So Over You

by Kate Meader

  She shouldn’t begrudge him, but she did. Oh, how she did.

  “And now you are here, unleashing your fury on these poor defenseless pucks.” He gave a half grin at that, but she couldn’t see the humor in it. Not yet.

  His fingers tunneled into her hair, and he traced his warm lips along her jaw, her cheek, her hairline. Giving him permission, she turned her head slightly, anxious to get it over with. He smudged his thumb over the raised ridge of flesh, his eyes riveted to the path his thumb took.

  “You have your trophy, Bella.”

  This scar? She made a noise between horror and sadness. “Thirty-seven minutes. That’s what I got.”

  “Most men never accomplish in a lifetime what you did in those precious minutes.” He cupped her jaw and held her in place while his lips moved over the physically healed wound. “You fought well, my angel.”

  “Did—did you see it? The game?” She shouldn’t ask, but she had to know.

  Sadness dimmed his eyes. “I saw it. Your goals were beautiful, your skating sublime. There was nothing you could not do on the ice.”

  Her chest constricted on hearing his compliments. Was this what she wanted, fishing for praise just as she had with her father all those years ago? Yet Vadim’s words chilled her—they were all past tense. She would never achieve those heights again.

  She must have drawn back, for he pulled her close to him, his eyes ripping her heart open until it was butterflied and bleeding.

  “I know that you are trying to find your place again, Bella. That since your injury, you’re not sure where you fit in.”

  “Hockey was my life for so long, and I can’t imagine it not being my—my everything. That’s why this shot at the Games meant so much. Otherwise, all I’ve got is coaching and—it’s hard, Vadim. It’s hard trying to get respect, and I’m really not helping my case by fooling around with you.”

  “Fooling around? Is that what this is?”

  “What would you call it?”

  “It is what we are meant to do. We are who we are meant to be, and I want this with you.”

  It sounded like Russian doublespeak. She didn’t understand it, but she knew it scared her. Was she trying to sabotage her coaching career by messing around with Vadim? But if she didn’t have that, who was she?

  Not a hockey player. Not a coach. With Vadim—if that’s what he wanted, if she could stop being a jealous shrew about his star-bright career and the sexting hordes—she’d be a WAG. A player wife or girlfriend.

  “I don’t know who I am without hockey, Vadim.” And a WAG is not enough.

  He circled her neck with his hand, his chest flush with hers, his heart beating hard against hers. “You are Bella. The girl who can do anything. The woman who drives me crazy. There is plenty for you to be.” He kissed her, and after a soft press, she kissed harder, then pushed him away, scooping up her stick as she went. But not her helmet.

  She didn’t want to be the woman who drove him crazy. She didn’t want to be defined in relation to a superstar, because as soon as that happened, she would slip away into the shadows as Vadim Petrov’s woman. Surely she was more than that.

  “Bella,” he said, resignation in his voice. Tired of her drama, no doubt.

  She raced to the end of the rink, sliding a loose puck into the empty net with ease, but her skate caught on the goal frame and she fell to the ice.

  He was on her instantly, down on his knees.

  “Isobel!”

  “I’m okay,” she whispered, but her tears contradicted her desperate assurance. That womanly weakness her father despised.

  “This stops now. You have been on the ice for long enough.” He stood and held out his hand.

  She hesitated, but then she allowed herself to be pulled up. To be supported.

  The notion made her ill.

  Back in the locker room, he placed her on the bench and knelt before her to unlace her skates.

  “We were like figure skaters out there,” he murmured, evidently trying to make light of what had come before. “In our sparkling costumes.”

  She inhaled a deep breath, though her lungs seemed incapable of filling. “What would you do if you couldn’t play hockey, Vad?”

  He stopped unlacing and considered her question.

  “I would take more naps and drink more tea.”

  He grinned at her, and she grinned back, suspecting she looked like a funhouse mirror version of herself. But his smile? It was like this rare outbreak of spring sun after a long, hard winter, and unfortunately it wasn’t only her hormones that skipped in delight.

  Bella, I am here. Wake up.

  Yes, my love, you are.

  She inhaled a sharp, cutting breath, barely able to cope with the shocking recognition.

  She was in love with Vadim.

  Oblivious to her distress, he kept on smiling, that devastating, soul-destroying grin. It was either cry her eyes out or punch his perfect jaw or—she bent down to taste him. To absorb his life force and beauty into her blood. His hands fell away from her skates and crawled up her legs, plotting his way to the heart of her.

  Bastard.

  His mouth on hers was the only thing keeping her grounded in this world, but she didn’t want the security his strength would give her. She didn’t want the love. She wanted the danger.

  She couldn’t have hockey, but tonight she could have him.

  With a shaking finger, she traced his perfect cheekbones, ran her thumb over the seam of his lips. She’d fallen for him in a way that was a million times worse than all those years ago. Then, her future was mapped out, and no man—not even the destined-for-greatness Vadim Petrov—would stand in her way. Now her future was uncertain, and this man on his knees before her was either her port in the storm or the rocks she would happily dash herself against.

  She loved him.

  She hated herself for it.

  And in this sublime moment of realization, something else struck her. “My ass is cold.”

  He blinked. “Your ass?”

  “You took my panties, remember?”

  “You were skating for over an hour with no panties?”

  She pushed him back and slipped from the bench to straddle him.

  “Either you give them back or you figure out another way to warm my ass.”

  “I refuse to return what belongs to me. I have many dirty fantasies designed around them.” He pushed his hands up her thighs to cup her chilly rear. “I shall take care of this problem of yours if you take care of this problem of mine.” He slid her flush over his problem.

  She moaned softly on coming into contact with his erection, pushing against her slick softness through his pants. “Have you ever fucked with skates on, Russian?”

  “It has never seemed wise.”

  “Let’s live dangerously, shall we?”

  Never removing her eyes from him, she unzipped him slowly—a tough job given how much resistance his dick was putting up. With determined hands and his help, she pulled his boxers down to free him.

  She tilted her head, left, then right, taking him in like a centerfold. “You’re so beautiful, Vadim. So perfect.”

  “Only when I am inside you. Don’t leave me waiting, Bella. I am cold, too.” He lifted her, spreading her ass cheeks and parting her with his thumbs. She shivered wonderfully as he stroked through her wetness.

  “Condom,” she murmured. Her hand patted his pocket and he obliged with his wallet and the rubber.

  “Before the next time, we will discuss this,” he said. “Skin on skin. I want that.”

  It might happen, if she could survive this moment with her sanity intact.

  “Next time,” she said as she slipped her body over his like a glove.

  In keeping with the location, her mood, the proximity to dangerous weapons on their feet, it should have been frenzied and urgent. So why did it feel like a dream? Possibly because she was trying to hold on to the essence of herself.

  She closed her eyes against the inte
nsity waving off him, but he was having none of that. Beneath her, he shifted his body up and closer. His hand palmed her neck.

  “Do not hide from me, Bella,” he whispered, his breath a warm wisp of entreaty.

  Her eyes fluttered open to find him smiling at her. That damn smile. The hand at her nape shifted, and his thumb swiped at her cheek, coming away damp.

  Oh, God, she was crying. During sex!

  She jerked back from him, intending to separate altogether. He already had her heart. Anything more was far too selfish of him.

  Still, the tears fell. He sopped them up with his thumb and put that thumb in his mouth, just like that night in New York when he had tasted her pleasure. Now he got to taste her pain.

  “Yes, my beautiful girl. I see all of you now.”

  He pushed her dress—this stupid dress she’d worn because she wanted to look pretty for him—up above her waist.

  “Take everything you need from me, Bella.”

  Dreams abandoned, she thudded to the reality of now. The pain, the pleasure, Vadim. Only and always. This she could control, and so she moved up and down, sliding along that hard length, marveling at his power to hold himself and fuck up into her with long, liquid pulls. They found a rhythm that rhymed, a tempo that teased, a pleasure that knew no beginning or end.

  They found each other—but a part of her knew she was forever lost.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Vadim let himself in quietly, not wishing to do anything that would wake Victoria. Mia had returned to New York two days ago, where an aunt Vadim had never met would stay with her. She’d already missed too much school, and with Alexei on the mend, Vadim would not have to worry about spending more time than necessary with her mother.

  But Alexei couldn’t be here twenty-four hours a day, so Vadim had stopped in to ensure that Victoria didn’t need anything. Merely the actions of a good host. Then he would go see his woman.

  On the ice, Vadim’s life was perfect. The Rebels were close to the play-offs, needing only one win out of their next three to guarantee a wild card spot. Two wins would place them in the top three in the division. Tonight it had been four-two against Nashville at home, and two of those goals belonged to Vadim.

  Off the ice, his life was not so rosy. In the week since Isobel had heard the news of her decimated dreams, she was not rebounding with the resilience he had expected. Her smiles were beautiful, but sad. Her eyes deep pools, but dull with her pain. Tonight he would see her, comfort her with his body. Tonight he would tell her he loved her.

  Knowing the landscape of his rented house well, he didn’t bother to turn on the lights, so he was surprised to encounter an obstacle in his path. What the—?

  He switched on a lamp. The obstacle in question was a leg.

  And it belonged to Alexei, who sat at one end of the sofa, his face fire engine red, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest and revealing a thick pelt. At the far end of the sofa sat Victoria, looking equally flushed, but thankfully still dressed.

  Why had he not seen this coming—and how could he go about unseeing it?

  “I thought you were sick,” Vadim murmured to both of them.

  “I’m feeling much better,” Victoria said, her embarrassed tone pronouncing her outrageous guilt. With Alexei! “Actually, I’ve booked a flight for tomorrow.”

  “Good.”

  She winced, and he rejoiced in hurting her. But she was brazen now that she had slid another knife between his ribs and cracked him open again. “You played so well tonight. Congratulations.”

  “I’m surprised you had time to watch!”

  “Do not speak to her like that.”

  Vadim stared at Alexei. His employee. His friend. His . . . he did not know anymore.

  “She is your mother and deserves your respect.”

  His mother placed a hand of restraint on Alexei’s arm. “Let him be angry.”

  He did not need her permission. The anger inside him was his right, and it was time she realized this.

  “He doesn’t know how hard it was for you, Vika,” Alexei said.

  Vika? Since when did Alexei call his mother by such an affectionate nickname? All his pent-up emotion found release now that Mia wasn’t here to curb it.

  “How hard it was? My father wasn’t an easy man, but what woman abandons her child?” He rounded on his mother. “I imagine the only reason you took Mia is because she was physically tethered to your body!”

  Her eyes grew wet, but he refused to buy it. Where were the tears when this thief of his childhood left in the dead of night?

  “I—I’ll be back in a moment.”

  When she left, Alexei stood, closed the gap between them, and punched Vadim square in the jaw.

  Chyort voz’mi! The old man still had fire in his fist.

  He switched to Russian. “You are acting like a brat. You need to hear her out.”

  “Hear her lies. Hear how she left me alone.”

  “You weren’t alone. I was there.”

  Vadim froze. “You were there because my father ordered it. Because your family owed me service.”

  Alexei sneered. “Really? That may be how it started out, but I’ve had opportunities to move on. You think I want to stay here and clean up after a sniveling child?”

  “I pay you enough, don’t I? Why stay if you hate it?”

  “You are so like your mother.” Something like a smile hooked his mouth. “Such drama. That is your American side. She was always so—” He stopped talking, his memories taking him somewhere—or some when—else.

  Vadim’s heart pounded. This could not be happening. The old fool had been bewitched. “You were in love with her.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now?”

  His lips curved. “I’m too old to be in love.”

  Not too old to indulge your lusts, though. With my mother.

  “You watched over me.” Recognition dawned, the knowledge filling him with horror and shame. “For her.”

  “I was loyal to your father.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  Alexei skewered him with a look. “It is the only answer I will give you.”

  He needed more. Anything. The whole sorry tale. “If you know so much about it, why don’t you explain why she left me behind?”

  “Because I was a coward.” Vadim turned to his mother, who had just spoken those words. In English, too, because Vadim had made his plea in the language she would understand best. Baited the trap.

  This was what he wanted to hear. Victoria admitting her weakness. Victoria down on her knees. Victoria failing.

  But even as those thoughts swirled, seeking vindication, he couldn’t grasp at them. They slipped away like waking dreams, impossible to grab hold of in the face of her obvious distress.

  “Alexei, I need to speak to my mother alone.”

  Alexei looked at his mother, his expression filled with love. Victoria nodded, her power over him undeniable. His so-called right-hand man shot one last look of warning at Vadim and left the room.

  “Seems he’s no longer my man, not while you’re here. Perhaps he never has been.”

  “He’s always been protective. Of us both.”

  “The times he goes away, weekends here and there—is he seeing you?”

  Victoria sat, her hands in her lap. “Would you think of that as a betrayal?”

  “His life is his own.” Though he never acted like it. Vadim felt foolish for knowing so little about Alexei, and not a little jealous that the man knew how to love Victoria with such generosity.

  What else didn’t Vadim know? What else had he chosen to block out?

  He sat on the same sofa, a few feet away from her. There was conciliation in it, and the look on her face said she understood. It was the best he could do at the moment.

  “I remember the night you left,” he said. He knew this was her tale to tell, but it was his story as well. He needed to expunge it. Confront the pain as that terrified boy remembered it. “
There was a suitcase at the bottom of the stairs, and you were running around, frantic about something. You looked so worried, and that made me worried.”

  “I was searching for your passport. Your father was on an overnight trip to Moscow, and I knew it was my best chance. I had the tickets for both of us—me and my little ice warrior. I’d put your passport in a drawer under some papers, but it wasn’t there. I’d been planning for three months and now this!” She threw her hands up in the air, as if this horror was happening now.

  “Papa came home.” It filtered back to him in fragments. Doors slamming. Adults shouting. Soul-wrecking tears.

  “He had found out. He had spies everywhere and somehow he found out. He walked in the door and held up your passport and said, ‘Looking for this?’ and I knew I was done. I’d already asked for a divorce, and he’d said if I wanted it, I would never see you again.”

  “So you left anyway?” Gave up just like that.

  “No. Your father had one of the staff take you to another room. I told him I’d stay, that we could forget about what had happened, but he refused. He couldn’t trust I wouldn’t try to take you away again. I’d shown my hand, you see. He picked up my suitcase and gave it to one of his goons. Then he ordered me into the car.

  “I tried to stand my ground. Dig in my heels, literally. I wouldn’t leave, but he dragged me into the car and drove me to the airport. I didn’t even get to say good-bye to you, my—my—” She pressed a hand to her breastbone. “But I vowed to get back to you. Once in New York, I hired a lawyer, who said I had a good case for visitation. But your father had a lot of power and influence. The fight would be a long slog, but it would be worth it if I could get to see you sometimes.”

  Recognition clobbered him. “Then you found out you were pregnant.”

  She nodded, every hurt she’d ever endured playing on her face. “There was no way I could fight him, and even if he had given me visitation, he would never have let you out of the country. Not after I’d tried to take you. I would have put up with that if I could have seen you even twice a year—”

  “But he would have taken Mia. You—” He couldn’t finish it. She chose her unborn child over the son she left behind.