The Czar: A Standalone Hockey Billionaire Novel

by Selena Laurence

  He starts to move, and that’s when I realize that he’s not wearing a condom.

  “Mick!” I gasp between breaths. “Condom.”

  “Shit.” He stops moving, still inside me, his entire body tense with the effort, his jaw as hard as his cock, and his brows pinched. “Do you have any?” he asks.

  “No,” I breathe.

  “Mine are in my apartment.” He begins to pull out but I put my hands on his rock hard ass and stop him.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper. “IUD. We’re covered.”

  He looks at me, his demeanor softening. “Are you sure?”

  I nod emphatically. “Just move, please, before I die,” I beg, need controlling me completely.

  He grins and starts pumping his hips, hitting the exact right spot each time. I bring one leg up and wrap it around his hip and he strokes up my thigh with his big palm.

  As he pistons his hips harder and faster, dropping his head to the crook between my neck and shoulder, I can’t help the flood of feelings that rush through me. I’m so overwhelmed with the beauty, the perfection of this moment, that I feel tears come to my eyes.

  It doesn’t take any time at all before that spiraling sensation is working its way through me again, coiling tight in my core, until it and my tears are spilling over, flowing out my limbs, falling out my mouth, pouring out my eyes. And as he grunts his release, my cries of his name turn to plain crying, and before I know it I’m lying under Mick sobbing.

  “Oh my God, Solana? Did I hurt you?” he asks, his voice desperate as he pulls out and moves off of me.

  I try to catch my breath, but all that comes out is a sob as I frantically shake my head.

  “Baby? Shit. Please tell me, what did I do? I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s…” I hiccup. “It’s n-not y-you.”

  He cups my face in his hand, rubbing his thumb under one of my leaking eyes. “Solana,” he says, his voice more commanding this time. “Talk to me.”

  I sniff like a little kid and suck in a breath. “I d-don’t know what’s wr-wrong.”

  He watches me for a moment, then lies down on his back, pulling me into his side where he wraps me in his arms, pressing my face into his shoulder.

  “It’s okay. You’re just too tired. You’ve been pushing yourself so hard. You need a break, baby. It’s called exhaustion.”

  “You think?” I sniff more, the tears beginning to slow.

  “Yes. And I shouldn’t be here in your bed, it just stresses you out more. I’m sorry.” He kisses me on the top of my head then makes to sit up.

  “No!” I cry, clinging to him. He relaxes back into the pillows again.

  “Hey. It’s okay, I’m still here for you, but I know that you didn’t want this—the sex part. It’s too much for you right now, and contrary to what just happened, I can respect that.”

  “Maybe I did want it,” I whisper.

  He’s quiet for a few moments, then, “Did want it, or do want it?”

  “Both?”

  Because I realize in this moment, that I do want it, and I want him, and I don’t think I should have to give up him or my job. I’m good at my job—really good, and I’m not chasing Mick to get his money or his fame, I care about him and I think I might even be falling in love with him.

  It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to say it in my head, but I know it’s true. This gruff, wounded man has wormed his way into my life, and I’m not ready to send him away. I thought that belonging to his father’s company was everything I needed in life, but maybe I want to belong to him too.

  “What exactly are you telling me, Solnishka?” he asks, leaning up on one elbow so he can see my face.

  “Would you want to try the dating thing again? I think I made a mistake. I think no job is worth giving up my whole life for.”

  His lips quirk, but he’s reluctant to let the smile unfurl.

  “Are you sure about that? It might be the two rock star orgasms I just gave you talking. Maybe you should take an hour to come down from the high before making any life-altering decisions.”

  I shove at his shoulder—he doesn’t even budge—and he grins.

  “I’m sure,” I answer softly. “And I’ll understand if you’re not interested—given how I’ve acted.”

  “Solnishka? Was that man inside of you a few minutes ago a man who’s not interested?”

  I smirk at him.

  “I’m definitely interested.” He nuzzles my neck and I squeak because it tickles.

  “I’m interested in more of this—” he presses the heel of his hand against my core, “and I’m interested in some breakfast—” he takes one of my nipples into his hot mouth and sucks before releasing it with a wet pop, “and I’m interested in a whole lot of other things that I’ll explain as we go along.”

  “There’s only one problem,” I gasp, squirming beneath him. “I’m pretty sure today’s still Friday and I have to go to work, they’re announcing my promotion.”

  He sighs, dropping his head to my shoulder. “Dammit,” he mumbles into my skin.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I say, looking at the time on my phone. “I’ll call in that I’ll be late. The announcement isn’t until later this afternoon and I don’t have any meetings until ten this morning.”

  He lifts his head, eyes bright with mischief. “So I’ve got about two hours?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I answer. “Two whole hours for breakfast and whatever else you want.”

  He jumps up from the bed and reaches down, lifting me and tossing me over his shoulder. “Mick! Your hip!” I cry out as I bounce upside down over his incredibly firm ass.

  “It’s fine,” he assures me. “I tested it out carrying you to bed last night.”

  I smack him on the ass just because I can and he drags me to the shower where we stay until the water runs cold and my skin prunes.

  I promise myself that as soon as I get home from work I’ll tell him the truth. It’s time to be honest about everything—how I feel about Mick, and where I spend my days.

  27

  Mick

  By the time Solana leaves for work I’m walking on air. I call Deke and invite him to lunch just for the hell of it, and then I decide to add Dmitri to the mix as well, so we all meet up at Dmitri’s favorite pub where the burgers are thick and bloody, and the fries are thick and greasy.

  “How you been, man?” Deke asks Dmitri as we all sit down.

  “Good,” Dmitri answers, looking around the pub distractedly.

  “You have any photos of that new piece you did? The one for the lobby of the offices?” I ask. “You should see it,” I tell Deke. “It’s amazing.”

  Dmitri pulls out his phone with a scowl, and swipes through some photos. When he gets to the one of the onion domes, he hands the phone to Deke who oohs and aahs appropriately, but Dmitri can barely be bothered to notice. His gaze is fixed on the bar and when I follow his line of sight I meet up with a statuesque brunette who’s tending bar and flirting with a bearded guy drinking a beer.

  Dmitri’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. Well, well, well, if I didn’t know better I’d say my little brother knows the lovely lady in question, and I’m guessing she’s why he suggested eating here.

  Deke leans over and whispers in my ear, “What’s going on? Are we all staring at the biker at the bar now?”

  “No, you idiot, we’re staring at the bartender who’s flirting with the biker.”

  “Okay. Why?”

  I shrug. “Ask Romeo here.” I jab my thumb at Dmitri, who’s still glaring at the bartender.

  Deke shakes his head. “Why bother, he won’t hear me anyway.”

  This is true. Deke and I go on to talk about things with the team, who might get traded, the new assistant coach. I’m surprised, but it doesn’t sting quite as much as usual when we discuss it all. I tell Deke about the jobs I’m considering and then we get to the nitty gritty of our girls’ team and how we’re going to get them to the league playoffs. They’
re currently in first place out of the girls’ teams and fourth place overall, so they could do it, and we want to give them every advantage we can.

  When our food comes, Dmitri picks at his, answering us in the world’s shortest sentences. Deke and I try to ignore him for the most part, both of us used to his moodiness, although this is extreme even for him.

  We’re close to finishing when he suddenly leaps from his chair. Deke puts a long arm out and catches the chair before it crashes to the floor while I shout at my out of control brother.

  “Dmitri! What the hell…”

  I turn to see him just as he reaches the bar where he grabs the biker by the collar of his t-shirt and says something to him before shaking him once and shoving him off. Luckily for my brother and me, who would have been obligated by DNA to ride to his rescue, the biker puts his hands up in surrender, snarls something at the bartender, who glares at him, before he tosses a handful of cash on the bar and stomps out.

  Dmitri grabs the woman by the upper arm and starts yelling at her.

  “Think we’d better stop him?” Deke asks, already half out of his chair.

  Before I can answer, the woman screeches at Dmitri—in Russian, no less—before she hauls off and slaps him. She storms off into the kitchen, her hair flying around her like she’s some sort of fairy queen, and he stands for a moment, his fists clenched as he takes a deep breath. Then without even glancing at us he marches off after her.

  Deke and I are both frozen, just staring at the place where it all happened, while the other bartender on duty walks over, shaking his head as he cleans up the biker’s empties.

  After a few moments we turn and look at each other—before we both burst into laughter.

  We’re still struggling to recover from our fit of hilarity when Deke says, “Was that Russian she was yelling at him?”

  I take a drink of my tomato juice. “Yep.”

  “Any idea who she is?”

  “Uh, no. I mean, he usually has one or two girls hanging around, but never long enough to argue with, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him jealous. Not once.”

  “Well, looks like the little brother might have finally fallen for one,” Deke observes.

  “Well, isn’t that an ironic coincidence,” I murmur before I can think to stop myself.

  Deke shoves his last French fry in his mouth, tosses his napkin on the table and leans back in his chair. “What’s that mean?”

  Well, hell, I walked right into that one.

  I take a breath, wondering if I’m ready to actually say this to someone else when I’ve barely had time to process it myself.

  “Well—Solana…”

  “You two going to give something a try?”

  “Yeah.” I nod my head, because we are, and I’m happy about that, so why not share it. “We are.”

  “You like her?” He nudges me like we’re in elementary school talking about a girl in pigtails on the playground.

  “Yes, asshole, I like her.” I try not to smile but fuck it, I’m too happy.

  “That’s great, man,” he says more seriously. “For real. I’m happy for you. The jobs, the girl, all of it. You deserve it, and I’m glad you’re going out there and making it happen.”

  He’s embarrassing. I haven’t really done much but get off my ass and go to rehab. Well, and take a few showers, that seemed to help all the way around.

  “I’ll always miss it,” I say quietly.

  “I know.” And he does. Only other players at my level could understand the loss I’ve suffered, but Deke and Solana were both right when they said I still have a lot of good things in my world. I’m working to remember that.

  “But I realize there’s still a lot out there for me. Thanks for reminding me of it.”

  “Anytime.”

  I finish up my tomato juice as Deke makes gagging faces at me. He hates tomatoes.

  “You think he’s coming back?” Deke finally asks, referring to Dmitri.

  “I don’t know, but let’s stick him with the bill.”

  “Done,” Deke agrees and we both hightail it out of there before my wayward brother and his Russian hellion can come back.

  It’s nearly five o’clock when I decide that as part of my new outlook on things I’m going to try to come to terms with my father and his expectations. It’s time for him to accept that I’m not going to work for the company, and maybe telling him about my new options will help in that regard. If he knows I intend to continue my career in hockey, even if I can’t play professionally, he’ll have to respect my choice once and for all.

  So, I put on my best attitude, and a pair of dress pants, and drive down to the Petrovich offices.

  Going late in the day is always the best choice because most of the employees are gone or in a rush to get out the door. I tend to cause a stir when I walk down the corporate halls and my father also has a tendency to want to drag me around to visit with everyone. What starts off as a quick trip to say hello can turn into an all-afternoon event.

  “Oh! Mr. Petrovich!” the front receptionist, Dinah, says as I exit the elevator on the executive floor.

  “Hi there, Dinah. How are you?”

  She stands and busses me on each cheek. “I’m fine, and it is so wonderful to see you here. Your father has been promising us you’d be here more often now, but I was starting to think he’d made it up.”

  I don’t want to cast aspersions on my dad in his place of work, so I don’t acknowledge that yes, he actually was making it up.

  “Well, believe it or not, between rehab and the various offers my agent’s been fielding, things have been busier than I anticipated.”

  “I don’t doubt that at all,” she says, smiling. “You’re Chicago’s favorite son, everyone wants a bit of your time.”

  “Is the old man in?” I ask.

  “He is, but not in meetings, so go on back.”

  I thank her and make my way into the hall that I’ve been walking down since I was a tiny child. Every wall is covered in Petrovich history, and it is, in some sense, my family history. A history that is rich with success and ambition. I’m proud of my father for what he’s accomplished, I only wish it hadn’t been at the expense of my own mother.

  I turn the corner and see the doorway to his office, before I hear his voice. His booming Russian accent echoes down the hall and I hear him laugh. It makes me smile, because no matter what, he’s always happy to be here. He loves this place like I love hockey. I get that, and I only want him to get it too.

  Whoever he’s talking to is much softer spoken, but I can hear the pitch of her voice and something about it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, recognition working its way into my brain too slowly to beat out my feet that have brought me right to my father’s open door.

  “So, if we use the videographer in Rome, they will film the entire advertisement at the Colosseum?” he asks the woman whose back is to me.

  “Yes, and I think once we look at the cost savings on CGI, it’ll be well worth—”

  “Mikhail!” my father says, interrupting her. I stop, a few feet inside the office, my heart racing like a rabbit’s, my head working overtime to process what I’m seeing. Because I know, even before she turns to me, eyes wide, and face pale.

  “I want you to meet—”

  “Solnishka?” I ask, all the breath leaving my body in one draining whoosh.

  Her eyes are filled with fear, and my father’s voice fades away as he looks between the two of us.

  “I can explain…” she says quickly.

  “What the hell?” I ask, my voice gaining strength as anger takes over from the shock.

  “Mick…”

  “You know each other?” my father asks, a furrow appearing in his brow.

  “Biblically,” I grit out.

  “I was going to tell you—” she says, her voice desperate, because that’s what liars are—desperate.

  “When? After I’d met you and helped you with petsitting? Or maybe onc
e I’d asked you on a date, and taken you to meet my grandmother. Oh no, maybe you meant to tell me after I planned an elaborate date complete with rooftop dinner—”

  “Mikhail…” My father looks at me with sympathy.

  “Mick, please, can we…talk…somewhere…” she looks between me and my father.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice low and rough. “Did you not want to have this conversation in front of my father? Or is it that you don’t want to have it in front of your boss?”

  Then I turn on my heel and walk out. Midway down the hall I hear her sobs start, and that’s when I turn to the wall next to me, the one adorned with a photo of me in full uniform, holding the Gold medal while my father loops an arm around my neck, and I put my fist through it—glass, picture, and drywall. Then I take my bloody, throbbing hand out of the building, and out of Solana’s life and my father’s.

  28

  Solana

  If you can get past the fact that you have no money and might end up homeless, being unemployed has a few distinct benefits. The first is that you don’t have to wake up early. In fact, you can stay in bed all damn day if you want, which is exactly what I’ve been doing for six straight days now. Ever since Mr. Petrovich looked at me with disappointed eyes and said he could have adjusted the personnel policies if he’d known Mick and I were dating, but he couldn’t countenance an employee who intentionally lied to get around those policies.

  Another hidden benefit of being unemployed? You lose weight. Because when you know that you soon won’t have money for food you tend to eat lightly. Plus, of course, when you’ve spent the last six years of your life working to get a dream job and then you lose said dream job because you’re a complete idiot, you don’t tend to feel real hungry afterwards.

  But there are still some negatives to being unemployed—beyond the obvious, of course. Right now, the number one is that people you don’t want to see can come and bang on your apartment door at eleven a.m. on a Monday morning because they know you don’t have any money to go anywhere.