Sin Bin (Denver Rebels Book 3)

by Maureen Smith

  On the way there, Meadow stared out the window at the CN Tower and the skyscrapers etched across Toronto’s downtown skyline.

  Logan still wasn’t saying much. After their tense exchange on the plane, it was hard not to take his mood personally. But she kept reminding herself that this wasn’t a vacation or romantic getaway. He wasn’t here for pleasure. He was here to confront the painful past and get closure about his mother. No matter how many walls he put up between them, Meadow would stay by his side and provide moral support.

  When they reached the harbor, they were met by an attractive thirtyish man who introduced himself as Callum, Lucien’s personal secretary. Despite his businesslike demeanor, he couldn’t contain his excitement over meeting Logan. Like many Canadians, he grew up on a steady diet of hockey. Not surprisingly, he’d followed Logan’s career and was a huge fan. Meadow could only imagine how he’d reacted to the news that his boss was Logan’s deadbeat father.

  While the chauffeur grabbed their luggage, Callum escorted Logan and Meadow to the family’s superyacht docked in the harbor. It was long and sleek and glistening white. It had a swimming pool on the top deck and a helipad on the stern. Three distinct flags flew at the top of the mast: the Canadian flag, the Belgian flag and the Brassard family’s coat of arms. The name Minerva was ornately painted on the side of the boat.

  “She’s named after the family matriarch.” Callum gave Logan a small sidelong smile. “Your great-grandmother.”

  Logan didn’t respond.

  Meadow knew the luxury yacht was just one more trigger for him. She could feel the tension radiating from his body, could feel his tightly leashed anger. He reminded her of a soda bottle that had been shaken up and was about to explode. She only hoped the explosion—when it came—wouldn’t be too damaging.

  The captain and crew greeted them deferentially as they boarded the yacht. Callum escorted them to their stateroom, giving them a tour along the way.

  Meadow couldn’t help marveling at the size and opulence of the boat. It boasted a main salon, sky lounge, movie theater, spa, gym, indoor pool and an amazing underwater lounge. A master suite and twenty staterooms slept up to forty guests. A grand staircase and an elevator connected all five decks.

  Callum led them to a lavishly furnished stateroom with a huge picture window and balcony overlooking the water. Their luggage was waiting for them.

  “We set sail at five and return at eleven,” Callum announced. “Only select guests will be staying overnight. Dinner will be served at six. In the meantime, feel free to get some rest or enjoy the amenities onboard. If you’d like to go sightseeing, the driver can take you—”

  “I don’t need to go sightseeing,” Logan grumbled. “I lived here for over two years.”

  Callum smiled. “Of course. And you were born here. Toronto is your home.”

  “I wouldn’t say all that.” Logan looked at Meadow, his expression softening slightly. “I’m sorry. This is your first time here. If you’d like to go sightseeing—”

  “No, I’m fine.” She smiled. “To be honest, I’d rather take a nap and recharge before the party.”

  “Same.” His lips curved with a hint of a smile, the first she’d seen all day. She clung to it like a lifeline.

  “Your father will want to see both of you before dinner,” Callum said as Logan walked him to the door. “If you need anything—”

  “We know where to find you.” Logan closed the door in Callum’s surprised face.

  Meadow laughed—another first for the day.

  When Logan came back to her, she reached up and took his face between her hands, searching his eyes. “I know being here is difficult for you,” she said gently. “But just remember you’re not alone. We’re in this together. You and me. All right?”

  He nodded slowly, then brushed his lips over hers and whispered, “I don’t deserve you.”

  “Probably not.” She smiled teasingly. “But you’re stuck with me, anyway.”

  For the party that evening, she donned a rose gold Chanel dress that was short at the front and long in the back. The sleeveless bodice had a sweetheart neckline and a high back. She paired the haute couture dress with glittery high-heeled ankle-strap sandals.

  She spent half an hour arranging her hair in an elaborate twist she’d seen in a black hair magazine. The end result was worth the time and effort.

  “You look incredible.” Logan came up behind her, heart-stoppingly handsome in a black Brioni tuxedo. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, he put his arms around her waist and pressed his body against hers.

  She closed her eyes and sighed, savoring his closeness and heat, soaking up the intimacy she’d craved all day.

  He kissed her bare shoulder. “I have something for you.”

  She opened her eyes, watching as he reached over her shoulders and draped a diamond necklace around her neck, his fingers brushing her skin as he fastened the small hook.

  “Oh, Logan,” she breathed, reaching up to touch the dazzling strand of diamonds resting just above her breasts. “What a stunning necklace.”

  “Nowhere near as stunning as you. But it’s a start.” He removed a rectangular black velvet box from his pocket and thumbed the lid open to reveal a matching diamond bracelet and earrings.

  She gasped. “Logan, no, that’s too much—”

  “Hush and put these on.” He handed her the earrings and watched her secure them in her ears. Then he fastened the bracelet around her wrist.

  She turned back to the mirror. The exquisite diamonds sparkled in the light, and the shimmering fabric of her dress made her skin glow.

  Logan stood close behind her, gazing at her reflection. “You’re a vision, cariño.”

  She gave him a radiant smile. The way he was looking at her made her feel like a goddess. She basked in his adoration, fortifying herself for whatever lay ahead.

  Thirty minutes before dinnertime, Callum returned to take them to Logan’s father. When he saw Meadow, his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Cheeks flushing, he stammered out a compliment that had Logan narrowing his eyes and drawing Meadow possessively to his side.

  Lucien Brassard was waiting for them in a private salon on the main deck. A pair of tuxedoed security guards flanked the entrance. They didn’t look happy to see Logan. The feeling was clearly mutual, judging by his scowl.

  “Behave yourself, young man,” one of the guards warned.

  Logan flipped him the bird before following Callum and Meadow into the salon. It was elegantly appointed with sumptuous leather furniture, richly paneled walls and expensive oil paintings in gold frames.

  Lucien Brassard stood at the broad windows overlooking the Lake Ontario shoreline.

  Callum delicately cleared his throat. “Your son and Miss Ryan are here, sir.”

  Lucien turned from the windows. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was the picture of debonair sophistication in a custom black tuxedo. His thick red hair was impeccably combed back from his face, and he had a rich man’s tan. He was unquestionably handsome. But Logan was right—they looked nothing alike.

  “Well, hello, you two.” Lucien came forward with an easygoing smile. “Welcome aboard the Minerva.”

  Logan didn’t smile back or say hello. He exchanged a stiff handshake with his father, then turned to Meadow beside him and grunted some sort of an introduction.

  Meadow smiled politely and held out her hand. “Hello, Mr. Brassard.”

  “Please call me Lucien.” His gaze flicked over her, appreciation lighting his green eyes as he clasped her hand in both of his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Meadow. I can certainly see why my son went Rambo on those miscreants at the nightclub. A man would do anything to protect a woman of such beauty.”

  “Oh, Lucien,” said a drolly amused voice. “There you go laying on the charm.”

  Everyone turned to see a gorgeous brunette enter the salon. She was wearing an expensive black evening gown with a slit up the side that revealed her long slender
leg with every step. The way she strutted across the room made it obvious that she’d timed her arrival to make a grand entrance.

  Lucien smiled broadly as the woman came to stand by his side. “Logan and Meadow, allow me to introduce my beautiful wife, Chantal.”

  Meadow and Logan murmured hello and took turns shaking the woman’s hand. She gave Meadow a cool smile and a limp handshake. But she clung to Logan’s hand, giving him an appreciative perusal as she purred, “What a pleasure to finally meet my husband’s secret love child.”

  Logan smirked at the remark.

  When Lucien shot his wife a reproachful look, she merely let out a tinkling laugh that grated Meadow’s nerves.

  Chantal Brassard was Lucien’s second wife. She was toned and skinny, no more than a size two. Her dark hair was swept up in an elegant French twist, and her glamorous dress had a plunging neckline that showed off her perfect cleavage. The smooth tightness of her pale skin hinted at cosmetic surgery. Diamonds dripped from her ears, throat, wrist and fingers. She looked every bit like a pampered trophy wife.

  She was sizing Meadow up from head to toe, her icy blue eyes narrowed critically. “What a lovely dress. Prada?”

  “Chanel.”

  “That would have been my next guess.” Chantal appraised Meadow’s glittering diamond jewelry and sneered ever so slightly. “It certainly pays to date a rich hockey player, doesn’t it?”

  Bristling at the implication, Meadow surprised herself by lobbing back sweetly, “I’m sure it’s almost as rewarding as marrying a billionaire.”

  Chantal’s gaze hardened, her lips tightening into a thin line.

  Lucien deliberately cleared his throat and smiled at Meadow and Logan. “Would either of you care for a drink before dinner?”

  “No, thank you,” they declined.

  Chantal rested a manicured hand on Logan’s arm and batted her eyelashes at him. “It really is good to meet you, Logan. Thank you so much for coming tonight.”

  Meadow wondered if she’d only imagined the woman’s breathy emphasis on the word coming. But then Chantal threw her a smug look and she realized that, nope, she wasn’t imagining things.

  What the hell is going on here? she wondered irritably. Why is Logan’s stepmother treating me like competition?

  Logan gave his father a direct look. “I hope we’ll have an opportunity to speak privately this evening.”

  “Of course,” Lucien said smoothly. “In due time.”

  Logan clenched his jaw, radiating impatience. Impatience for answers about his mother. Impatience to get off this boat and go home.

  Lucien motioned for Logan and Meadow to sit down. “Please make yourselves comfortable.”

  They sat on a plush white leather couch while Lucien and his wife sat on the couch facing them. Chantal deliberately crossed her long legs to show them off at their best angle, the slit in her dress rising up her thighs.

  The sexy pose was clearly for Logan’s benefit. He flicked an impassive glance over her legs, lifted his eyes to hers and cocked an amused eyebrow. The smile she gave him set Meadow’s teeth on edge.

  “Declan and Kinsley were disappointed they couldn’t join us tonight,” Lucien said with a hint of censure. “They were really looking forward to meeting you, Logan.”

  “So you keep saying.” Logan leaned back against the couch, lazily draping his arms along the back. “So you’ve told them all about their bastard half-brother, eh? How’d that conversation go?”

  The lines around Lucien’s mouth tightened. “Naturally they were shocked,” he answered in a measured tone. “It was a difficult conversation for everyone.”

  “I bet.” Logan was smirking. “Just out of curiosity, what made you decide to come clean after all these years?”

  A look passed between Lucien and Chantal.

  Logan narrowed his eyes, glancing from one to the other.

  “The conversation was long overdue,” Lucien said evenly. “At any rate, Declan and Kinsley are thrilled to have an NHL star as a big brother. Honestly we’re all rather excited.”

  Logan gave him a mocking smile. “Glad to be a source of family pride. Score one for bastard children everywhere.”

  Lucien’s lips compressed with displeasure.

  Chantal looked wickedly amused.

  A tense, suffocating silence followed during which father and son glared at each other.

  “Speaking of families,” Meadow blurted to break the standoff, “Logan and I recently received our AncestryDNA results.”

  “Oh?” Lucien shifted his attention to her. He seemed relieved by the diversion. “Tell us about your findings.”

  “Yes, do tell,” Chantal said condescendingly. “What percentage of European ancestry did you have? Isn’t that the main reason African-Americans take the test? To find out how white they are? And Native American,” she added with a snicker. “They all insist that they have Native American ancestry, even though Henry Louis Gates disproved that theory.”

  “Chantal,” Lucien said with gentle warning.

  “What? It’s true. He says most black people don’t have Native American DNA. Yet the myth prevails.” She laughed disparagingly.

  Meadow frowned, digging her nails into her palms to keep from clawing the woman’s eyes out.

  “You’re mistaken about Meadow,” Logan drawled insolently. “Contrary to what you said, she was mainly interested in her African roots. Everything else was almost an afterthought.”

  “Oh?” Chantal smiled snidely. “I’m sure she’s a rare exception.”

  “Probably not.” Logan brushed his lips across Meadow’s bare shoulder. “But she is rare, and she is exceptional. So we can agree on that.”

  Chantal pursed her lips so tight she looked like she’d just swallowed a whole lemon. Meadow took some satisfaction from her displeasure.

  Lucien smiled inquisitively at Logan. “And what about your results? What did you learn?”

  Logan gave him a bored look. “Does it matter?”

  Lucien’s smile slipped a notch.

  “Of course it matters,” Meadow intervened with a forced laugh, resting her hand on Logan’s thigh as she spoke to his father. “The majority of Logan’s European DNA came from Great Britain, which wasn’t surprising. The second largest concentration was in Western Europe.”

  Lucien nodded. “The paternal side of my family is from Belgium. They’re French with a smattering of Dutch thrown into the mix.” He smiled at her. “Parlez-vous français?”

  “Not very well, I’m afraid.” She smiled sheepishly, ignoring Chantal’s derisive smirk. “According to the DNA test, Logan also has Irish and Scottish ancestry. Fourteen percent.”

  “Oh, aye.” Lucien smiled proudly. “My mother’s family is from Scotland. They’re part of Clan Maclean, one of the oldest Highland clans. The Macleans were famous for their honor, strength and courage in battle. They fought in Jacobite Risings and supported Robert the Bruce, who, of course, secured Scotland’s independence from England.”

  “Wow. What a rich family history.” Meadow smiled at Logan. “You’re descended from Scottish Highlanders. Isn’t that fascinating?”

  “Riveting. I’m on the edge of my seat.” His bored expression suggested otherwise.

  Chantal laughed.

  Lucien frowned.

  Callum appeared in the doorway. “All the guests have been seated, sir.”

  Lucien nodded. “Thank you, Callum.”

  As everyone rose and moved toward the door, Chantal suggested to her husband, “Why don’t you escort Meadow and Logan can escort me?” Before anyone could object, she tucked her arm through Logan’s and gave him a simpering smile. “Goodness, how tall are you?”

  “Six-four.” Logan glanced back at Meadow. “This okay with you?”

  “Of course,” she said through her teeth, accepting Lucien’s arm. She didn’t miss the satisfied smirk on Chantal’s face. The bitch was really trying her.

  Callum escorted them to the formal dining room
that opened off the main salon. A hundred or so guests were already seated around linen-draped tables.

  As the newcomers entered the opulent room, excited whispers swept through the crowd. Everyone was staring and pointing at Logan.

  Anxiety made Meadow’s stomach flutter as a tuxedoed attendant led them to their table. Along the way, Lucien smiled like a politician and shook hands with several guests without ever releasing Meadow’s arm.

  When they reached their table at the front of the room, Logan pulled out his stepmother’s chair for her while Lucien did the same for Meadow. She half expected Chantal to pull Logan down beside her. She looked like she wanted to. Fortunately her husband sat next to her while Logan joined Meadow on the other side of the table.

  The remaining seats were claimed by Callum and another couple who were introduced as Pascal and Hazel Tremblay, Lucien’s oldest friends. The way they beamed at Logan left no doubt that they knew he was Lucien’s son. Meadow wondered if any other guests knew or suspected.

  An orchestra began playing as the waiters served the first course, a Belgian endive salad tossed with crème fraîche and Beluga caviar.

  After asking Meadow a few perfunctory questions about herself, the Tremblays wasted no time engaging Logan in conversation about hockey. They sat to his left so it was hard for her to hear what was being said, which meant she couldn’t really participate.

  Callum, seated to her right, saved her from feeling excluded. “See that gentleman right there.” He nodded discreetly across the room. “That’s Edward Rogers of Rogers Communications, one of the biggest media giants in the country. If you live in Canada, there’s a pretty good chance that your cable, phone and Internet provider is Rogers. The company also owns a number of TV and radio stations, magazines and sports teams.”

  “Wow,” Meadow said, suitably impressed.

  As they ate, Callum pointed out several more people. Not surprisingly, the room was filled with the crème de la crème of Toronto’s high society. They were scions of the richest families, real estate barons, media magnates, tech oligarchs. Whether they were old money or new money, no one there had a net worth below one billion.

  Meadow felt as if she were watching herself from a great distance. It felt surreal to be there, sitting at a table with one of the most powerful men in Canada. A man who was an heir to a family fortune worth billions, a man whose close friends included Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and several other world leaders. It was hard not to feel totally out of her depth. She was the daughter of schoolteachers, a former ward of the state. And there she was dining on Royal Copenhagen porcelain plates, eating the finest caviar and drinking the most expensive champagne.