Game Misconduct_A Baltimore Banners Hockey Romance

by Lisa B. Kamps

  His sad smile broke her heart—almost as much as his words. Because he was right. She wanted to tell him he wasn't, that people would forget...but it would be a lie. Yes, in a few weeks, a few months—maybe even as soon as tomorrow—something else would happen and the public would focus on that instead. But this—the accusation, the presumption of guilt, the sly innuendo of things that didn't happen—would always be there, available with nothing more strenuous than a quick internet search.

  And there was nothing she could do about it.

  She forced a smile to her face and leaned back, twisting in her chair to motion for the waiter. She turned back to Corbin, her smile still in place.

  "I have a better idea. Let's go for a drink."

  "I don't think—"

  She ignored him, asking the waiter to wrap their meals and deliver the check before turning back to Corbin. "There's an Irish pub up the street that plays traditional music every weekend. Let's go there, have a drink—"

  "I don't think—"

  "Just one drink. If you still want to leave after that, then we can." She reached for his hand again, holding his gaze with sheer force of will, praying he wouldn't look away.

  He finally nodded, the motion nothing more than a quick tilt of his head. There was no excitement in his agreement. No enthusiasm. But it was a start. He would be able to relax—they both would—once he was surrounded by people, lost in the lively strains of the upbeat music.

  Ten minutes later, with the leftovers safely placed in the back of his car, they were walking toward the pub. Not talking, not hurrying. Just walking, hand-in-hand, like any other couple out on a date. Corbin, dressed in an immaculate suit and tie. Her, dressed in a long skirt and loose sweater that did nothing to battle the chill of the cold night air. It didn't matter, not with Corbin next to her.

  The hem of her long skirt swirled around her ankles. The tips of her heels clacked against the cracked sidewalk. More than once, she had to hold onto his arm for balance as they moved around the cracks and dips and hills.

  Then he was opening the heavy wooden doors to the pub, standing back to let her enter. Warmth washed over her, along with the strains of a lively fiddle tune that made her want to bounce and jump. Laughter, music, loud conversation. This is what they needed—what Corbin needed. A chance to unwind. To blend in. To simply enjoy.

  Corbin placed his hand against the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd toward the bar. She glanced around, knowing they wouldn't be able to find a table but hoping that maybe, just maybe, they might be lucky enough to find a stool or two.

  But the pub was too crowded and all she saw were heads and bodies, blocking her view. Several heads turned their way, nothing more than mild curiosity at the newcomers trying to order a drink. Then several heads turned back, doing a double-take as recognition flared in their eyes.

  And no, please no. Please don't let anyone come up to them and ask for an autograph or start talking about hockey. She wanted this to be nothing more than a normal date for the two of them, just like all the other couples surrounding them. She didn't want complete strangers coming up to them to talk about the game.

  Lori stepped closer to Corbin, pressing her body against his. Big, warm, secure. She placed one hand in the center of his chest and leaned up, brushing her lips against his. Sending a message that they were together, that they wanted to be left alone in the seething crowd.

  Someone bumped into her, jostling her. Corbin's arm closed around her waist as he shifted, placing himself between her and whoever had run into her. She turned, a smile on her face, ready to apologize for the accidental bump. It was crowded, of course people would be bumping into each other.

  A woman stood next to her, a look of such feral judgment on her face that Lori actually took a step back. Corbin stiffened as the woman's gaze raked him. Then she turned to Lori, anger dancing in her cold eyes.

  "Hon, you really need to do a little more background investigation into the men you date. Don't you know who he is?"

  Lori stood there, her mouth hanging open, her mind blank with shock. Corbin's arm tightened around her and he took a step back, still trying to shield her. Lori shook her head, in denial of whatever the woman was about to say, in defense of the man trying so desperately to protect her. But the woman simply stepped closer, ignoring the stares of the crowd, ignoring the way the conversations immediately surrounding them faded away as they tried to listen, to see what was going on.

  She pointed right at Corbin, her eyes never leaving Lori's. "You need to watch yourself, hon. That man right there likes to assault women, and thinks he can get away with it."

  Anger washed over, burning, scalding. She opened her mouth, ready to scream, to shout the truth, to tell the woman she was wrong. They were all wrong. But Corbin shook his head, pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered something, the combination of French and English too confusing to understand, even though the warning was clear.

  Then he was leading her through the crowd, his body clearing a path through the curious onlookers until they reached the door and pushed through.

  Cold night air washed over, but that wasn't the reason for the sudden chill. Wasn't the reason for the way her body shivered uncontrollably.

  Corbin had been right.

  People wouldn't forget.

  This would follow him everywhere.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Corbin closed his eyes, pushing everything from his mind except the feel of the woman curled against him. Lori's cheek rested in the middle of his chest, just on top of his heart. Could she hear its beat? Feel the way it raced, just because she was near?

  He ran one hand along her back, gentle strokes against soft skin. Touching, soothing.

  Selfish. So selfish. He shouldn't be here, should have simply dropped her off and gone home. Should have never let her convince him to stay.

  But he wanted to stay, wanted to be with her. To lose himself in her touch, her kisses. In the heat of her body. What did that say about him, that he was so willing to ignore the harsh reality that was his new world in favor of a few hours with the woman in his arm?

  Shame washed over him. She didn't deserve this. Not what happened tonight, not what would happen every time they went out in public. Had she heard the woman's hateful words as he led her from the pub tonight? Hateful words directed not at him, as they should have been, but at her, simply for being with him.

  No, she hadn't heard them. For that, he was thankful. But what about the next time? Or the time after that? It would never end, no matter how much she had assured him it would. It would always be there. And Lori didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve any of it.

  Regret filled him. One single mistake. Thirty seconds of not thinking. It didn't matter what his lawyer's investigators had found out, didn't matter that they had discovered this was the third time the woman had received settlements for similar incidents. Corbin was guilty, whether there had been intent or not. Whether he had been targeted or not. Even if the similar settlements became public, it wouldn't matter, not with the video that showed just enough. He was guilty, and he had paid for it. And he'd gladly keep paying...

  As long as Lori wasn't touched by it. As long as she wasn't dragged into the mess he had made.

  And that wouldn't happen as long as he was with her.

  Fury burned in his chest, quickly pushed away by deep sadness. What he felt for her, what he'd always felt...he had been a fool all those years ago, always holding her at an arm's length, so afraid of what he felt, so afraid of hurting her if he had dared act on it. Thinking she was too young, that he was too young.

  He should have told her all of that the first night he ran into her outside the elevator. And later, in the parking lot of the bar. Instead of pushing her away, instead of insisting she leave, he should have gone with her. Should have taken her hand and led her away, should have dropped to his knees and confessed everything he felt, right then and there.

  But he hadn't.


  And now it was too late.

  She stirred next to him, lifting her head and turning so she looked straight at him. Did she know what he was thinking? Could she see it in his eyes? Somehow sense it? Or was it nothing more than a trick of the cold light seeping through the bedroom window curtains?

  She pressed a kiss to the middle of his chest then rested her chin against the back of her hand. "You should be sleeping."

  He ran his hand over her hair, tangled his fingers in a few of the silky strands, "So should you, ma cocotte."

  "I'm not the one who has an early practice tomorrow. Besides, you're thinking so hard, I can actually hear it." She smiled, the sadness of it breaking his heart. "Want to talk about it?"

  "Non. It's not important."

  "Liar." She pressed another kiss against his chest then rolled to the side, propping herself up on her elbow. Her fingers traced small circles in the middle of his chest, over and over. Warm. Comforting. Just that simple act, her simple touch, was enough to unleash the need and desire he had always tried to hold at bay.

  "Talk to me, Corbin."

  "It is nothing—"

  "It's about tonight, isn't it? Don't let it get to you. Don't let what she said bother you."

  "How can I not, Lori?" He sat up, slid back and braced himself against the headboard. "What she said to you, the hateful words. You should never have to hear such things."

  She rolled to the side, stretched across the bed and turned on the small lamp sitting on the nightstand. Soft light flooded the room and he blinked his eyes against it. He wanted to ask her to turn it off, to throw the room back into darkness.

  Afraid she would see his face, look into his eyes, and know.

  She sat across from him, dragging the sheet over her waist. He wanted to reach out, pull it higher, to cover her. No, not to cover her—to whisk it away, to study her beautiful body. To memorize it. To remember...

  "You're worried about me? Corbin, I don't care. It's not a big deal—"

  "But it is, ma cocotte. It's important to me. You shouldn't—"

  "I'm a big girl, I can handle it."

  "But you shouldn't have to. You shouldn't have to pay for my mistakes."

  "You didn't do anything wrong!"

  He opened his mouth to correct her, to tell her he had, that it was his fault. But she wouldn't listen, no matter how many times he told her. She was steadfast in her defense of him, in her belief in him.

  If only he could believe as much as she did.

  He swallowed the words, swallowed the regret. He reached out, dragged one hand along her arm, offered her a small smile. "No more talking. You should sleep."

  "And what about you? Are you going to sleep, too? Or are you going to wait, then leave without saying goodbye?" Her voice caught on the last words, shredding something inside him. She knew. Somehow, she knew. He grabbed her hand, tugged her toward him and pressed a kiss against her lips.

  "I won't leave without saying goodbye."

  "You did before. When you left for Vegas."

  He pushed the hair behind her ear, ran a thumb across her cheek. "I tried, but you didn't let me. Remember?"

  "Yes, I remember. And I'll do the same again."

  "Yes, I know you will." And she would. At least, she would try. He smiled, wondering if she could see the sadness in it, the regret. He caught her mouth once more then leaned back, giving her the words he'd always wanted to say, but in French, knowing it wouldn't be fair to her otherwise, wouldn't be fair to promise things he could never give her.

  "My sweet, beautiful Lori. My heart. My soul. My love. It has always been you. Will always be you. Mine. Always mine."

  She watched him, the sheen of moisture in her eyes breaking his heart. He waited for her to ask what he had said, waited for her to demand an explanation—

  But she didn't.

  Did she know somehow? Even without understanding the words, could she hear what they meant? He didn't know and a part of him was afraid she did.

  An even larger part was afraid she didn't.

  She blinked her tears away and leaned forward, pressed her mouth against his. Sweet, gentle. Heartbreaking. She pulled back, her breath a whisper against his lips. "Make love to me, Corbin. Please. I need you."

  Then she kissed him again, communicating her need with her mouth, her tongue, her hands. He sighed, pulled her across his lap and took control of the kiss. Demanding. Possessing.

  Claiming what could never be his.

  He deepened the kiss as he rolled to the side, stretching his body along hers. Hands touched him, caressing his shoulders, his back. Cupping the side of his face. Touching, always touching, until his body burned with a fever he had never before felt.

  He needed her. Now. To touch and feel. To lose himself in the welcoming heat of her body. To find himself.

  To become one.

  To remember.

  He pulled away, started to reach for the condoms resting on the nightstand, but she grabbed his arm, held him in place. Amber eyes burned into his, mirroring the same need and desire tearing through him.

  "No. Please. I...I need to feel you. Just you."

  A desire stronger than anything he'd ever felt before slammed into him. And yet he still hesitated, worrying that she wasn't thinking clearly, worrying that her request would be followed by regret.

  Her gaze held his, never wavering despite the deep blush fanning across her cheeks, despite the slightest quiver in her voice. "I'm on birth control. There's...there's no need for one. Is there?"

  He shook his head. No, there was no need for one. He had always been careful, was always tested regularly. Yet he still hesitated, still held the burning desire at bay. That Lori would trust him so much, would be so open with that trust—

  He dipped his head, no longer able to contain the raging desire gripping him. His mouth was hungry, demanding, feasting from hers with a consuming need that shook him to his core. Long legs wrapped around his waist as her hips lifted. Searching, seeking. The tip of his cock brushed against her wet heat, ripping a groan from him. He pulled his mouth from hers, reached for her hands, held them in his as he stretched her arms above her head.

  He captured her gaze, never looking away. No longer hiding. He thrust himself deep inside her. Filling her. Feeling the wet heat of her flesh close around him. Just him, just her. Their bodies, together. No barriers between them.

  Not now.

  Not for this moment.

  He continued holding her gaze, refusing to let her look away as he rocked into her, over and over. Slow and deep. Harder. Deeper. Faster. Not stopping, never looking away. Not when she cried his name. Not when her body shattered around his.

  Not when his own body shuddered with release—

  Giving her the only thing he had left, the only thing that mattered: the last piece of his soul.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lori jammed the key into the lock, tried to turn it only to have it get stuck and refuse to budge. She swore under her breath then yanked the key out and tried again but it still wouldn't turn.

  She fumbled with the keys, dropping them with a loud clatter. She stared down at them, drew in a deep breath, then kicked the door with all the pent-up frustration of the last two days. "Dammit!"

  "Good God, woman. Would you relax? You need a stiff drink. Or something else stiff." Danny leaned down and picked up her keys, then nudged her out of the way, unlocking the door and sweeping it open on one efficient move. She sent a withering glare his way then pushed past him into her house.

  "Don't even start again. I warned you already—"

  "So you did. I'm just choosing to ignore you."

  She tossed her bag to the sofa as she walked past it, then skidded to a halt with a loud groan when the bag toppled to the floor, spilling its contents everywhere. "Dammit. Dammit, dammit, shit. I quit. I fucking quit."

  "Ouch. Such language."

  "Danny, I mean it—"

  "So do I. Go, grab that stiff drink. I'll clean up in
here. Although I think a stiff dick would be much better for your mood."

  She turned and hurled her phone at him, ignoring the way he deftly caught it mid-air. Ignoring his soft laughter. How could he even think about laughing? There was nothing funny or amusing about any of this.

  And there certainly wasn't anything funny about his stiff dick comment, either. There would be no more that.

  Damn Corbin. Of all the stupid, idiotic, lame-brained, well-meaning, honorable, infuriating, stupid things to do. She wanted to smack him. Knock some sense into that thick goalie-brain of his. Wrap him in her arms and shake him then kiss him and tell him how stupid he was.

  She knew it. Knew exactly what he was going to do Saturday night, could see it in his eyes. That's why she had made him promise not to leave without saying goodbye. She had been so positive he'd change his mind in the morning. That a night spent making love would make him forget about the idiocy she had seen in his eyes.

  Yes, he'd kept his promise. He had stayed until morning. Had leaned down and kissed her and murmured goodbye. And she had sworn, even then, that things would be fine. That he didn't really mean goodbye the way she had been afraid he'd meant it.

  But he had.

  Because he was worried about her. Because he was afraid people would judge her. Didn't he realize she didn't care? Didn't he realize she could stand up for herself? If she hadn't been so surprised, so caught off-guard by the audacity of that woman Saturday night, she would have let her have it.

  No, probably not. Because Corbin wouldn't have let her. Because he would have insisted on protecting her.

  Is that what he thought he was doing now? Yes, of course that's what he thought. That's why nothing had happened between them all those years ago: because he thought he had been protecting her.

  Of all the stupid, stupid, stupid—

  "Sweetheart, if you're going to mumble to yourself, at least change up the words. Surely you can find something better than stupid."

  "You're not helping. You know that, right?"