them so. Long?”

  “At least look at me if you’re going to complain about being stuck with me,” I joked, hoping my tone carried through even as worry settled in my gut like a stone. She’d done better while focused on me and not our surroundings, and it wasn’t like I could guarantee when we’d get out of here.

  “It’s not you I’m complaining about,” she blurted, her eyes locking on mine. Now that rosy little blush was creeping down her neck. “There are very few women in the world who would complain about being in a confined space with Jansen Sterling.”

  “True. It’s usually me kicking them out of the confined space that leads to the complaints,” I teased.

  She scoffed, her eyes dancing, losing a little of the panic. “You kick your girlfriends out? Nice.”

  “Hey.” I grabbed at my heart like she’d wounded me. “I’ve never kicked a girlfriend out in my life. Scout’s honor.”

  Her eyes narrowed in mischief. “Because you’ve never had a girlfriend?”

  I laughed again. “I guess you really did look me up.”

  “Please. As if I care who the players sleep with. I know the important stuff.” She fidgeted with her bracelet, keeping her hands busy.

  “And what’s the important stuff?” I challenged, hearing movement above us and keeping it to myself. Who the hell knew how long it would take them to get us out. Drawing her attention back to the fact that we were stuck in a small box wasn’t going to help her out.

  “Your stats, of course,” she fired back. “You’re Jansen Sterling. Twenty-six years old. Six-foot-three inches tall. You have a ninety-three percent save average, which has only gotten better with your year in Bangor. You have endorsements from Bauer and Gatorade and prefer your charity work to be done with the Big Brother program. You were the second most popular player in Bangor when it came to meet and greet requests, and you generally agreed to them all. Am I missing anything?” She cocked her head to the side and lifted a single brow.

  “I think I’m in love with you.” I grinned.

  “Oh, please. Every staff member on this team can rattle off player stats.” She shook her head, but now that flush had crept to her collarbone.

  Not under pressure like this, they can’t. I kept that shit to myself. “Tell me you don’t have a boyfriend.”

  It slipped out.

  Smooth, jackass. Very smooth.

  Her mouth dropped open for a few seconds before she snapped it shut. “No. I don’t. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  I was about to fucking make it my business because this woman here was the total package. She wasn’t just gorgeous, she was smart, sharp-tongued, and was holding her own under circumstances that would test people who didn’t have claustrophobia. If I knew all that about her in the few minutes we’d been stuck here together, I couldn’t wait to learn more.

  “No boyfriend. Excellent. How exactly does a guy go about getting a date with you?” I asked. Holding back had never been in my nature, and I wasn’t about to start now.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied me carefully. “Guys like you don’t date girls like me.”

  “On that, we can agree.”

  “Seriously?” Her voice rose.

  “Seriously. You’re way out of my league.” I leaned toward her slightly but didn’t invade her space.

  Her lips parted and stayed that way as she stared at me in disbelief.

  “I’m serious. How do I get you on a date?” My voice lowered.

  “Well…asking is usually the first step,” she whispered, tilting her head up.

  My chest clenched as I lowered—

  A screeching, metal-on-metal sound made both our heads snap toward the door. The tip of a crowbar appeared, and the doors opened a few inches. “Are you guys okay?” a voice called in.

  Silas.

  “We’re okay,” I answered for us both.

  “Hold tight for a second,” he instructed in that no-nonsense voice of his. “Get a good grip,” he said, but it didn’t sound like he was talking to us.

  Multiple pairs of hands appeared at the edges of the elevator doors, and I helped London to her feet.

  “One, two, three!” Silas counted out, and the doors opened to the sound of a collective grunt, giving us about three-and-a-half feet of daylight at my collarbone. It was just as I’d suspected—we weren’t quite at the fifth floor, but it was far better than I’d feared.

  Silas crouched down, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, but still wearing the vest of his three-piece suit. “Damn. Jansen, London, you guys ready to get out of there?”

  “She goes first,” I stated, just in case anyone debated.

  She shot me a thankful look, then gathered up her files and headed for the door only to look up at the opening that was well above her head and curse.

  “Can I lift you out?” I asked, already moving behind her.

  “Please.” There was a slight crack in her voice as she tossed her files up through the doorway.

  Work apparently came first with this woman. Noted.

  Silas reached in for her, and for the first time since I’d signed with the Reapers my rookie year, I noticed just how fit the guy was. Good, he’ll be able to lift her.

  “Give me your hands, London,” Silas ordered.

  She lifted her arms, and I gripped her hips, noticing everything except the way her motion lifted the hemline of her dress. Nope, I kept my eyes locked on Silas like the good guy I was trying desperately to be.

  Then I lifted London straight up. She weighed next to nothing, a
nd the heat of her skin blazed through that dress, warming my hands in the few seconds it took Silas to get a good grip on her.

  “I’ve got you,” he promised, so I knew he did.

  Silas didn’t break promises.

  He pulled her out of the elevator, and then Axel helped me out and into the hallway of Silas’s private suite of offices.

  I gained my feet as London leaned back against the wall, sucking in lungfuls of air as if the reality of it took this long to hit her in full.

  “The others are on their way up,” I heard Silas say to some of the others who had helped pry open the doors.

  “We didn’t all fit in the first load,” Cannon said, rolling his shoulders back. “Only your elevator was broken.”

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  Sawyer, the other Reaper goalie, clapped my shoulder as I nodded at him, walking straight toward London. I needed to make sure she was really okay.

  The private elevator dinged, and three other Reapers walked into the hallway. The first two were rookies I barely recognized but the third—

  My stomach dropped all five floors to the fucking basement.

  “No fucking way,” Cannon muttered, coming to my side. He was the only one in this hallway who knew, and that was only because he’d been there that night.

  “London?” The guy’s eyes frantically searched the hallway.

  “Maxim!” she cried, wrapping her arms around herself and walking straight into his goddamn arms like she’d been there a thousand times.

  He pulled her in and held her tight, his eyes closing in…relief? Yep, that was relief as he ushered her into one of the many conference rooms that looked out over Charleston, taking her out of my line of sight.

  What the hell was he to her? What the hell was he doing here?

  Axel’s brow furrowed as he looked over at me. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Guess I’d said that out loud.

  Silas turned toward us, putting his hands in his pockets. “I just signed him yesterday. Right before you, in fact,” he told me like it wasn’t the most explosive shit to ever rock my world. “Paid a pretty penny, too. And yeah, I’ve heard he’s an asshole to work with, but we needed some strength on that left wing since Lukas retired last season.”

  That. Fucking. Prick. Was. On. My. Team. He was in my arena, with his hands all over my girl. The logic in me retreated from the argument that she wasn’t exactly mine.

  “No.” I shook my head.

  “Oh, shit,” Cannon muttered next to me. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  Every muscle in my body vibrated with barely restrained violence. “You signed him.”

  “Was that Maxim Zolotov?” Axel asked, glancing between me and where my stare was currently burning holes in the conference room doorway.

  “Yep,” Cannon answered.

  “Anyone want to clue me in here?” Silas asked.

  “Holy shit,” Sawyer muttered. “You move just like him, especially glove-side. How didn’t I see that?”

  “I am nothing like him!” I snapped.

  Sawyer’s hands shot up like he was under arrest.

  “Someone tell me what the fuck is going on!” Silas demanded.

  The hallway fell silent, but even the quiet couldn’t help my thoughts wrap around this dumpster fire. He’d already consumed the family I’d been given by biology, and now the fucker was moving in on the family I’d chosen? No. No. No.

  “I think you signed his brother,” Sawyer said slowly.

  “Shut up,” Cannon barked toward our friend.

  “He’s not my fucking brother!” I growled. Fuck biology.

  Silas tensed, taking in the information at the genius rate the tech guru was known for. “Your birth certificate says unknown,” he said softly, moving directly in front of me. “Are you telling me that Sergei Zolotov is your biological father?”

  I nodded once and once only because Silas was the only person who could solve this shitstorm of a problem.

  “So Maxim Zolotov…” Silas studied me, no doubt choosing his words or lack thereof carefully.

  I nodded again.

  “Holy shit,” someone mumbled as the subject of my worst nightmare walked out of the office with his phone on his ear, his eyes flaring in shock as our eyes locked.

  Guess the secret was out now.

  “Okay, let’s see how we can make this work,” Silas started.

  I looked him square in the eye. “Let me out of my contract.”

  All hell broke loose.

  2

  London

  No way. There was no way...and yet there he was. Jansen freaking Sterling, sitting in the booth next to my best friend’s...well, the love of her life. Despite the two being split up at the moment.

  I wasn’t sure who I was more shocked to see—Jansen or Hendrix, who had just been traded from his NFL team in North Carolina to Charleston, yet there I was, walking toward both of them.

  “You know London?” Sterling asked, his eyes widening.

  “He sure does,” I said, stopping next to Sterling and tucking my hair behind my ears. “How are you, Hendrix?”

  Jansen paled, glancing past me to the bar, where my brother sat with Maxim. “Oh, God, tell me you didn’t—”

  Did he seriously think just because I’d walked in with Maxim I was with him?

  “Didn’t what, Jansen Sterling?” I cut him off, glaring at him. “Didn’t sleep with him? I mean, that’s where your thoughts jumped to, right?”

  Jansen opened and closed his mouth a few times, but said nothing.

  Smart of him.

  “Boys.” I rolled my eyes. “First, if I decided to sleep with Hollywood over here, that would be my business. Not yours. Second, no, I have not slept with Hendrix, though I can admit he’s been naked in my apartment more than a few times.” I fashioned Jansen with a smirk. Let him chew on that. If he wanted to ghost me because of Maxim—

  “Her roommate,” Hendrix hurried to say, drawing me out of my thoughts. “How is sweet little Savannah?” he asked, and my heart softened a bit. The two were perfect for each other, they just really...really needed to work out their issues.

  “Miserable,” I snapped. “How the hell do you think she is with you down here in Charleston?”

  “Seems to me she got everything she wanted,” Hendrix said.

  “Wait a second, Caz is your brother?” Jansen’s gaze snapped from Caz to me and back again. “How the hell did I not put that together?”

  “Damn, Hollywood!” I exclaimed. “You’ve been in town all of three seconds and already outed me?”

  “Didn’t realize you were keeping it a secret.” Hendrix cringed.

  “Yes, Caspian is my brother, which again,” I said, my gaze swinging back to Jansen, “is none of your business.” Because if he truly wanted to know any of these details—which I would’ve freely given him—he wouldn’t have ignored my attempts to reach out after the elevator.

  “But it’s Maxim’s?” Jansen retorted as he stood. I had to crane my neck to meet his gaze.

  “Seriously?” I lifted my chin. “The next time you want to act all pissy that I show up with Maxim, remind yourself that you could have asked first.” I’d given him every opportunity, and he was pushing me away over something I barely understood.

  A muscle ticked in Jansen’s jaw. “Fine. I will.”

  Guess what? He didn’t.

  “Were you sitting on this juicy intel?” Langley Pierce placed her palms on the mahogany that separated us, her dark brown eyes practically glowing.

  “No,” I said, slightly flabbergasted. “I just figured you knew.”

  “Axel doesn’t really talk about the guys’ private business.”

  It had been a month since everyone had found out about Maxim and Jansen being biological brothers, but we were all still reeling.

  I should’ve known.

  Maxim Zolotov had been my brother Caspian’s best friend for years. And for the past two, I’d seen more
than plenty of him since he tagged along with Caspian on breaks versus going home to Minnesota. We’d become friendly, as one does when your brother and his friend are constantly raiding your fridge on visits.

  Maxim never once mentioned that Jansen fucking Sterling was his brother. Sure, he’d talked about Sterling being an asshole, but not in a brotherly way.

  Jansen, the same man whose scent had filled that elevator—all rugged and invigorating with hints of mandarin and sage. God, that memory—being stuck in the elevator with him—both haunted and excited me, if that was possible. The walls had threatened to close in, to suffocate me. I’d been close to choking on my own panic, and I likely would have if he hadn’t properly distracted me. Heat flushed over my skin at the memory of his teasing words, his scent, the way electricity had crackled in those small inches between us.

  “Interesting,” Langley said, glancing at Persephone Price with a secret look I couldn’t decipher. The petite blonde looked like a fairytale Barbie, definitely not someone I’d picture as Cannon freaking Price’s wife. The guy was ruthless on the ice and grumbly off of it.

  Though, to be fair, I wouldn’t go anywhere near Langley’s Viking of a husband either. These women had serious guts to be able to wrangle those two. Either way, it was only my first month on the job, and while they’d been more than welcoming, we hadn’t reached the stage of silent conversations yet.

  I really hoped I earned the chance to make it to that level.

  Being a game day event coordinator was an all-time high, and doing it for the Reapers? One of the hottest NHL teams to take the ice? Beyond a dream come true, even if my brother had been traded to the team I now worked for. I swear Caspian was more overprotective than our parents, and I had thought graduating college would give me some distance to stand on my own. Him being on the team…well, that was a problem for later. Right now…