by Lily Harlem
A sharp rapping on my door caught my attention and I flicked the file closed, shocked at the direction my thoughts had wandered.
Damn.
There stood the man I’d been thinking about licking.
No. That wasn’t true. It was just that part of the male anatomy I’d been imagining dragging my tongue over, tasting sweat and desire.
Wasn’t it?
“We need to fucking talk,” Dustin said, marching in and slamming the door behind him.
A hanging picture of an arctic fox rattled, the metal blind against my window shifted.
Yes, it was just that bit of the male body I liked, not him. Definitely not him.
I forced myself to stay sitting, though instinct was to jump up and protect myself. He looked mad as hell. Fists clenched and his cheeks red. The scrub of coal-black facial hair that lined his jaw just made him look all the wilder.
“Talk or shout?” I asked, going for calm the way I would if a feral beast were approaching me.
“Whatever gets the damn results I need.”
“And what results would they be?” As if I didn’t know. He’d clearly run into Mike in the last few minutes.
“I thought you were just yanking my chain to get a reaction last night, when you suggested it.”
“What are you talking about?” As if I didn’t know.
“You need me in that lineup next week. Price hasn’t got that kind of big game experience yet. I’m not opposed to coming off for the third period so he can start getting those minutes under his belt, but only if we’re winning. Jesus, the Rangers have got Todd-fucking-Carty playing for them, or had you forgotten that minor detail?”
“No, of course not.” How could I? Todd was rated number-one player in the league at the moment.
Dustin slammed his hands onto his denim-clad hips and shook his head. “It’s a no-brainer. And I’m not saying it because I’m full of myself, I’m saying it because I’m a team player, and the team needs a goaltender they can trust. Me, Raven and Vadmir are a well-oiled defense machine.”
“That may be the case—”
“And so damn close to the Stanley Cup. You have to be insane.” He tapped the side of his head.
I crossed and uncrossed my legs, then wished I hadn’t when his attention slipped to my sheer black stockings and heeled sandals.
“I’m not insane, and actually it’s not my decision. I just discussed the possibility with Mike, that’s all. I’m prepared to let him have the last say. He’s the head coach at the end of the day.”
Dustin half turned, walked to the wall, and for a moment I wondered if he were going to bang his forehead against it. Instead he just groaned.
“What?” I asked.
“Mike, fuck, he’s a nice guy and all, but the way he looks at you, stutters when you’re around. Jesus, he’s got a major crush and he’ll do whatever the hell you ask him with the hope of getting into your Victoria Secret lace panties.”
“That’s crazy. No way does he have a crush on me. You’re talking trash.” Now that I hadn’t expected. Mike had always seemed a little on edge around me, but I presumed that was because he didn’t know me yet and I was in the role my father, who’d hired him, had been.”
Dustin leaned against the wall. “Crazy? Why is it so crazy that a single heterosexual man wouldn’t be attracted to a woman in sexy, tight suits, stockings and stilettoes, and, to top it all, with the power to make him bend to her will? Hell, a lot of guys have that fantasy, and you, sweet cheeks, have just delivered it to Mike on a plate. Or rather your father has.”
I stood, grabbed his folder and marched to my desk. I slapped the file down, happy to have my suit, stockings and shoes hidden from his view. “Oh, shut up, will you? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think I have.” He turned, stalked to the other side of my desk and gestured at my chest. “But let me tell you, I’m not falling under that sexy spell of yours. I can see you for what you are. A spoiled little rich girl who has been given a new toy—us.”
Really! Had he no control over his damn mouth? It was like he just couldn’t stop throwing insults at me.
“Oh, just get out, will you? You have no idea about me, or what my plans are for the Vipers.”
“So far it sounds like your plans are to drop us to the bottom of the league.”
“Of course it isn’t, but if we do go there, don’t worry, I won’t drag you down, too.” Why the hell was I engaging in this ridiculous conversation with this infuriating man?
I sat, pulled my chair up close to my desk and picked up a pen. I had no idea what I was going to write but I needed to hold something, keep my fingers occupied so I didn’t slap him the way I’d imagined yesterday in the locker room.
He leaned forward, gorilla-like, with his fists bunched on the table and his elbows locked. I tried not to stare at the three thready bracelets he wore on his right wrist—two red and one white.
“What the hell does that mean? You won’t drag me down, too.” His voice was low and rumbling.
“It means,” I tapped the top of his folder, “that you signed a one-year contract, Mr. Reed, and it will be up for renewal in a matter of months.”
His eyes narrowed, yet still glinted menacingly. “My agent is already in discussions about a three-year renewal. That was always in the cards, from day one.”
“Discussion, that’s right. Nothing is signed and sealed.”
“Fuck, scrap dangerous, you’re lethal to this team, woman.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “You’d really risk losing me?”
I tilted my chin, not prepared to throw a retort back to that comment. His opinion didn’t mean anything. I was in charge now, in control. He was just a goaltender, a really good one, but still, a commodity. No one was irreplaceable.
He did smell nice, though. He must have showered after training and the scent of something sweet and berrylike filtered toward me.
Shame there was nothing sweet about him.
“And,” he said, “I guess you think you know me now.” He stabbed his finger on top of his file, over his name printed in black ink. “As you’ve read all about my life.”
“I’ve learned some stuff, yes.”
“Anything you want to know that isn’t covered in there?” He bit at his bottom lip, stretching that little scar.
“No, it’s comprehensive.”
“Good.” He straightened and folded his arms, making his biceps bulge as they pressed on his knuckles. “Because I’d hate for you not to have all the facts at your disposal when you bring this team tumbling to the ground.”
“I have a degree in business. I deal in facts and figures, and right now you need to understand that emotions are not part of the equation.” I raised my voice. I couldn’t help it. “I’ll do whatever I need to and in the meantime I’ll let Mike handle the team, juggle the players the way he thinks best, whatever players they happen to be.”
“Well I wish you luck, because hockey is a game that makes emotions explode, and if you’re going to ignore that, you may end up getting burned.” He stepped back toward the door.
“Thanks for your concern, but I can handle the heat.” It was a good job he’d stepped away, right now I was having visions of stuffing the pen I was holding up his nose.
“You really think so.” He shook his head and huffed.
“Yes.”
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
Chapter Three
The Rangers game loomed over me all week like a fat-bellied cloud, and Dustin’s absolute conviction that I was insane tailed my thoughts and invaded my dreams.
I decided, therefore, to head to New York with the team rather than stay in Orlando. It had crossed my mind to visit my father and watch the game in our beautiful oceanfront villa, but ultimately I didn’t relish the idea of spending the weekend with my stepmother, who was only a few years older than me. Not that she wasn’t nice enough, just the thought of her and Dad in bed didn’t
sit well with me. What did she see in a man nearly half a century older than her? Apart from the money, of course. It was all a bit icky.
Unlike her, I preferred men my own age—hot, strong men who knew what they wanted and took it. Shame there was no one on the scene for me right now. A roll in the hay would sort out the tension that was screwing with my neck muscles and giving me a headache. My latest hook-up had been a French guy, Henri. He’d been very talented when it came to finding his way around the female form. Pity he was on the other side of the Atlantic right now. I didn’t think we were ever going to develop into anything more than a summer romance, but because of Dad being taken ill, we hadn’t even had time for a goodbye night together.
“Mike,” I called when he stuck his head out of the locker room door at the Garden, interrupting my musings. “Can I have a word?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You can call me Gina, you know, it is my name. Ma’am makes me feel so old.”
“Oh, of course, ma… Gina.” He smiled.
“Are you okay?”
He straightened his cap. “Yep.”
“Sure?” He didn’t look it. He was pale and twitchy.
“I won’t deny I’m nervous not having Speed starting. It’s put everyone on edge.”
“It’ll be fine. He can go on if Jackson doesn’t perform, that’s what you said yesterday.”
“Yes, but we’ll have to hope that’s not too late.”
“Mike.” I put my hands on my hips. “I told you right from the beginning, this was your final decision. My idea, but ultimately in your hands. If you’re not happy, don’t do it.”
“Yes, but it was a smart idea, the kid’s good and it will give him a huge boost.”
“It will.”
He shrugged. Kind of smiled. “We can but try.”
“Yes, and everyone has to have a first time.” I gestured to the door. “Shall I go in now?”
“Yep, they’re waiting for you.”
I pulled in a deep breath then blew it out through pursed lips. Why did I feel as if I was walking into a lion’s den?
Because Dustin would be there, with a face like thunder, no doubt, and firing sharp, accusing looks my way.
Well, perhaps he should have thought twice about calling me “sweet cheeks” in front of the whole team last week. I’d bet none of the others would pull a stunt like that now. Not when he was sitting out the next game at my suggestion.
There was a lot of movement in the room, jostling, a few grunts and insults, but as my presence registered the team quieted.
Even in my heels I felt miniature, in height and in width.
“Miss Gunner,” Ramrod said, swirling his stick in his gloved hand.
“Ramrod.” I nodded. “I just wanted to say good luck to you all. The Rangers are on top form, but we’re better, so heads down, concentrate, let’s get goals and not give any away.” I scanned the room, purposefully letting my gaze drift over Dustin who sat in the corner, padded up but helmet on his lap. “I spoke to my father this morning and he asked me to pass on his support and let you know that he’ll be rooting for you. He also said,” I paused and glanced at Brick, “that your cross-checks in the last game were entertaining as a spectator but he’d prefer you to actually win the puck at the cost of heading to the sin-bin.” I smiled to show my father had said it with a jovial tone. He’d sounded well. I would visit soon.
“Ah, some you win, some you lose,” Brick said with a grin and a shrug.
“I agree.” I looked at Price, who sat to my right with his cage down. “Go for it,” I said. “This is your moment.”
“Yes, Miss Gunner.” He nodded. “I won’t let you down, or the team.”
“I know you won’t. Now go.” I clapped. “I’m going to be battling with you from the other side of the boards.”
There was a collective cheer and a lot of back slapping, then the team moved past me in a hurricane of big bodies.
I licked my lips and tried to steady the roll in my stomach. I felt nervous for them. As if I were going out there to face a determined and formidable opposition. And Jackson Price, damn, I hoped he could deliver the goods.
*****
The bar at the Hotel Penn on Seventh Avenue held a grim atmosphere as the Vipers sat nursing beers and talking quietly amongst themselves. A few skinny, overly made-up girls moved amongst them, vying for attention.
I moved to the bar, feeling like I had a cloak of misery around me. It was heavy and itchy. I didn’t like it but couldn’t take it off.
The final score had been four-three, the Rangers winning thanks to Todd Carty’s four first period goals.
It was clear my team were poor losers. Their mood was dark, though infused in the darkness was fighting talk. They wouldn’t lose again, not if their words of determination were anything to go by.
“Can I buy you a drink, Gina?” Mike asked, leaning on the bar next to me.
“Thank you. I’ll have another white wine.” I spun the stem of my empty glass.
He gestured to the bartender and ordered.
“How’s Price?” I asked. “I haven’t had chance to speak to him yet, Brick’s been talking my ear off about the penalty that didn’t go his way.”
“Yeah, that was a bad call. Might have been a different result if it had gone the other way.” He passed me my wine. “Jackson’s okay. Bummed at letting four pucks past him in the first period, but there you go. He’s young, he’ll learn, and it was Carty he was up against. Couldn’t have been any worse.”
That familiar surge of nausea came back to me. The one that had built each time Price had messed up and cost us goals until I actually did want to vomit. Thank God Mike had put Dustin in at a line change and he’d worked his ass off to stop any more shots.
I glanced at him now. He sat in the corner of the room with Phoenix. Dressed all in black, he matched the mood of the team and no doubt the murderous thoughts he was having about me.
He looked up, as though he felt my attention on him, and stared straight at me.
Since he’d come off the ice sweaty and red-faced, from what I could gather, he hadn’t said a word to anyone.
He’d proven his point. He didn’t need to speak. Just stop the puck.
I’d been a fool to think I could switch around such a key player. We needed him as goaltender, at least until Price gained more experience. Then perhaps I could consider letting Dustin go. Save myself some money by axing his extortionate wages. But until then I was stuck with feeding his bank balance.
“Cheers. Here’s to better luck next time,” Mike said, tapping his beer bottle to my wineglass and smiling.
“Yep, next time. Can’t win them all.”
“Usually fucking can, excuse my French, Miss Gunner,” Raven said, slamming a shot glass on the bar. “Top me up, buddy,” he said to the bartender. “The kid’s got potential, Mike, and I’ve seen him play well against other teams. But let’s keep his fucking-up-skills for when we’re not playing Rangers, all right?”
“I agree,” Mike said, taking a deep slug of his drink.
“What’s your father got to say about this?” Raven turned to me.
“I haven’t spoken to him this evening. I’m trying not to worry him about anything. It was a close call, his heart attack. He’s been working too hard for years. He needs to do nothing, get bored, hang out in the sunshine and get himself well again.”
“You think he’ll come back soon?”
“Do you want him to?”
“Hell, yeah.” Raven knocked back a shot. “Not that we don’t enjoy having a bit of eye candy around, Miss Gunner, you know, but having the hottest manager in the league isn’t going to get us lifting the cup.”
“No, I mean, yes. Well…” I sipped my drink. Raven had a sulky, say-it-how-it-was wildness about him that set me on edge. He was like it on the ice, too, his personality spilled into his game, making him a formidable defenseman. “Er, no, well, he’s not coming back soon, ever actually. You’re st
uck with me.”
Raven raised his eyebrows. “Permanently.”
“Yes, permanently.”
“Hey.” He pointed at his glass and caught the attention of the bartender. “You better fill me up again.”
I watched him knock back another drink and swallow with a grimace. “Will you excuse me?” he asked.
“Sure.” Jesus, was it that shocking that I was here to stay that he had to take a shot of vodka, or whatever the hell he was drinking?
He moved away and in his place appeared Vadmir. “Hello, Miss Gunner, I wanted to say how sorry I am that we didn’t win for you today.” He spoke with a heavy Russian accent.
“It was no one’s fault,” I said. “The Rangers are on top form. Perhaps if my father hadn’t traded Todd Carty last season things would have been different.”
“He is very dangerous,” Vadmir said with a nod. “He skates like he has the wind behind him and never misses if he has an opening. I would rather be on his side than not.” He shrugged. “But that is the way of this life. Things happen and we have to get on with it.”
“I agree, Vadmir,” I said, thinking what a strange turn my life had taken of late and how I was trying my best to cope.
He grinned, flashing front teeth that were slightly crossed. “Here,” he said to the bartender. “Two vodka please, er three, Mike, you too?”
“I guess,” Mike said.
The bartender poured three small glasses full to the brim of clear liquid. Clear liquid that I knew would burn.
“To agreeing.” Vadmir grabbed a glass and tipped it my way.
“To agreeing and winning next time,” I said with a smile and reaching for my drink.
“Definitely winning,” Mike agreed, his shoulder brushing mine.