Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2)

by Bianca Sommerland

  She put her hands on the bathtub and braced for him to take the plug out. He pressed on it and her body shuddered.

  "It will take some work to wear you out, won't it, baby." Stroking her spine, he curved his fingers into her while keeping pressure on the plug with his palm. "You'll come again when I take this out."

  "Nonono! Ah!" The orgasm slammed into her as he gently eased the butt plug out. She sobbed at the empty, empty feeling but his fingers saved her, giving her something to clench down on. The last wave drained her and she dropped to her knees, not moving as he found a cloth and cleaned her, though whispers of humiliation escaped her. "Don't, oh don't."

  "It's all right, sweetie. We're done." He pressed her head against his thigh and petted her hair. "I put your suit on my bed. Get changed in my room and join me for breakfast. Things will be all back to normal."

  He was right. Shortly after, dressed and primped, with her damp hair in a nice neat bun, she was able to sit at the table across from him without one thought of all she'd let him do. Or all she wanted to let him do. She could almost pretend this was actually a normal breakfast with a co-worker. Except for when Dean fed her the first, delicious mouthful, which reminded her of decadent apple pie without the thick, flaky crust. Or when she watched Dean lick a bit of apple filling from his bottom lip. Or when she wished he would kiss her again.

  "What would you think of cooking lessons?"

  Almost certain they'd been discussing the press conference—or had that been before she'd distractedly mentioned her ideas for renovating the VIP boxes—she washed down a mouthful with a sip of milk and tried to get her thoughts back on track.

  "Cooking lessons?"

  "You said you wanted to learn." He set his fork on his empty plate and leaned back. "I'd be happy to teach you."

  She tore her gaze away from his chest and filled her mouth again so she wouldn't recall how good he tasted. "You don't have enough to do with teaching me about the team?"

  "The offer's on the table." Dean stood and cleared the table. "Let me know what you decide."

  "I'd love it, I just don't—" She cut herself off. He obviously couldn't hear her over the water blasting into the kitchen sink. So she answered herself. Maybe he wants to spend time with me.

  The concept of a man wanting to spend time with her to do something other than fuck was still a little strange, but Landon had already shown her how pleasant it could be. Could she have something like that with Dean? Did she want to?

  Spotting a cloth hanging from the stove, she went to fetch it and approached the dish rack. "Is it okay to use this to dry the dishes?"

  "I can do it."

  "But I want to." She picked up a fork when he nodded and chewed her bottom lip as she rubbed it with the cloth until it shone. "Thanks for breakfast. I really enjoyed it."

  "You're very welcome." He glanced over at her as he washed the frying pan. "So, you were saying the colors in the VIP boxes are too drab?"

  She nodded. "I'm thinking something a bit more modern. I've called in a designer and a contractor. I know they're already all sold for the season, but there's space for two more if we cut down on seats—I mean, with all the empties we've always got near the back—"

  He smiled, shut off the water, and rested his hip on the counter. "You've done your homework."

  "Well, what do you think I do in the office all day?"

  "I wasn't sure, but I'd like to know what else you've come up with."

  Warmth filled her as she looked into his eyes and saw he really, truly meant it. "How much time do we have? This could take awhile?"

  He checked his watch. "We have an hour."

  "That's not enough." She quickly finished putting away the dishes and waved him over to the table. "But I guess I can tell you about the magazine."

  "The magazine." He blinked and sat across from her. "I'm not sure—"

  "Please hear me out. I think this will be great for the team and they need all the publicity they can get, just . . . ." Inhaling deep, she watched his face to make sure she hadn't lost his interest already. She hadn't. "Promise not to laugh."

  Reaching across the table, he held his hand out, palm up. When she gave him her hand, he squeezed it. "I will never laugh at you. I may not always agree, but I will always take you seriously." He released her hand at her nod and straightened. "Now, tell me about the magazine."

  She told him about it. And about the charity events, speaking in a rush, sure he'd eventually get bored.

  But an hour and a half later she was the one who noticed the time. And he made her promise they could discuss her plans further after the press conference. They made it there just in time and she was sure she'd have to powder her face for the cameras because she must be glowing, she felt that good.

  Unfortunately, her only appearance in front of the cameras was to tell the media the press conference was cancelled.

  Scott hadn't bothered to show up.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The swarm of reporters slowly thinned until only a couple from the gossip columns remained. Dean watched them with his arms folded over his chest as they hovered near Silver, practically frothing at the mouth, waiting for her to say something they could use. These kinds of leeches didn't usually come to press conferences, but it wasn't too hard to figure out what had drawn them. Two celebrities, the first Silver herself, the second the infamous Scott Demyan.

  Moments ago, Silver had begged for a break to get a glass of water. He'd tried to intercede and tell the vermin it was time to leave, but she'd caught his eye and mouthed, "Let me deal with it." So he stood back and watched, feeling useless for the first time in his career. Much as he publicly supported Silver, nothing he could say or do would make this acquisition okay. And as much as he wanted to protect her from the aftermath, she seemed determined to handle it on her own.

  His chest tightened as he watched her turn away from the reporters, blinking fast and swallowing hard. He took a step forward.

  She spun around and smiled at the young man in the cheap, twill jacket and the middle-aged woman who looked like she moonlighted as a hooker. "All right, now that the rest of them are gone, I do have a little tidbit to give you, but you have to promise not to share it with your editors until this afternoon."

  Close enough to listen, but not close enough to intrude, Dean's eyes widened as she laid out the 'real' reason why Scott hadn't shown up. Both reporters scribbled notes and nodded vigorously as Silver admonished them once again not to tell anyone.

  Once they were gone, Dean strode up to her side and pulled up a chair, forcing her to sit when he noticed her trembling. "Do you need anything? More water?"

  "Just hand me my purse, please." She thanked him when he did and felt around inside it. Her hand came out with a liquorice stick. Chewing thoughtfully, she glanced towards the door to the conference room, then leaned forward. "You were right. This is nothing like Hollywood. They were asking me about things I know nothing about. I felt so stupid. One guy laughed at me when I said the minor goalie we used was really good and we might keep him. I don't know what was so funny. If he wasn't good, we wouldn't play him right? I know he didn't do well last night, but he'll get better?"

  "He will get better, but he's only eighteen and he'll need to play a few years in the farm team before he's ready to play for us in the regular season. But don't worry about that. You did great."

  "I didn't say anything I shouldn't have?"

  "No, but we're going to be hard pressed to get everything set up." He checked his watched. "I'll have to make a few calls, but there's something we need to handle first."

  Her lips curved in a slow smile. "'We'? So you're coming with me to give Scott the good news?"

  You're a vicious little thing, aren't you? He held out his arm and felt his own lips curl up as she hooked her arm to his. "I wouldn't miss this for The Cup." He laughed and shook his head. "Okay, that's not true, but you know what I mean."

  "All hail Lord Stanley." She bit her bottom lip and s
hot him a questioning glance as though making sure she'd gotten it right. At his nod, she grinned. "Shall we?"

  "After you, Miss Delgado."

  * * * *

  Silver couldn't keep her eyes off Dean as they drove to Scott's apartment. The plan had been so last minute, so crazy, that she would have bet he'd tell her off for being impulsive and not clearing it with him. But, so far, aside from when she'd contracted Scott and considered trading Sloan, he'd . . . respected her input on everything. She couldn't help but wonder when he would brush her off or treat her like a silly girl who had no business sticking her nose in a man's game.

  He's not Daddy.

  The disloyal thought lodged a lump in her throat. Yes, Daddy was old fashioned, but that didn't make him a bad person. He'd trusted her enough to give her his most prized possession.

  But why not Oriana?

  There was no easy answer. But she couldn't think about that now. Every time she considered how unfair it was that Oriana had been overlooked she felt guilty and that made it harder to do what needed to be done. Like today. This plan so wasn't Oriana's style.

  Of course, Oriana never would have signed someone like Scott.

  "We're here," Dean said, pulling over to the curb.

  Action.

  She giggled and shook her head when Dean frowned at her. He wouldn't get how she turned doing things like this into a movie she had a lead role in. Most people probably wouldn't. It just came so automatically most times she didn't have to think about it. Only this time, she knew there would be no second take. If she didn't put Scott in his place, he'd ruin her reputation.

  The cool sea breeze lapped her gently as a sun soaked wave as she clipped up the cobbled steps and pressed the buzzer for the concierge. A stooped old man opened the door and Pine Sol clashed with the salty air.

  "Can I help you?"

  "I'm sorry to disturb you, but we work with Mr. Demyan and we're very concerned." She curved her hand around her throat and blinked fast. "You see, he's been so sick that he can't even play and he isn't answering our calls. I tried buzzing him, but he isn't answering. I need to know that he's okay."

  "After last night, I'd say he's fine. I got three calls about music and women screaming, but he ignored me when I knocked on his door." The old man grunted and unhooked a nest of keys from his belt. "I didn't want to bother the cops with nonsense. But if you're worried about him, go for it. And tell him the landlord is considering throwing him out."

  "I will." Silver held the bundle of keys by the one the concierge showed her and put her hand on his shoulder. "And if the landlord needs to throw him out, tell him or her not to worry. He has friends he can stay with. We'd hate for him to bother your other tenants."

  "I say, are you Silver Delgado?" The man squinted at her. "You are! He's no good for the team, talk to Mr. Richter, he's a smart guy. He'll set you straight."

  Dean moved up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Miss Delgado and I are working together to make sure the team meets fan expectations. This includes Mr. Demyan. I think you'll be surprised at how dedicated he really is."

  "I hope you're right, sir." The old man straightened as much as he could and looked from her to Dean in a way that made her wonder if Dean's support wasn't a bad idea. "She's a young thing and I know the damage a pretty miss can do. I've got two lookers of my own. Heaven help the men they reeled in."

  Door 5. Silver didn't wait to see how Dean would reply. Seriously, if any woman could be accused of messing with a man's head, it would be her. That aside, she was perfectly willing to mess with Scott's head. He didn't deserve her pity.

  She unlocked the door and wrinkled her nose at the stench of rotten food and sex. Meer steps away from the door lay Scott, limbs tangled with two women and mismatched, stained sheets. Silver crept by them and paused by the tiny kitchenette to put her finger to her lips as Dean stomped in. He scowled, then nodded.

  Scott hadn't been here long, but he'd managed to make the entire apartment into a place she'd be ashamed to invite guests. Much as she wanted to embarrass him, she couldn't bring the press in here and pull off the misunderstood philanthropist act. Which meant she had to get him out of bed and dressed. Fast. And the sleazy chicks would have to go.

  None of his dishes were clean, but she found a bucket under the sink that hadn't been used. She filled it with cold water in the bathtub and carted it out to the living room. With one last glance at Dean's open mouthed stare, she tossed the cold water onto the sleeping trio.

  The women screamed. Scott woke with a start and reached under his pillow. Her bucket landed with a clunk! as he pulled out a gun. "Come get me, you fuckers!"

  Silver froze. Her blood turned to ice. The last time a man had pulled a gun on her she'd been with Asher. A client he'd failed wanted revenge and she'd been caught in the crossfire. The gun went off and she couldn't hear in one ear for a month. But that hadn't affected her as much as the flesh wound which had left a small, hidden scar a few inches above her ear. So easy to hide, but a constant reminder that if the man had wanted to kill her, she'd be dead. Asher talked him down after, but that nervous twitch on the trigger could have ended her life. Her fingers found the smooth spot covered by hair. Her eyes locked on the black barrel aimed at her head.

  "Are you fucking insane?" Dean pulled her behind him and picked up a crowbar. Why the hell was there a crowbar by the door? "Put it away!"

  The gun shook and again that man was screaming at her. Screaming at Asher.

  "Nonono!" Her mind went blank. She went deaf again and the sound blasted in her skull. "Please! I didn't know! I don't know! I won't say anything!"

  The sound came over and over, ripping through her. She crouched down and suddenly she was floating, leaving the place where the sharp stench of gunpowder took over and left her helpless. Maybe she was already dead. She hung around bad people. All the drugs and the deals would catch up with her. Asher lied. He couldn't protect her!

  "Silver!" Dean's voice came through the fog and she latched onto it. "Please talk to me. I don't know if this is a movie you starred it that hit you bad or from real life. Talk to me!"

  "Real. Too real!" She shook her head but the buzzing from the past remained. And the doctor, telling her the bullet didn't do any real damage. "But my ears hurt. I can't breathe!"

  "I got you, baby."

  Something was closing around her, trapping her. She lashed out, freed herself and lunged for the door.

  This time she was fast enough to get away.

  * * * *

  Dean moved to follow Silver. Scott grabbed his arm—ducking just in time to avoid getting a fist in the face. Red flashed in Dean's vision and he forced himself to drop the crowbar before he was tempted to use it.

  "Get out of my way," Dean said.

  Scott stashed the gun back under his pillow, then held his hands up. "I'm trying to help, man. I didn't mean to freak her out like that, but she's having a panic attack and you grabbing her will only make it worse. Get her to walk around the block or something."

  Giving Scott a curt nod, Dean headed out the door. He called back over his shoulder. "You better be dressed when I come back."

  Outside, Dean had to run to catch up with Silver. She stopped when she noticed him and he watched her slip a calm mask over her face. A good act, but neither her breathing, nor her pulse, had slowed. The way her gaze darted sideways told him she still wanted to run.

  "Hey . . . ." Her tongue traced her upper lip as she gave him a little smile. "Sorry for acting like a spazz. I have this thing about guns."

  Clearly. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her, but now wasn't the time for an interrogation. He knew more than a little about panic attacks from the club and his stint in the military—forcing someone to talk while they were having one could make things worse.

  "You need to do something for me, sweetie." His jaw ticked as she rubbed her arms. He wished he could hold her, but after what had happened last time—Demyan was right. He settled on taking he
r hand while paying close attention to her pale face to see how she'd react. So far so good. He gently stroked her knuckles and focused on keeping his tone neutral. "You're breathing fast. Too fast. Slow it down a little."

  "Yes. Yes I should." She shook her head quickly and resumed walking. Her grip on his hand tightened. "Can't seem to manage it though."

  "You can. All you have to do is listen to me and do exactly what I say."

  She laughed and a bit of color returned to her cheeks. "Or you'll tie me up and spank me?"

  He smirked. "After this morning, I think I'll use spanking as a reward."

  Rolling her eyes, she sighed. "You're too much. So what do you command, oh great and mighty one?"

  "Breathe and count with me. And let me know when you're ready to head back."

  "Back . . . ." She groaned. "Damn it! I have to get Scott ready! The press will—"

  "Inhale. Now exhale 5, 4, 3—you're not counting."

  "That's not the way I learned to do it." Staring at her feet, she mumbled under her breath. "I like 'I'm safe'."

  Already her breathing had calmed somewhat, but her admission made him want to keep it going a little longer to make sure she stayed level. He brought his hand up, very, very slowly, so not to startle her, and cupped her cheek in his palm.

  "Do you feel safe?"

  Her eyes drifted shut. Her lashes rested on her cheeks. And she smiled. "Yes, I feel safe. That never would have happened with you. You're smart. And careful."

  What wouldn't have happened? He swallowed against the question he couldn't voice and simply nodded. "Let's try it your way then. Inhale. Now exhale. I'm safe."

  They continued this way for a few blocks, whispering those two words, walking at the same pace, breathing as one. As they headed back towards Demyan's apartment, Dean realized he didn't want to kill the man anymore. He would find out why the hell he slept with a damn gun, but even that didn't seem that important right now. All that mattered was Silver wasn't faking anymore. She really was fine.

  "I suppose I owe you an explanation," she said, glancing towards the news van that had pulled up across the street. "But we don't have much time, so maybe after . . . ."