by Kate Meader
“Wait. Mia Wallace? Hockey phenom Mia Wallace?”
A blush suffused her features, making her appear younger, and she smiled shyly. “I play.” Her bashful glance slid to her brother. “Nowhere near as good as Vadim, of course.”
Everyone in hockey had heard of Mia Wallace, touted as the next big thing. She was the full package, already being scouted by NCAA (though that was technically against the rules because she was too young at sixteen), the women’s league, and companies for big sponsorships. She also had a backstory the media loved: a cancer diagnosis from which she’d rebounded just over a year ago. This girl was one tough cookie.
Mia squeezed Isobel’s arm. “We are so excited Vadim’s going to be playing again. He said he has you to thank.”
“He did, did he?”
“Oh yeah. He’s your biggest fan. After me.”
Vadim’s scowl pronounced him to be most definitely not Isobel’s biggest fan. “Mia, Alexei is waiting.”
“ ’Kay, I’ll see you at the game tomorrow.”
Oh dear. That sounded like she didn’t know about his suspension. Maybe Isobel could soften the blow a little. “If you’re going to the game, you could hang in the visitors’ box with us. If you’d like.”
The girl looked like every wish she’d ever had was coming true tonight. “Really? Vadim, can I?”
“If Isobel has invited you, of course you can. But only if you leave now and get some sleep. Your mother—” He snatched back the words. “Time to go, Mia.”
Placing the dog down, the girl rolled her eyes and threw her arms around Vadim’s neck, murmuring something that melted the ice in his eyes. Then Mia gave Isobel the same treatment. Not knowing what to do with this hug from a stranger, Isobel patted the girl on the shoulder, all while Vadim stared at the two of them intently.
“Say bye-bye, Gordie Howe!” Mia picked up the dog.
“Good-bye and good riddance, little-dog-with-big-shits,” Vadim deadpanned.
Mia laughed her head off. “I’ll text you tomorrow, bro! See ya, Isobel!” And then she was gone, with the puppy yapping the exit music.
Isobel couldn’t help her smile. “So that’s where all the Petrov personality ended up.”
Pride ruled his expression. “She is . . . spirited.”
“She adores you, and the feeling’s obviously mutual.”
Vadim threaded his arms over his chest. “This is relatively new for us. We only connected a short time ago.”
There was a story here. “I’ve heard of her, but I didn’t know she was related to you.”
“Neither did I,” he said bitterly. “My mother chose not to notify my father that he had another child. She moved to New York after she left us and only informed me of Mia’s existence after he died eighteen months ago.”
Wow, that sucked—and it clearly still stung Vadim. Pain radiated off him in waves. But she knew him well enough to recognize her pity would go unappreciated, so she skirted the edges of the problem. “I’m surprised her connection to you hasn’t gotten out.”
“It is for her protection. With her talent and youth, she is under a lot of pressure. If the media knows of her relationship to me, it may affect her performance. I think that you, of all people, understand this.”
She did. Because she was the daughter of an NHL legend, the media had been relentless about her future from the moment she hit puberty and started skating rings around grown men. To be honest, the real pressure had come from her father, and she had to admit there were times when she would have gladly gone incognito. A few weeks without the Chase name would have done wonders for her sanity as a teenager.
“Should I be concerned why my coach is visiting me in my hotel room late at night?”
“You know why I’m here, Vadim. What the hell were you thinking? A fight? In public? With Shay?”
Through her outburst, he stood stock-still in those erotically thin sweats that shaped everything and somehow drew more attention to his assets than if he’d been naked. The trim waist, narrow hips, muscular thighs. Yeah, yeah, she’d deliberately skipped over that all-important area, because if she gave it a moment’s thought, she was going to get trapped in his dick-sand. But thinking about not going there was the one thing guaranteed to turn her eyes into magnets. Perhaps a quick glance to prove her mettle . . .
No fair! The drape of the cotton was like a perfect kiss to that intriguing bulge. Was that a cock at rest or was something more interesting going on there?
She refocused. This is not why you are here. You are here because all the work you put in was for nothing.
While the energy between them zip-zap-zinged, Vadim watched her carefully. He seemed to be holding himself at bay, that jaguar on his shoulder a fitting proxy, his fists on his hips in the least casual arms akimbo she’d ever seen. Every muscle in his body strained, and not for the first time, Isobel wondered what it would be like to have this fully mature beast—not the callow youth of before—take her hard.
“You’ve been cut from tomorrow’s game. Maybe more games.”
“It was worth it.”
He had not just said that. She threw up her hands, glad to have another outlet for the inappropriate lust rippling through every nerve ending.
“You’d better tell me what started this, because I swear to God, Vadim—”
“What? You’ll tickle it out of me?”
She blinked. What a weird, funny, distinctly un-Vadim thing to say.
“Don’t get cute with me!”
He sighed, back to his default setting of all drama. “Isobel, you should leave now. We both know that we do not do well together in small spaces.”
She cast a theatrical look around the room. “Looks like you’ve got a big enough space right now. Big enough for your giant ego and your dumb muscles and your huge dick!” Don’t talk about his dick. His big, beautiful . . . “You’d better not be expecting the team to pay for this.”
He moved toward her, bringing with him that giant ego and dumb muscles and huge, ahem—she stepped back until her butt met the door.
He placed a hand on the frame beside her cheek. “It would be best if you leave.”
“Not until I get an explanation. I can’t go to Coach and Moretti to get you reinstated without all the facts.”
“I was involved in a fight. I am out of the game. Those are the facts.”
“Just like that? No way. We’ve worked damn hard to get you fit for play, and I sure as hell am not going to accept this. Start at the beginning.”
“The beginning, Bella?” Ruefulness and amusement crossbred on his face. “As is so often the case, it began with a girl. The most fearless girl I have ever met. Skates like the wind, shoots like a sniper, swears like a Russian sailor.”
“Sounds like fucking trouble.”
And that sounded like fucking flirting. Stop flirting with your player.
Before he could make some flirty comment back—though flirting wasn’t really in Vadim’s wheelhouse—she tried to refocus on why she was here. Not because of his chest, or those tattoos, or that freshly showered man scent now tearing down every brick in her walls.
She thought of Harper’s warning. If you want to be taken seriously in this business, as a coach in this business, don’t get involved with Petrov.
Discuss “coach” things. “What did Shay say to set you off?”
“What makes you think he said anything? Perhaps I started it.”
“I don’t believe that.”
He looked thoughtful. “I told him he would get his place back on the line if he worked hard.”
She sighed, relieved.
“After he accused me of sleeping my way onto the roster.”
She pushed back against his oh-my-God-those-pecs-are-unreal chest, needing space to haul air into her lungs. “He accused you of what?”
“It means nothing. If my personal coach were a man, Shay would think of some other insult. Because you are a woman, this is the best the fool can come up with.”
“So you were defending my honor?”
“Actually, Isobel, I was defending my own.” His mouth lifted in a self-deprecating curve, and it broke something open inside of her. Something she hadn’t realized was better busted than cobbled together. “But the defense of yours was a natural by-product.”
Oh, this guy. She knew what he was doing. Trying to put her off so she wouldn’t feel all gooey that he’d come to her defense. It wasn’t working. Her internal organs were a liquefied mess.
As for her vagina? She may as well just get it stamped Property of Vadim Petrov.
“What about the first fight, Vadim? At the Empty Net a few weeks ago? Were you defending your honor then?”
A storm swept across his face. “What do you know of this?”
“Just that you had to be restrained from punching him out. What the hell is going on with you two?”
“As I said, he is a man with idiotic opinions.”
Agreed. “I don’t like you getting into fights, not when we’re so close.” She meant close to putting him back to where he belonged: on the ice before a crowd of twenty thousand screaming fans. But the words hung between them, as heavy as the sexual tension she was drowning in.
Close enough to touch, to kiss, to feel.
Everything.
And that’s what she wanted. Her sister’s caution tried to sound its harsh siren again, but it was overridden by something else Harper had said:
A man defending you is very seductive.
It was, and it wasn’t something Isobel was used to. Not needing anyone was how she’d been raised. Isobel had spent her life following her father’s blueprint.
Your gender is meaningless. You’re as strong as any man on the ice. You don’t need to rely on anyone for a damn thing, especially boys. They’ll only get in your way.
Being groomed for independence was all well and good, but sometimes riding this train solo could be so, so lonely. The solace of Vadim standing up for her, of being there for her even though she hadn’t asked for it, crashed through her.
The physical evidence of his chivalry was darkening with every passing moment. She reached out to touch the bruise on his jaw. “Gotta take care of this pretty face, Russian.”
“I would rather carry this badge.” He leaned into her hand, accepting her comfort. His eyes closed briefly on a gentle sigh, then reopened so fast she wondered if she’d imagined the moment. “This is dangerous, Isobel. If someone saw you come in here, it would not be good.”
“I’m just a coach going down on my player like a ton of bricks.”
“Going down? My English is not perfect, but I believe the phrase is ‘coming down.’ ” His mouth dropped to her lips, and his eyelids fell to half-mast. Meanwhile, something else was rising to full mast. “Or maybe you mean what you said?”
She tried that on for size in her head. I’m just a coach going down on my player. It sounded so wrong, just right, and everything in between.
He was practically on top of her now, his erection pressed against her belly. Yet his words still tried to contradict the biological imperative that had both their bodies in its grip.
“Bella, if you don’t leave now—”
She kissed him before he could finish that ridiculous sentence.
THIRTEEN
Isobel Chase was kissing him.
He refused to kiss her back.
Rude, perhaps, but really he was thinking of her honor. In her position, she was particularly susceptible to accusations—witness Shay running off his mouth—and Vadim didn’t want to risk that. All he’d ever wanted was to protect her.
So he would not kiss her.
Tell that to his cock, which refused to play along.
Move to plan B. As long as he did not part his lips or grab her hips or give her any encouragement whatso—damn.
Somehow, during his oh-so-logical thought process on how to defend this woman’s honor, he had pinned her against the door. His body covered hers, his hands cupped her perfect heart-shaped ass, and his mouth devoured her like she was his last meal.
Yes, incredibly honorable.
There was always plan C. Just a few seconds. He would enjoy the heat of her mouth and the feel of her curves, then send her on her way. This he could handle. As long as she did not part her legs—fuck.
Her thighs fell open and the welcome of her still-covered pussy engulfed his still-covered erection. Her leg hitched up to give him better access, and his hips shoved forward of their own accord. She was moaning now, soft, desperate sounds into his mouth. Their tongues tangled, the taste of her all he had missed and everything he could not have.
Not going to last, not going to last.
He jerked away and put a few necessary feet between them. This huge suite was suddenly too small.
“What’s wrong?” she panted, her eyes maddened with desire.
“This can’t happen, Isobel.” He waved between them. “I won’t have you be the subject of gossip.”
She was breathing hard, the rise and fall of her breasts mesmerizing him. All it would take was the hook of his little finger on the ring of her tracksuit zipper. He could pull it down slowly, reveal all that milky flesh. Taste her once more . . .
“I’m already the subject of gossip, Vadim. I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.”
“I don’t understand that.”
“It means if I’m going to do the time, I may as well do the crime. Unless you don’t want this.”
He looked down at his cock, jutting true north, screaming at him to take what was his.
“I think there is little doubt I want this.”
“That’s just biology, Vadim. Cocks aren’t really known for their great decision making.”
“Mine is more discriminating than most.” He moved closer to her, but kept a safe distance. “Never doubt that I want you, Isobel. But I also know you’re trying to build your career as a coach and that it wouldn’t look good if it emerged that something happened between us.”
If she knew that they were already the subject of gossip because of her own indiscreet chatter, she would be furious. He would have to be strong enough for both of them.
He stepped away, his hard-on pulsing in protest. Quit your whine! You will fuck my fist later.
“This is for your own protection, Isobel.”
She nodded. “Okay. I suppose I should thank you for being the sensible one here, seeing as how my hormones are incapable of seeing reason.”
She should, but he suspected she would not. He wasn’t buying this for a second.
“I understand that you’re trying to protect me, but the way I see it, you’re really trying to protect yourself. I get it. After our first and only time together, your fear is understandable.”
“My fear?”
Turning her back on him, she placed a hand on the doorknob. “That you can’t make me come.”
The door opened.
The door shut.
That last action might have had something to do with him closing the gap and slamming the door so hard the frame shook.
“Do you really think I’ll fall for this?”
She didn’t turn, which was good, because if he looked into those emerald-fired eyes, he would be lost. His chest settled against her back. Her ass, while not touching him, was mere millimeters away from his erection.
“Fall for what?”
“This challenge to make up for what happened between us before.” His chin dipped, his lips glanced across her ear, drawing a shiver from her. “Do you think calling me chicken is the way into my bed?”
It is. It so fucking is.
“Not at all.” Her body shifted, testing the bounds of the space between them. The lightest brush against his cock triggered his groan. “I mean, I can tell your discriminating cock is raring to go, and I’ve no doubt you can perform on your end, but you have to admit a tiny bit of doubt, Vadim.”
“Any doubts I had were wiped away by your moans when you ground your body o
n my dick last week.”
On a lusty sigh, she fell back against his chest, aligning her curves with every welcoming slot on his body. Prekrasno. Perfect. Her ass against his groin fit like the final puzzle piece.
“I didn’t even make it home,” she murmured. “I had to pull over to the side of the road and finish all by myself.”
Chyort voz’mi! He gripped her arm and turned her, expecting humor and challenge. He got that, and so much more. Excitement and desire, but also vulnerability.
How could her face express so much when his mouth could express nothing at all?
“Do you doubt my ability to satisfy you, woman?”
She had the nerve to hesitate. “I’m pretty turned on right now, but I was last time as well. Eight years ago. Then”—she made a thumbs-down gesture—“nyet. Don’t worry, V. Some people aren’t sexually compatible. On the surface it looks like all the boxes are checked, but when the cock is locked, the key doesn’t turn.”
His heart thundered in his chest. His cock demanded vindication. He could not believe he was falling for her bait, yet every goading word was working to draw him in. “The key will turn, Isobel.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure it will.” She gave his bicep a squeeze, then patted it—all condescension. “Just not for us.”
He curled a hand around her neck and pressed his lips to hers. No kiss yet, because she didn’t deserve it.
“You little brat. I will show you how the key turns. The key will turn all night!” Furious at what she had driven him to, he stepped back and jerked his hand away from his body.
“Get in the bedroom. Now.”
Isobel could not believe Vadim had fallen for that.
Sure, she knew that intellectually he was completely aware of her game to get him on board. Really, she was annoyed that he was using the “protecting her honor” excuse to unilaterally decide this, but knowing Vadim the way she did, arguing this point would only entrench him.
Honor was big with Russians, and with Vadim in particular.
She wanted him and she would have him. Just for tonight, though. After all, a man like Vadim Petrov wasn’t for keeps.
