Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2)

by Bianca Sommerland

  Never in her life had she felt this way about anyone. Connected to them as a whole person. The sex was amazing, and he aroused her by just looking at her, but she didn't curse at him anymore to do her on the closest available surface when he made her hot. Well, not every time. And a quickie wouldn't hurt . . . .

  Professional at work, Dean's rules 101.

  Fingering the pearl buttons high on her throat, she waved him over and pointed at her book. "You aren't going to believe what I pulled off."

  His tongue traced his bottom lip as he approached her. "Remind me about the office policy?"

  Her nose wrinkled. "Your office policy."

  "Ah, yes. Mine." He let out a gruff laugh. "Show me what you pulled off before I forget why the policy is a good idea."

  Oh, I could so torture you! Tempting—but no. She wanted to see what he thought of all her hard work more than she wanted to get off. Of course, maybe he'd think it was stupid. It wasn't his style. Or even Daddy's style.

  "Hey, what happened to the woman who was so excited she danced around her office for about ten minutes?"

  Heat rushed over her cheeks. She glared at him. "You were watching me!"

  He shrugged. "Your door was open." He rested a hand on the edge of her desk and studied her book. "You've booked several meetings with a Canadian network. Are you getting the team more air time?"

  "Kinda." She circled her desk as she spoke, straightening her pencil holder and her files. Her purse lay open on the far corner and she fetched a lollypop. The second the candy was in her mouth she felt much better. Here goes nothing. "We're doing a reality show."

  Shock? Outrage? Amusement? She prepared for any or all, but he simply nodded.

  "Other teams have done it. Are you thinking of following certain players into their personal lives or a 'inside the locker room' type series?"

  "Umm . . . ." Those were actually good ideas too. She'd have to look into it—after they saw how the ratings went with her original idea. "Well, you see, I'm sorta going for sex appeal."

  His brow lifted. "And . . . ?"

  "Well—"

  "Silver, if you don't get to the point I am going to bend you over this desk and spank you." He picked up a long wooden ruler. "With this."

  He was teasing, and she knew it, but she couldn't help but wince. He'd been right about needing a pillow.

  His forehead creased and he cursed under his breath. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

  "It's okay." She sighed and glanced down at her buzzing phone. Landon. She pressed end and squared her shoulders. It took her a moment to remember what she wanted to tell Dean. Oh, right. Sex appeal. "We're going to have a competition to recruit ice girls."

  "Ice girls."

  "Yes."

  "No."

  No? No! She slammed her fist on the desk and broke her lollipop. "Yes! You don't get to veto this, Dean! It's happening whether you like it or not!"

  "I've seen these girls prancing around on the ice. They distract the players. Our men need to focus on the game and not the half naked women shaking their asses in their faces." He shook his head and slumped into her chair. "I understand how this might seem like a good idea to you, but we need to concentrate on getting the team to the playoffs."

  "If we don't get viewership up, no one will care if they make it to the playoffs! Now get out of my chair!" As soon as he moved, she sat and pointed across the desk. "That's your place! Now you're going to fucking hear me out and stop thinking like an old fashioned tight ass!"

  His eyes narrowed. "Pet—"

  "Don't you fucking dare 'pet' me!" The chair crashed to the floor as she thrust back up to her feet. "We can please the old farts who love old school hockey or we can appeal to a new generation and make this team into a real franchise!" Since he'd stopped glaring at her, she decided to stop screaming. "I've given the okay for the network to audition across the nation. I'm using my own money to bring the girls who make the cut here and I've already found a nice place for them to stay. And just so you know, these aren't just hot, sleazy girls shaking their asses. They're figure skaters, speed skaters, women with real talent. They'll put on shows in between periods and do charity events with the team. Granted, the guys might drool a bit, but they'll have to deal with it and so will you."

  Her breath came out in a huff. She turned around and righted her chair, then took a seat. Energy buzzed through her veins and she prepared to continue the argument, but one look at his face stole her breath. A flash of teeth, a glint in his eyes, and, oh my God, he was actually grinning.

  His hands lifted in surrender. "You're right. It's not something I—or your father—would have come up with, but it just might work. And, more importantly, you are in charge of PR, not me. I'm guessing you didn't hire any of the agents from the list I gave you?"

  "No." She toyed with the little red pieces of candy scattered over her desk. "I talked to a few, but their ideas seemed . . . boring. And then I came up with some ideas and—"

  "Good. This team needs something fresh and I'm sorry I didn't see that." He sighed. "After what you did with the charity event, I should have."

  She sat up straight and inclined her head. "You are forgiven."

  He smirked. "How gracious of you, dragonfly."

  Oh, so not fair! That special nickname he now had for her made her feel the silly warm fuzzies. How could she not forgive him?

  "Yes, well just don't do it again." Thrumming her fingers on her planner, she tongued her bottom lip and tried to find somewhere else to put all her restless energy. Now that she wasn't mad at him anymore, make-up sex seemed as good a place as any, but that brought her back to his stupid rules. So . . . business . . . "I take it you didn't come here just 'cause you missed me?"

  "I've been looking for an excuse to see you, but no, in all honesty, I have to discuss something with you." He leaned back in his chair. "The team is going on a road trip for the next week. We have one game scheduled in the Eastern Conference and four in the Western."

  "I know that." She patted her book. "I spent Monday morning getting all organized. Every game is in here. Pink for away games, blue for home."

  His lips quirked. "Red is typically home, while blue is away."

  Childish, maybe, but she couldn't help but stick out her tongue at him. "It's my book."

  He chuckled. "Very true."

  "So what did we need to discuss?"

  "I'm going with the team to see how my brother performs as head coach." He waited for her nod, then continued. "I'd like you to come with me."

  "Oh!" Her mind went over the schedule. Buffalo, San Jose, Los Angeles, and Vancouver. She'd always loved traveling, and it would be nice to get away. With Dean. For work. A cruel voice in her head reminded her. She sighed. "That's a long time to go by your rules."

  Dean stood, straightened his jacket, then strode around her desk before she had a chance to stand. He trapped her with his hands on her armrest and loomed over her. "Work hours are 9 to 5, pet. We will also attend games, but beyond that." His lips curved into a positively evil smile. "The rules don't apply."

  * * * *

  Dean hesitated as Silver opened the door to her apartment and almost retreated. The place had fallen victim to a cotton candy explosion. He'd never been to her apartment, but he had a hard time believing any man, gay or not, had every set foot in the place.

  Pink and powder blue everywhere. The walls were a pale raspberry color, the white sofa was buried in tiny cushions, the wood floors covered in a peacock feather printed carpet. He inched inside, warily avoiding getting too close to anything. A wet paint scent hung in the air and he'd rather not wear that color on the plane.

  And she wants to redecorate the VIP boxes?

  "Oh my God! You should see your face!" Silver shut the door with her hip and let out a bubbly laugh. "Feeling less manly just being in here?"

  He gave her a tight smile. "Where are your suitcases?"

  "Dean." Sauntering up to his side, she gazed up at him, eyelashes fluttering. "I r
edecorated. Don't you like it?"

  "It's . . . ." He hated to lie, but no good would come of telling her the truth. So he settled for a diplomatic response. "Very interesting."

  "It's hideous!" Silver smacked his arm. "I wanted to make some changes since Asher and Cedric moved out, so I hired a interior design student and told her she could sell everything inside the apartment—except my personal stuff of course—and use the money to give the place a facelift. I didn't have the heart to tell her I hated it, so I'll have to put up with it until I have time to make it look less like Candyland."

  He couldn't hold back his sigh of relief. He'd fully expected Silver to be high maintenance, maybe even messy—which would have irked him since he liked order in his life, but he could have dealt because he lived with a teenager who thrived in chaos. This, however, looked like something someone on an acid trip would find pretty.

  Shaking his head, he pulled her against him and wrapped her arms around her in a straightjacket hold. "It's not nice to tease your Dom, Silver."

  "Nice is boring." She looked over her shoulder at him and smirked. "Besides, if I don't keep you on your toes, you start acting like you have a stick up your ass. Or a great big butt plug."

  "Hmm, speaking of great big butt plugs . . . ."

  Her cheeks went as hot pink as her throw pillows. A spoonful of arousal with a dash of fear. Utter perfection. If only they had time to play.

  Why ruin the moment by reminding her we don't? He brought his lips to her ear. "I'm glad you chose a skirt today, sweetheart. All I have to do is bend you over and move the string of your thong aside to get access to your pretty little asshole."

  She whimpered.

  "Would you hold still while I slicked you up with lube and slowly worked it inside you, or would I have to tie you down?"

  "No, no tying. No butt plugs." Her hips pressed back against his pelvis and he groaned as her tight little bottom bumped his very hard cock. "I'll give you anything you want."

  "You'll give me anything I want anyway, pet."

  Her pulse pounded against his lips as he kissed her throat. She squirmed a bit, but not enough to convince him she really wanted to get away. "What do you want?"

  "I want . . . ." He rubbed his freshly shaved cheek against her neck, tightened his grip on her arms, and nipped her earlobe. When she gasped, he released her. "Your suitcase." He smacked her butt. "And hurry, dragonfly."

  With a strangled scream, she stomped off, muttering something about an egg-sucking-ass-clown.

  He chuckled and wandered into the kitchen. Which had a strange poker slash chess theme in black and periwinkle. Wincing at the visual assault, he took a seat at the table and called out. "Either I help you redecorate when we come back or you'll be spending a lot of time at my place."

  "Both sound good to me!"

  "We have thirty minutes to get to the airport!" He double checked his watched. "Are you almost ready?"

  "Almost!" She paused. "Sorry, I'm being rude! Would you like a drink or something? Help yourself!"

  Choosing a shiny red apple from the fruit bowl on the table, he stood and idly paced from the kitchen and back while he ate the tart fruit, his mind going over all this trip would accomplish. Observing his brother's coaching style, the rookies who may be ready to join the team, and the performance of both Demyan and Bower. Having Silver along was a plus. They would learn how to work as a unit. He could teach her more about the game.

  And more importantly, hold her in his arms every night.

  A few last bites close to the core and he was done. He checked his watched again. Fifteen minutes.

  "Silver?"

  "Coming!"

  Uh huh. He sighed and went to toss the core in the trash. Maybe he should go back to giving her two hours to get ready.

  The apple core hit the side of a hardcover book. Dean frowned and picked it up.

  The Game by Ken Dryden. He had a copy of this book—only his was much older. This looked brand new. He glanced at the small white trash can and spotted two other books. Not ruined, since other than several takeout containers, they were the only things in the garbage. He fished them out, then took a cloth from the sink to clean some sauce from the dust jacket of The Boys of Winter.

  Inside the cover, he spotted a short note: Apprendre à surmonter tes obstacles, mignonne. Landon.

  "What are you doing?" Silver asked from behind him.

  He closed the book and pressed his lips into a hard line. He'd figured Silver would be upset for awhile about what had happened last weekend. Hell, he was still pretty pissed off. But not at Bower. At himself. If he hadn't put Silver in that position, things with her and Bower would still be . . .

  Be what exactly?

  Damn if he knew. He couldn't even say for sure how he felt about their 'friendship', but he did know it bothered him more to see them at odds. Especially since it seemed like Bower was reaching out.

  Picking up The Game, he turned to face her. "What was this doing in the trash?"

  The color left her cheeks. Her bottom lip trembled, but was held still by her teeth. And in a blink her expression turned completely unreadable. If he hadn't been paying attention, he wouldn't have caught the telling slip.

  "I don't want those books. I rarely buy paper books anymore. Such a waste of space—"

  "These were a gift."

  "So what? People get rid of gifts all the time." She fiddled with the grey scarf around her neck, then slid on some big, black sunglasses. "Let's go before we're late."

  Dean nodded and carried the books to the kitchen table. He dropped the neat—and now clean—stack with a thunk. "Yes. Let's. After you put these in your carry on."

  "Dean, I—"

  "Now, pet." His face remained still, even though he wanted to laugh at the way she ground her teeth. "I suggest you hurry. I'd hate to start off our trip with a punishment, but I will. And I guarantee you won't enjoy it."

  She swallowed and picked up the books. Then hugged them to her chest. "You know who sent them."

  "Yes." He walked by her to collect her suitcases from where she'd left them by the door. "He chose well."

  * * * *

  Are we flying to Buffalo or Hong Kong? Landon pressed a white knuckled fist against the armrest, struggling, as he had for the goddamn everlasting flight, to stay put.

  "Why don't you just go talk to her?"

  Landon tore his eyes away from the back of Silver's head and scowled at Carter. "Why don't you continue your story about blowing kisses to the Bruin's bench after you won the shootout?"

  Carter grinned. "That was something else, but I finished and you weren't really listening anyway. I added a naked ref doing the Macarena in the middle of the rink and you just grunted."

  Fuck. The last thing he needed was the guys catching him staring at Silver. He'd done his best to distract himself, first by taking a nap with his ears plugged with hardcore music from his Ipod—which lasted through the first three songs from AC/DC's greatest hits—then by engaging in conversation with Carter. He liked talking to the kid, but Silver was too close, and too distant, and he'd given up on looking away.

  "You were with her Saturday." Landon recalled the way she'd stripped for the kid and clenched his jaw. Not your business, Bower. He had to ask. "I didn't stick around to watch, but you two seemed to be getting along pretty well. What happened?"

  Rubbing his hands on his knees, Carter shrugged his bowed shoulders. "Hell, I can't Dom a woman like her. Actually, I'm not sure I can Dom anyone. She made me look like a real pussy. Worse, actually. I thought Dean was going to kill me until Chicklet stopped him."

  "Kill you?"

  "I slapped her."

  I'm going to fucking kill you! Landon leaned forward and hissed through his teeth. "You. Did. What?"

  The younger man paled, but he didn't back away. "See, that's how everyone's going to react when they find out. Doesn't matter that she told me it would get her in the mood, that she needed it to get into the scene. I was supposed to
be in charge and I let her top me."

  Damn. Anger switched to pity as Landon sat back. Carter was right, most people wouldn't understand how slapping a woman would be okay in any situation. The kid was still growing into his Dom boots, wasn't even experienced enough to scene in the club without his mentor close by, and one mistake would have the subs he might be able to top avoiding him like the plague.

  "You sure you're a Dom, Carter? Maybe Chicklet can show you—"

  "She's tried. Nothing big, just some bondage and flogging when she first took me on. It was weird, taking orders from a woman, but kinda hot. I liked how the ropes felt." Carter's brow furrowed as though he was thinking hard. "We tried other stuff too. With . . . ."

  "With?" Landon's brow shot up when Carter shook his head. "Hey, don't go all secretive on me now. After the overshare with the two chicks and the tampon string—seriously?"

  Carter laughed. "That was some awesome freakiness. Strippers rock!"

  Landon rolled his eyes. All right, the kid didn't want to talk about it. Fine with him, so long as—

  "So, what's going on with you and Silver?"

  Dropping his head to his hand with a groan, Landon muttered. "You're a fucking pain in my ass. Let it go, man."

  The kid went on as though he hadn't heard. "You should send her a present. Girls forget everything you done wrong when they get presents."

  "It's not like that."

  "What-fucking-ever! Just try it."

  "I have."

  "Oh." Carter frowned and scratched at the peach fuzz on his jaw. "Well, she was a model—or an actress? If you sent chocolates maybe she thinks you don't understand that she's watching her weight. Try flowers. Chicks dig flowers."

  Landon snorted. "Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

  "Tons." Carter smirked. "But I thought it wasn't like that with you two?"

  Asshole. "I sent her books, okay. Had a new one delivered every morning for three days. She's not ready to talk to me so—"

  "Of course she's not! You sent her fucking books?" Carter barked a laugh. "Have you ever had a girlfriend?"