Oriana chewed the yummy nuttiness, then washed it down with a gulp of coffee. She was kinda happy she didn’t have to wait to spend time alone with him, but . . .
“Why wouldn’t we make it?”
“Ask me again later.” He pressed another piece of cookie against her lips. “You need a bit of TLC at the moment. I plan to make you feel so cherished you won’t ever doubt it again—”
“What makes you think I—”
He pressed a finger covered in cookie crumbs against her lips. “Interrupting is rude, pet. Now, as I was saying. You will be assured of your value. And you’ll be taught how to properly get involved in a scene and learn safety precautions.”
“I was fine with Sloan. Oh, shoot! He’s gonna wonder where I took off to.”
“I called him.”
“Okay . . .” She licked her lips when his mouth drew into a thin line, but she refused to be a coward and let Dominik think badly of Sloan. “Like I said, we didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do. I kept begging for more and—”
“He gave you what you asked for.”
“Exactly.”
Dominik bit a cookie in half and chewed slowly. Then he gave her a blank look. “Wasn’t he supposed to be in control?”
“Umm . . .”
“Oriana, listen to me. There’s a reason I’ve insisted on deciding what you’re ready for. I have the experience to push you just far enough that you’ll enjoy yourself, but not so far that you’ll regret it once we’re done. Or for days after.” He cleaned some crumbs off her chin with his thumb, then took her coffee and put it beside his in the cup holder. “If you need a bit of pain with your pleasure, I can give you that.” His tone dropped to a tremble-inducing, core-clenching low. “I can hurt you in ways you’ve never dreamed of. But will dream of once I’m done with you, because you’ll love every agonizing moment.”
All her swollen bits slicked up and she moaned. So much for not being a nympho. Seemed like she’d never have enough. Every time she was alone with one of the men, her body responded in a way that screamed, “Sex! More sex!”
And as though he’d read her mind, Dominik grinned. “So what would you like to do now?”
Get naked! her insatiable self replied inwardly. She bit her inner cheek and reached for the glove compartment. “Got any good music?”
“Depends what you consider ‘good.’” He clicked open the glove compartment when she couldn’t find the stupid button. “Take a look.”
She fished through the pile of CDs within. Not one of the artists’ names was familiar. “Toby Keith? Trace Adkins? Who are they?”
He rubbed his knees and shrugged. “Country singers.”
Was it just her, or had his cheeks gotten just a little red? His dark skin made it hard to tell, but she could have sworn he was blushing. She picked a CD and slipped it into the CD player. Then skipped to the song she was most curious about. Honey Bee.
The lyrics were cute.
“Aww, Dominik. This is nice.” She touched his cheek. “I’d love to have a man thinking about me while he listens to this.”
His big hands curved around her wrist. He brought her hands up to his mouth, then kissed her fingertips. “You have one.”
And that means my world is perfect. What more could she possibly want? Her pulse sped up when she realized Dominik had tightened his grip on her wrists. A switch flicked inside her head. She knew what him taking control meant. “Show me what you were talking about before. Please, Sir.”
He sighed. “What you need is a man to tell you when you’ve had enough. My job, unfortunately. Max and Sloan just aren’t capable.”
“But . . .” She tugged at her wrist. He didn’t release her. Very confusing. “You’re . . .”
“Ah. I see.” He let out a throaty laugh, then leaned forward, forcing her back against her seat. “If I’m restraining you, or giving you orders, that must mean we’re going to have sex.”
She nodded.
He shook his head.
“That’s not how I do things, love. I don’t expect submission 24/7, but I retain the right to dominate you outside the bedroom when the mood strikes.” He kissed her chin. Then the corner of her lips. Then moved out of reach before she could kiss him back. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Frustration almost got her saying “Yes!”, but something about being denied heightened anticipation. And knowing he could command her anytime, anywhere . . . intense. To top it off, he was talking long-term, which gave her a nice, warm fuzzy feeling inside.
“I don’t have a problem with that, Sir.” She stayed perfectly still as he pressed one soft kiss, then another on her, eager for the moment he’d tell her to kiss him back. Amazing—under his control, even this became so much more. She could easily lose herself to this man. Only . . .“Would you mind if I speak to Max before committing to anything?”
“Not at all.” He sucked on her bottom lip hard, then whispered against her lips. “Kiss me, Oriana.”
She opened her mouth against his and gave him everything she had. His tongue thrust deep, circling hers, while his lips added just enough pressure to hold her in place. She nipped at his tongue, teased it, loving the feeling that the kiss would never end.
Dominik drew away much too soon, and she struggled against him, protesting until he hushed her with a stern look.
“I have something to tell you, but I wanted to make sure you were feeling comfortable and secure—” He rubbed his forehead and put his hand on her knee. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”
The bottom was about to drop out of the pink, shiny bubble she’d been floating around in. She let out a resolved sigh. “What is it, Dominik?”
“Max got himself arrested.”
Her bubble burst like a big blown glass bulb, shattering all around her.
* * * *
“Stop here,” Oriana said, her hand already on the door handle. Dominik pulled the Jeep over at the curb and she hopped out. Taking her wallet from her purse, she went into the bank and slipped her credit card into the instant teller.
“What are you doing?” Dominik asked from right behind her.
She jumped. Damn, the man was sneaky! When her heart settled back in her chest, she typed in her PIN and shrugged. “Getting the money to bail Max out.”
How much? A thousand? Ten thousand? The instant teller wouldn’t let her take more than two thousand.
Let’s start with that.
The machine beeped. Insufficient funds? What?
“His bail hearing is set for tomorrow,” Dominik said quietly, as though he hadn’t just seen the glaring evidence of her screwup on the screen. “Max will be okay. Like I said, Max told me to tell you he’ll be fine. He just didn’t want you hearing this on the radio or reading it in the paper.”
“I’ve just ruined his career.” She felt around for something solid, feeling like the ground had turned to quicksand, like the world around her was caving in. “He never would have ‘assaulted’ Paul if not for me. At best, he’ll be suspended, at worst, he’ll do time.”
Dominik pulled her into his arms and gave her the solidity she needed. “Don’t be dramatic.” He kissed her temple, then whispered. “Let’s go back home and get some sleep. We’ll figure this out in the morning.”
Her hot breath dampened her face as she pressed it against his hard muscles. “He’ll be in lock-up all night.”
“Yes, but I’m sure he’ll think you’re worth every second of confinement. I know I would.”
No one’s worth it. Especially not me. But Dominik was right. She couldn’t help Max now.
Tomorrow was a different story.
* * * *
Every vertebra in Max’s spine creaked stiffly, as though connected by rusty hinges. He pushed off the cement bench, then went to the steel sink-toilet combo to splash some water on his face. He dried his face with his sleeve, then rested his hip on the sink and surveyed the small holding cell where he’d spent the night. After getting han
dcuffed and hauled to the station, being locked in here had been anticlimactic. There weren’t any bars on the door. The cops hadn’t roughed him up. Actually, getting arrested kind of reminded him of getting sent to the penalty box. Only there was stuff to do in the box, like chat with the fans or bitch at the refs. Here all he could do was sleep or stare at the pale blue cement walls.
Somehow, he had a feeling the local reporters would make him getting charged with aggravated assault sound as big as the trumped-up Gretzky debacle. Not that he cared. Media attention didn’t bother him. This shit upsetting Oriana did, though. That and a possible suspension.
The small slot in the steel door slid open. “Wrists out, Perron. I’ve got to put the cuffs back on you. Your lawyer’s here.”
Max stuck his hands out. The cold metal cuffs snapped onto his wrists. As soon as the door swung open, he grinned at the short cop with the shiny bald head who’d booked him hours earlier. “I’m tellin’ you—my lawyer’s a genius. Keep your bets on the Cobras for the next game, Officer McCaige. The ‘Catalyst’ will perform his magic.”
He’s a cop, not a fan, Perron. He mentally kicked himself. Officer McCaige had joked about putting money on Minnesota when the teams met on Tuesday, but he didn’t look like he was in the mood to kid around anymore.
“Hey, did something happen?” He glanced down as the cop’s hand clamped around his upper arm. “My lawyer got me an after-hours hearing, right?”
“You’re not eligible. Coach Stanton’s doctor just sent in his report.” The cop opened the interview room door and gestured for Max to go in. His tone was detached, like he didn’t give a fuck, but he glared at Max as though he felt betrayed. “I almost bought the ‘we scuffled and he fell.’ Guess he ‘fell’ on your fist hard enough to break a few ribs, eh? You fucking pros think you’re above the law, but I’ve got news for you, buddy. You might be looking at attempted murder.”
And with that, Officer McCaige slammed the door in his face.
A queasy, too-much-beer-chased-by-a-bottle-of-tequila sensation spread through Max’s gut. His skin felt hot, then cold.
Attempted murder?
“Max.” The lawyer stood and held out his hand as Max approached the metal table. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
Max didn’t shake the man’s hand. Or sit. His confidence in the slick man took a nosedive. Bernie King was the lawyer for the entire team. The coach charging a player with aggravated assault or worse . . . Well, wouldn’t that be conflict of interest?
“I’d like to be assigned another lawyer. Can you arrange for someone impartial?” His voice sounded nice and level, like he’d just asked King to recommend a good restaurant.
King laughed and leaned across the table. “How am I not impartial? Max, I’ve got nothing to gain by keeping you here. The team pays me to take care of you, and that’s what I’m going to do.” His friendly smile faded when Max didn’t move. “Tell me what happened, and I’ll advise you on how to proceed.”
Yeah, I’m right on that. “How ‘bout you tell me what you know?”
“Fine.” King sat stiffly, hands pressed to the table as though preparing to rise again in a hurry. “According to the security guard, you stormed into Coach Stanton’s office, then locked the door behind you. He heard shouting, then heard things being smashed. He tried to get in the room and called the police when he couldn’t. They found you holding the coach against the wall. He was bleeding profusely from a cut on his head. You claimed he grabbed you, and when you shook him off, he tripped and hit his head on the side of his desk. According to you, he—” King cleared his throat and imitated Max’s southern drawl “—‘keeled over, then laid there for a bit, real quiet-like. I done checked his pulse—he wasn’t dead, which was good. Then, suddenly, he jumps up and starts yelling that he’s gotta get out of there. I didn’t want him to hurt himself no more, so I held him. And that’s it.’”
Max seriously doubted he’d used those words—‘course, he’d been pretty agitated, and his speech roughened up when he got stressed. Either way, King obviously didn’t believe him innocent. Or smart enough to insist on another lawyer.
Lips curved in a cold smile, Max jerked his chin toward the door. “Thank you, Mr. King. You may leave. I find myself in need of legal counsel that won’t treat me like a stupid redneck. I graduated from the University of Michigan with a bachelor’s in engineering. So, you see, I’ve got the brains to know when I’m getting screwed.”
King stared at Max for a moment. Then smirked. “Have it your way, Max. I might have been able to work out a deal for you.” He picked up his briefcase and clucked his tongue as he made his way across the room. “You should have done what Stanton asked.”
Slimy, manipulative bastard. Max should have guessed King would be in on something this dirty. “I play to win.” He clenched his fist as his control slipped. “If Stanton wants to start rigging the games, he’ll have to do it without me.”
Letting out a snort, King walked out.
The glossy-headed cop stood in the open doorway. “Doesn’t look like that went your way.”
Max ignored his spelling out the fucking obvious and went over his odd conversation with King. The man’s confidence irked him. The idea of another lawyer getting involved hadn’t fazed the weasel at all.
But why? Like he said, he got nothing to gain by keeping me here. Unless—
Stanton had asked him to throw the next game. Which would put the Cobras five points out of the eighth spot in the Eastern Conference. With four games left, that wasn’t an option. They didn’t have a great shot at the playoffs, but for the first time, he considered the slim chance of them sliding in.
If you’re not on the first line, they don’t have to worry about you throwing the game.
He looked at the cop. “I’d like my one phone call now, please.”
Chapter Thirty
Dawn oozed into the living room, a sickly yellow light, like the sun itself was reluctant to rise. Sloan raised his fist to knock on Mason’s door which had been locked all night. Several times Sloan approached the door and heard Mason whispering to Oriana while she sobbed.
Her pain chiseled Sloan’s heart—odd, because he didn’t do empathy—but he accepted Mason as the most capable of getting Oriana through this. Hopefully, he’d given her the strength for what came next.
He rapped on the door with his knuckles. “Oriana, Mason, we need to talk.”
The door whooshed open. Mason’s big body blocked the doorway. “You’ve got nothing to say to her, Callahan.”
A small hand curled over Mason’s shoulder, tugging him back. “Dominik, let him in.”
Lips pressed together, Mason inclined his head, then spun around and went to sit on the bed.
Oriana held out her hand. “Come on.”
Relief clocked him square in the chest. He gave her his hand and let her lead him across the room. She settled down by Mason and patted the mattress on her other side.
“Let’s hear it.”
The strain in her voice brought out every ounce of tenderness he possessed. He covered both her hands with his own. “Max called me.” Her brow wrinkled, and she blinked fast. “Before I say anything else, he made me promise to tell you he was—”
“Okay. Yes, Dominik made the same promise right after Max was arrested. I’ve heard all that. I know the basics of what happened. What I want to know is how much is his bail set for? You’ll pay it, right?” She tugged her hands loose when Sloan didn’t immediately answer and hooked the fingers of one hand to his collar. “Right?”
If only it was that easy. He licked his lips, searching for the words that would make things okay for her. And found none. “There’s no bail. Not yet. The charges were too serious for an after-hours settlement. But what’s more important is—”
“Nothing’s more important! God, Sloan. He’s in jail!” She shot of the bed and let out a little scream. “He’s your teammate. Your friend. How are you both so calm?”
Mason looked
at him, then inclined his head in a way that said he would shelve their personal issues. For the moment. “Freaking out won’t do him any good, pet.”
“Don’t call me that! Not now!” Her whole body trembled as though physically, mentally, this was all too much. “I was out playing with Tyler and Sloan while Max paid for my actions. I’m not stupid. I know this is my fault.”
“Stop.” Mason stood and snapped. “Sit.”
Oriana sat, right there on the floor. Then scowled and almost bounced up again.
“Move and I’ll chain you to the bed,” Sloan said. He held up his hand when Oriana glared at him. “This isn’t the time for games, but if you can’t control yourself, the two of us are quite capable of doing it for you.”
“I can control myself just fine, thank you very much.” She gritted the words out through her teeth.
Sloan grinned at the feisty firecracker. “You’re very welcome, love.” He slid off the bed, onto the floor, putting them at equal level. “As I was saying, Max called me. He confirmed something we’ve all suspected for a long time, only it’s worse than we thought.” He paused to gather his thoughts. Part of him was still dumbstruck by the whole fucked-up situation. “A lot of people bet on the games. They use stats—player standings, ice conditions, et cetera. The bigger the odds, the bigger the payoff. There have been accusations in the past of player injuries being leaked—especially during playoffs when teams are really quiet about any exploitable weaknesses. We thought Paul might be giving out info to get a cut since he can’t actually bet on games. But he’s actually fixing the games. He told Max to throw the one tomorrow—as a condition to him leaving you alone. The man must be pretty desperate to show all his cards like that. Max thinks his ‘partners’ are putting pressure on him. We’ve been on a hot streak, so a lot of people are probably betting we’ll win, what with the playoffs as motivation. For the first time in years, we might make it.”
In a position almost identical to “the Thinker” statue, Oriana seemed to drift off for a bit, absorbing everything he’d said. Then she hopped to her feet. “Maybe Paul kept a record of the wagers or an account of his cut. If he doesn’t know that I know, they might still be at the condo!”
GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) Page 27
