If nothing else, she felt pretty confident about her appearance. Wanting to make the best impression on Reid’s parents, she’d splurged on a Chanel silk sheath the color of midnight blue. The gorgeous dress was paired with nude heels that made her legs look longer and shapelier. Jess had kindly directed her to a YouTube video that showed her how to style her hair in a classy topknot that accentuated her features. Her makeup was subtle, her lips tinted nude with just a touch of gloss. As luck would have it, one of the Chanel purses Reid had given her was a nude clutch, the perfect accessory for her shoes.
When she stepped out of the bedroom to join Reid, his eyes had widened and he’d let out a low, throaty growl of appreciation. On the way over to his mother’s house, he couldn’t stop staring at her, touching her cheek and telling her how amazing she looked. Although his compliments bolstered her spirits, she knew it would take more than a fabulous hairdo and designer dress to win his mother’s approval.
As Reid moved to unlock the door, Nadia raised an eyebrow at him.
He grinned. “We all have keys to one another’s houses. It’s sort of a family thing.”
“Ah. I see.” Struck by a sudden thought, she grabbed his arm. “Wait. What do I call her? Your mom, I mean. Did she change her last name after the divorce?”
“No. She kept it. So you can call her Mrs. Holden.”
Before Reid could turn the key in the lock, the door was suddenly yanked open by a guy who could only be Reid’s younger brother. When Nadia saw him, her eyes widened and she did a double take.
Ryder Holden was practically the spitting image of his brother. With their striking blue eyes and thick dark hair, they could almost pass for twins. They were even built the same, big framed and rugged with wide shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist and long legs. Both were dressed similarly in button-down dress shirts and tailored charcoal slacks that made them the perfect cover models for GQ—the roughneck edition.
Nadia could easily picture Ryder working on an oil rig, his face streaked with grime, sweat dripping off his bulging biceps as he drilled for oil. She bet he even had badass tattoos like his brother.
“Well, look who’s here.” His voice was a deep, smoky drawl—the kind of voice that made women clench their thighs. “If it ain’t the future Mr. and Mrs. Holden.”
Reid laughed, putting his hand around Nadia’s waist and bringing her closer to his side. “Nadia, this meathead blocking the door is my brother Ryder. Ry, this is Nadia.”
She smiled a little shyly. “Hello, Ryder.”
Those blue eyes flared with blatant male appreciation as they roamed her face. “How you doing?” he drawled, his big hand swallowing hers in a handshake. His skin was warm, rough with calluses. Yet another similarity to his brother.
“Please come in.” He opened the door wider, then held up a hand to block Reid. “Not you. Just her.”
Nadia laughed.
“Get the hell outta here,” Reid growled, grabbing Nadia’s hand and shouldering his way into the house.
As she stepped past Ryder, she didn’t miss the way his eyes lowered to discreetly check out her ass. She gave him a pass because she’d done a bit of ogling herself. The man was as ridiculously hot as his brother.
All thoughts of Holden hotness were pushed aside as she looked around the cavernous foyer, awed by the opulence of the Baccarat crystal chandelier, double winding staircase, curved balcony and gleaming marble floors. Swags of garland decorated the wrought iron stair rails, and white poinsettias adorned an antique Hepplewhite sideboard.
Reid playfully punched his brother on the shoulder. “Where’s your ride, man? I didn’t see it in the driveway.”
“I took the Harley,” Ryder said, punching him back. “Mom made me park it in the garage. You know how she is. She hates motorcycles—doesn’t like seeing ’em in her driveway.”
“I know.” Reid chuckled dryly. “Where is she?”
“Still getting dressed. Said she’d be out in a minute.”
Reid nodded. “What about the rest of the gang?”
“Avery called and said her last appointment ran over. She’ll pick up Aria when she’s on her way. Dad should be here soon.” Ryder’s lazy gaze shifted to Nadia, his eyes glinting with irrepressible mischief. “Can I get you anything, beautiful? Some coffee? A glass of wine? My number?”
Nadia laughed as Reid scowled and slapped the back of his brother’s head.
From across the foyer a coolly amused voice said, “Now, now, boys. You know the rules. No fighting in the house.”
Everyone turned around.
Nadia’s anxiety returned with a vengeance at the sight of Arlene Holden walking toward them. Her eyes were trained on Reid, as if she weren’t ready—or willing—to acknowledge Nadia’s presence.
Reid smiled at her. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hello, sweetheart.” She pulled him into a tight embrace, hugging him as if she hadn’t seen him in years.
She was an elegantly attractive woman with refined features and cool green eyes that could probably turn frosty on a dime. She was thin and regal, wearing a silk crepe sheath in a delicate shade of green that complemented her eyes and porcelain skin. The color of her hair was somewhere between auburn and dark brown. It was short and expertly layered, no doubt the work of a stylist at a high-end salon. A single strand of pearls encircled her slender throat, and matching pearl drop earrings dangled from her ears.
As Nadia stared at her, it was hard to picture her as a multitasking hockey mom shuttling Reid back and forth to practices, cleaning his equipment and organizing bake sales. She looked more like a society matron who’d been born into wealth, the kind of woman who attended ritzy cocktail parties and rubbed shoulders with the privileged and powerful.
Reid scooped an arm around Nadia’s waist, tucking her possessively to his side. “Mom, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Nadia. Nadia, this is my mother.”
Nadia mustered a friendly smile. “Hello, Mrs. Holden,” she said, extending her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Hello, dear.” Arlene’s handshake was cool and impersonal, her eyes critically assessing Nadia’s appearance from head to toe. If she approved of what she saw, she gave no indication.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” she announced, her gaze encompassing Reid. “Would either of you care for something to drink?”
Nadia smiled. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“I’m good too,” Reid said.
“Very well.” Arlene affectionately patted his cheek. “Maeve was sorry she missed you yesterday when you dropped by. Why don’t you head to the kitchen and say hello to her while I give Nadia a quick tour? We’ll join you after we’re finished.”
Reid hesitated, looking at Nadia.
Sensing his reluctance to leave her side, Arlene tucked her arm through Nadia’s and shooed him off with an elegantly manicured hand. “Go on, darling. We’ll be fine.”
Nadia didn’t miss the wary look that passed between Reid and Ryder. It heightened her own misgivings about being left alone with their mother. But there was no diplomatic way to object without offending the woman. So she just smiled gamely as Arlene steered her from the foyer.
A “quick tour” of a 15,000-square-foot mansion was virtually impossible. There was too much ground to cover: a mahogany-paneled library, an expansive formal dining room, a sunroom, a billiard room, a sommelier’s dream wine cellar, a lavishly appointed parlor with a Bösendorfer grand piano. The bedrooms upstairs were spacious with tall, wide windows and vaulted ceilings that created a feeling of openness. All nine of them included a fireplace and private bath, and most had balconies overlooking the manicured grounds of the estate.
Although the mansion was beyond spectacular, Nadia couldn’t imagine living in such a humongous place, especially by herself. The lonely echo of her footsteps moving through the vast house would depress her, and most of the rooms would go completely to waste.
But she kept the thought to herself and simply r
emarked, “You have a very beautiful home, Mrs. Holden.”
“Thank you, darling.” Arlene smiled proudly. “Avery decorated every room. Over the years she’s redesigned many mansions that she described as ‘garish monstrosities’ and ‘ostentatious museums.’ She wanted to make sure our house didn’t fall into those categories.”
“Well, she certainly succeeded.” Nadia smiled warmly. “I’ve seen her work. Reid’s house is absolutely gorgeous.”
“Yes, it is.” Arlene gave her a sidelong glance. “Do you spend a lot of time there?”
There was no mistaking the displeasure in her voice. Pretending not to notice, Nadia responded nonchalantly, “I’m there pretty often. I live with my brother, so Reid prefers to hang out at his place so we can have privacy.”
“I see,” Arlene said tightly. “I suppose I don’t have to wonder what you and my son do with all that, ahem, privacy.”
Nadia felt her cheeks warm. Somehow she managed to grin cheekily and quip, “You probably wouldn’t want to know.”
Arlene looked less than amused. “Indeed.”
They descended the staircase to return to the first floor. As they neared the kitchen, Nadia could hear the sound of laughter and a woman’s voice mingled with Reid and Ryder’s. Before she could celebrate the end of the tour, Arlene steered her past the kitchen and down an arched hallway that led toward another wing.
“There’s just one more room I wanted to show you,” she said.
It was all Nadia could do not to cast a longing glance over her shoulder toward the kitchen.
Arlene released a blissful sigh. “That son of mine has been so good to me. After he was drafted into the NHL, he purchased this house for me and his father. It’s the home Roark always wanted to give us, but could never afford. And Reid didn’t just stop at buying the house and all the furnishings; he also bought us matching Cadillacs. On top of that, he gives me a generous monthly allowance, and he hired me a personal chef and nutritionist to make sure I maintain a healthy diet.” She paused, touching the strand of pearls around her neck. “I don’t know if he told you about my cancer.”
“He did,” Nadia said solemnly. “I’m very sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Arlene said, waving off her sympathy. “I’ve always believed that what doesn’t kill you can only make you stronger.” She smiled brightly. “And last but not least, here’s what we affectionately call the ‘Hall of Fame’ room.”
Nadia stepped through the doorway and let out a soft gasp.
The entire room was a shrine to Reid’s achievements on the ice. One wall was covered in framed photographs that served as a pictorial timeline of his hockey career from an early age. His high school and college jerseys were mounted, framed and hung on another wall painted black and gold to represent the Rebels’ colors. Proudly showcased on the same wall were magazine covers and feature articles written about him, including a full-page spread in the Detroit Free Press that had a picture of him shaking hands with the NHL commissioner on draft day. The other two walls were lined with glass display cases containing trophies, medals, plaques and keepsake pucks from games and tournaments Reid had played in over the years.
As Nadia slowly walked around the room, she was awed by the sheer number of awards and honors Reid had received, starting from his youth all the way up through the pros. He’d won several major awards while at Boston College, including the prestigious Hobey Baker Award given to the NCAA’s top hockey player. He’d also been named Most Outstanding Player after captaining his team to two NCAA championship victories. In the NHL he’d won the Norris Trophy twice and the Hart Trophy as the league’s MVP, had been voted to the All-Star Team every season and was selected for the U.S. Olympic men’s hockey team.
Nadia’s heart swelled with pride as she admired the numerous trophies, enjoying the way the light reflected off each one. It was clear that Reid had been destined for greatness from an early age, a point reinforced by his mother’s next words.
“We always knew he’d become a superstar,” she said proudly. “He learned to skate before he could walk. Took to the ice like it was in his blood.”
Nadia smiled, remembering the anecdote Reid had shared with her on their first date at the café.
“He can be very modest, so he graciously allows me to showcase all his trophies here instead of his own house.” Arlene chuckled. “I think it embarrasses him a little to see this shrine erected in his honor. But what can I say? I’m proud of my baby boy’s accomplishments.”
“As you should be,” Nadia said, wandering over to the wall of photos. As a little boy, Reid was as devastatingly cute as she’d suspected he would be. Sturdy and athletic, with an infectious grin and bright blue eyes under a mass of unruly dark hair.
“I remember how excited he was when he met Bobby Orr for the first time in high school,” Arlene fondly reminisced. “He was so awestruck he lost his voice for a few moments, could only stand there and gawk at Bobby.” She chuckled at the memory. “Meeting his hero was all he talked about for weeks afterward. Since then, Bobby has become a trusted friend and mentor. We’ve even had him over for dinner a few times.”
“That’s wonderful,” Nadia murmured, touching a picture of Reid holding up some major trophy as he beamed triumphantly into the camera.
His mother came up beside her. “As you can see from this room, hockey means everything to Reid. He doesn’t have any room in his life for distractions.”
It was a warning if ever Nadia had heard one.
Slowly she turned her head to meet the older woman’s cool gaze.
Several seconds passed.
“Everything all right?”
Nadia and Arlene turned to find Reid standing in the doorway with his hands on either side of the door frame. His eyes locked onto Nadia’s, searching her face for signs of distress.
“Of course everything’s all right,” his mother said with an airy laugh. “I was just showing Nadia all of your awards and hockey memorabilia. No tour of the house would be complete without seeing the ‘Hall of Fame’ room.”
Reid glanced around, grimaced ever so slightly and shook his head.
Arlene laughed again. “I told you this room embarrasses him,” she said to Nadia.
Nadia smiled at Reid. It didn’t escape her attention that he hadn’t stepped one foot over the threshold.
When he held out his hand to her, she gladly crossed the room to take it. She was eager to put some distance between herself and his mother.
“C’mon,” he murmured. “Let me introduce you to Maeve.”
As Arlene followed them down the hallway, Nadia could practically feel the woman glaring daggers at her back.
As they neared the foyer, the front door opened, and a tall man stepped inside the house.
A broad grin swept across Reid’s face. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey there, son.” With impeccably groomed silver hair and piercing blue eyes, Roark Holden was the epitome of a silver fox. He cut an impressive figure in a white dress shirt, dark gabardine trousers and polished Italian loafers.
He closed the door and came forward with long, powerful strides. His eyes were focused on Nadia, his smile wide and full of relaxed charm. “Well, hello, young lady. You must be Nadia.”
She smiled warmly. “Hello, Mr. Holden. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure’s mine, I assure you.” He shook her hand, his large, tanned fingers swallowing hers up. Reid and Ryder had not only inherited their father’s good looks; they’d also inherited his big hands.
Roark grinned at Reid and slapped him warmly on the shoulder. “Well done,” he said, a glint of approval in his eyes.
Reid grinned.
Nadia blushed.
Roark looked across the foyer and nodded to his ex-wife. “Arlene.”
She pressed her lips together and lifted her chin. “Where’s your mail order bride?”
Roark chuckled, taking the jab in stride. “If you mean Hanh, Reid and I decided it would be b
est if she didn’t join us this evening.”
“Oh?” Arlene lifted an eyebrow at Reid. “When did you decide that?”
“Does it really matter?” Roark interjected with a look of mild exasperation. “The point is she’s not here. So you can relax.”
Arlene gave a haughty sniff. “Who says I can’t relax when she’s around? Your little girlfriend is of no consequence to me.”
Roark and Reid gave her a skeptical look that made her scowl.
Nadia watched the heated exchange like a spectator at Wimbledon. If nothing else, she was grateful to have the focus of attention off her for a while.
Arlene gestured curtly in the direction of the living room. “Shall we sit?”
She led the way across the foyer and through the high arched doorway of the living room. It was large and plushly carpeted with a coffered ceiling and a hand-carved marble fireplace. A fire crackled in the grate, and the mantel was festooned with framed family photos and swags of garland. The tall picture windows were covered with elegant custom drapes, and the furniture and paintings looked seriously expensive. Tiny white lights twinkled festively on a soaring Douglas fir with perfectly wrapped gifts arranged underneath.
Reid and Nadia sat together on a plush settee upholstered in silk.
Arlene walked to a Louis XV armchair made of ornately carved mahogany, then sat down and elegantly crossed her legs.
Roark strode across the living room to the wet bar, where he poured himself a snifter of scotch. “I know the girls are running late,” he said, “but I thought Ry was here.”
“He is,” Reid confirmed, draping one arm along the back of the settee. “He got a call from work while we were in the kitchen. It sounded pretty urgent.”
Arlene frowned. “I hope he won’t be called away. He works too many hours as it is.”
“Nonsense,” Roark scoffed. “A little hard work never hurt anybody. And the boy’s well compensated for his labor.”
Arlene glared at him. “That’s not the point.”
Wicked Games (Denver Rebels) Page 43