Dominik

by Sawyer Bennett

  Whatever that means to us as a couple…

  Well, I can figure that shit out later.

  CHAPTER 14

  Willow

  I pace the inside of my room. My travel per diem was decent, so I splurged on a nice hotel in Kinshasa that overlooks the Congo River. Normally, I’d spend my downtime exploring on my own, but it’s not possible here. Crime is too rampant and corruption is too commonplace.

  Part of my agreement with the Washington Post when they contracted me was to provide me with security and I’m safe with them while I’m shooting my assignment on the new coalition government that’s been formed. The political infrastructure is incredibly unstable right now, and I’m paired with a reporter who is interviewing various members of the Senate and National Assembly. We have one more set of interviews tomorrow before I’m headed back to the States.

  The question is… where will I go?

  I want to go back to Phoenix—or whatever city the Vengeance will be playing in. I’d wanted to attend all the games to support my brother and I hadn’t intended to take on any work throughout the playoffs. But damn if Dominik hadn’t sent me scurrying away with his demands that I fall into line with what he thinks I should do about my line of work. I’d taken this job purely out of spite and while the money is decent, I don’t need it. I’ve spent my career living out of hotels without a mortgage or student loans, so my savings account is quite healthy.

  But I’ll be damned if some man is going to dictate what I can and can’t do with my life just because it causes him worry.

  And yet… there’s a tiny part of me that feels bad about discounting his feelings. We’d agreed our arrangement was sex only, but I’m also smart enough to recognize it has turned into a bit more than that. I realize it came from a place in his heart that’s filled with concern, but it’s manifesting poorly into a controlling attitude I can’t handle. Yes, I like Dominik being the boss in bed, but, outside of that, I make my own choices.

  A knock on the door startles me and I consider ignoring it, but it’s probably the reporter I’d been paired with checking to see if I want to go to dinner. I don’t open it, though, not until I put my eye to the peephole. When I see who’s on the other side, there’s no controlling the tiny growl of frustration.

  It’s Jean-Paul Bisset, a French freelance photographer I’ve occasionally gotten dirty with between the sheets. In fact, he’s the last guy I’d been with prior to meeting Dominik. Regan loves when I regale her with tales of our escapades as he has the biggest dick I’ve ever seen. I often run into him on these types of assignments around the world.

  But I’m no longer interested, and I hope my expression reflects that as I crack the door open. Jean-Paul has been relentless in flirting with me. A bunch of journalists had eaten dinner together a few nights ago, and he’d gotten sloppy drunk. He’d started spouting shit about being in love with me. All a pack of lies. He just wants to get laid. And I get it… in another lifetime, I’d be smiling right now.

  “What do you want?” I ask curtly, refusing to open the door any farther.

  “Oh, come on, Willow,” Jean-Paul pleads in his silky French accent. “You know I want nothing more than to give you pleasure.”

  There was a time when that would have been enough for me, but his words don’t raise my temperature in the slightest—not from attraction, anyway. I temper my tone to a cool level of politeness to cover my aggravation. “I’m sorry, Jean-Paul, but I’m no longer interested.”

  “I don’t believe it,” he scoffs. “You’re always interested.”

  “Not this time,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. To make things a bit easier, I add, “I’m seeing someone—exclusively.”

  Jean-Paul’s eyebrows pop up in surprise. “No.”

  “Yes. And when I’m exclusive with someone, I’m exclusive. I don’t cheat.”

  “Even if I do that thing with my—”

  “Goodnight, Jean-Paul,” I drawl. Trying not to roll my eyes, I start to close the door.

  He shoots a hand out to stop its progress. “If you change your mind, you only need to call.”

  “I know,” I reply softly, then push until the door clicks.

  Leaning against it, I wonder what the hell just happened. I’m not exclusive with Dominik. I’m not anything with him. He broke up with me. Told me if I took this job, we were over, so I owe him no level of loyalty.

  So, why in the hell do I still feel very much like I’m his and he’s mine?

  Why am I not even slightly interested in what Jean-Paul has to offer? Great sex and no emotional ties. It’s all I’ve ever really wanted.

  But that’s not true, is it?

  Damn it all to hell, I want Dominik in every sense of the word. I can’t help it.

  And well, he’s just going to have to accept me the way I am. I’m going to talk to him when I return and make him see that I can continue to do this type of work while remaining perfectly safe. That, with time, he’ll realize it isn’t a big deal. I’m sure I can make him see reason.

  Besides… I’ve got it going on in every sense of the word. The man would be stupid to let me permanently walk out of his life. I mean… I’m hot, fantastic in the sack, do that thing with my throat he loves, and I’m easygoing. I’m a fucking catch, and he knows it. He’s just going to have to accept I have a dangerous job. End of story.

  My cell phone rings and for a moment, I just stare at it, unable to move. I’m lost in my fantasy of making Dominik accept me the way I am. The phone cuts off after five rings, meaning my voice mail picked up.

  When it starts ringing again immediately, I have a flash of fear burst within me. An immediate call back like that means someone needs to get up with me badly, and voice mail isn’t acceptable. Of course, my brain immediately goes to the worst possible outcome—that something has happened to a family member.

  I bolt across the room, roll over my bed, and snatch the phone off the nightstand, seeing that it’s Dax’s number.

  Connecting the call, I put the phone up to my ear and tentatively, with no small amount of fear in my tone, answer, “Hello?”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Dax asks, sounding confused.

  “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? Calling me twice in a row like that? Something’s wrong, right? Mom? Dad? You? Regan?”

  “We’re all fine,” he replies a bit stiffly. “Outside of playing like shit the day before yesterday in the first game.”

  “Yeah… I read about it,” I commiserate. I’ve been wondering how Dominik is taking it but of course, I’m too proud to reach out and ask.

  “Listen,” Dax says with enough hesitation that I go on high alert. “I have a few people on the phone with me.”

  “Is everyone all right?” I screech, unable to control my fear that someone in my family is dead and the rest are on the line for moral support.

  “We’re fine,” he insists again. “I swear. But I do have Mom and Dad on the phone, and well… Dominik, too.”

  The mention of Dominik’s name causes me to go numb. Because, for the life of me, I can’t imagine in a million years why he’d be on a phone call with Dax, my parents, and me.

  “We’re worried about you, honey.” It’s my mom’s voice, and I sag onto the bed.

  “Worried?” I mumble. What in the hell had Dominik told them about our relationship?

  “About the danger level of your job,” my dad pipes up, and the numbness disappears at the hard tone of his voice. “You were fucking injured by a grenade, Willow. How could you keep that from us?”

  I’m stunned into immobility again because my dad just dropped the “F” bomb. Never in my twenty-seven years have I heard him do so, and it’s as shocking as when I actually had gotten shrapnel from a grenade blast.

  “I take great precautions—”

  “You were hit with a grenade,” my dad snarls. “Had I known that, you can be rest assured you would be in another line of work—”

  “I’m an adult
,” I snap. My voice carries all the ice I feel inside over them treating me like a child. “You have no say in what I do.”

  “I have the right to express my concerns,” my dad thunders, and I wince. “Do you think I want you coming home in a body bag?”

  “Of course you don’t,” I soothe conciliatorily, but then something strikes me. “Wait a minute… how did you know I’d been injured?”

  And before anyone can tell me, it hits me like a sack of bricks falling right on top of my head. I snarl my fury into the line as I understand why he’s on the phone. “Dominik… you asshole. What did you do? Run off to my family and tell them so you could… what? Have me dragged back and put in my place like a good little girl?”

  “You never said it was a secret,” he growls right back at me. “And I didn’t run off to tell them. It came up in conversation with your brother and I assumed he already knew about it. Don’t get mad at me when you’re the one keeping secrets from the people who love you.”

  I get no time to respond to Dominik, which I’m actually glad about. He’s sort of right. I never told him it was a secret.

  My mom speaks again, ever the peacekeeper in any given situation. She also has backbone, which I admire. “Honey… I was not in favor of calling you like this. I said it would be better to discuss this when you returned home. However, the men in this family seem to think they can convince you to get on a plane right now and return home. I know you better than that, so I’m just going to ask you to give our worries some thought. We want you to be happy and in a career you enjoy, but please respect now that we’re aware of exactly how dangerous your work is, we’re frankly terrified.”

  God, that makes me feel like shit. It’s the exact reason I kept this from them.

  But I love my family, and I don’t want them to suffer. Most of this intervention is probably fear of the unknown, and I need to give some assurances. “As it stands, I’m flying out in the morning. I promise we can talk when I get home.”

  “Okay,” my mom replies with a gusting breath of relief. “We love you so much.”

  “I love you all, too,” I murmur, and then trying to add some levity into the situation, I turn to tease my father. “And next time, Dad, maybe leave the “F” bombs out of it. You about gave me a heart attack.”

  “Now you know how I feel,” he replies sadly, and I grimace. I’d walked straight into that one. “But I love you, Willow, and we can talk about this when you get home.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I reply, my ears a little hot from the pointed reminder I really hurt my parents.

  “When will you be home?” Dax asks.

  “I’m set to fly into Phoenix,” I reply. “It’s a full twenty-four hours of travel with my connections. I’ll text you the details.”

  “Regan will pick you up,” he confirms. “I’ll be at the arena getting ready.”

  Nothing from Dominik. He has remained silent, so I have to wonder why in the hell he’s even on this call.

  “Honey,” my mom pipes in. “We’ll be in town for the game. Maybe we can have breakfast the morning after and talk.”

  “Can’t wait,” I reply in an overly bright voice that has Dax snickering.

  The line goes quiet, and no one breaks it. For some reason, I want Dominik to speak up—to give me some clue as to what he’s feeling right now. He called it quits, yet here he is now, part of a familial intervention into my career choices.

  I’m so confused.

  “Okay,” I finally drawl. “I better get going. I have dinner plans tonight.”

  Not really, but whatever.

  Everyone starts talking at once, saying goodbye and sending me their love.

  Everyone except Dominik.

  He doesn’t utter a single word.

  When I finally hang up, I have no idea how I feel about him at this point.

  CHAPTER 15

  Dominik

  I take a sip of bourbon on the rocks. It’s my second of the night and just the start of the third period, but I can breathe a little easier, at least as far as the game is concerned. We have the Vancouver Flash well in hand with a commanding 5-1 lead at this point. Of course, anything can happen, but my men look like the champions I know them to be so far.

  I can’t say for sure what caused the disconnect on the ice during game one, but it seems to have been a fluke. Tonight, they’re skating better than ever, making crisper passes, and seem to be thinking five moves ahead of the other player in one-on-one situations.

  Doesn’t mean I’m not still filled with pissy feelings, though, and they have everything to do with the fact Willow isn’t in the owner’s box with me. Not that I expected her to accept my invitation given the fact she thinks I ratted her out to her family, but fuck… I just want to see her.

  Want to be able to confirm for myself that she’s okay.

  I want her to acknowledge I didn’t intentionally tell her brother in the hope to gain something from it. If I’d known it was a secret, I’d have taken it to my grave for her.

  Most of all, I need her to know that despite the fact she has an extremely dangerous job, I won’t let that come between us. When I broke things off, it had been pure, unadulterated male ego doing the yammering.

  It wasn’t the real me, and I need a chance to tell her that.

  I thought it would be tonight, here at the game, but it appears it won’t be.

  “Team is looking really good,” Tom Solomon says from beside me. We’ve been standing right behind the four rows of seats in the owner’s box for most of the game. The seats are always filled with business associates, guests of those associates, and even friends of friends. There’s a popular country music star and her date in the front row, compliments of a friend of a friend who asked for the seats.

  I never sit down, though. Always too nervous.

  “They’re definitely looking strong tonight,” I reply. Tom is an old friend of mine from my internet radio days.

  “You seem distracted.”

  I give him a sharp look. Is it that obvious that despite the fact I’ve had my eyes glued on the ice, I’ve been thinking about something—or rather someone—besides my hockey team?

  “Just wound tight about this game,” I reply smoothly, swirling the bourbon in my glass.

  Wound super fucking tight, actually.

  I lift the glass to my mouth, downing the rest of the liquid in a gulp so large I almost choke on it. My eyes water and I turn toward the wet bar, intent on making another. I took a car service to the game tonight, so there is no issue with me getting shitfaced. In fact, it sounds like a grand idea, especially since the game is going so well.

  Movement from the corner of my eye has my gaze moving over to the door of the owner’s box. It swings open, wide and fast, and then Willow Monahan strides through. Going by the look on her face, she’s not a happy woman.

  I take a brief moment to appreciate her, even though I’m sure that expression is for my benefit alone. She’s stunning—dark hair pulled into a low ponytail, minimal makeup, and a baggy Monahan jersey with black leggings.

  She scans the box and when her eyes land on me, they flash with fury and something else I can’t quite identify. I set the glass down and start toward her, meeting her before she can advance too far in. By the looks of things, I’m in for it.

  Willow comes out swinging. “You are a backstabbing son of a bitch, do you know that?”

  It’s loud enough some of my guests had to have heard her, and I’m not about to let this drama unfold in front of them.

  “I strongly disagree,” I say in a low voice as I take her elbow and steer her right around toward the door. “But we’ll have this conversation in private if you don’t mind.”

  “Why?” she demands, trying to jerk away. I tighten my grip, propelling her through the door and into the hallway. Because the game is in play, most people are in their seats, but there are a few stragglers who give us surprised looks as I continue to march her along while she castigates me.

&nbs
p; “Was telling Dax your way of getting back at me? Did you think I’d come crawling back to you or something? Be the meek little girlfriend who sits around on my ass and lets you take care of me? Is that what you thought, Dominik?”

  We reach the private elevator, which only the executive staff have access to. It goes up to the offices and down to the basement level where the locker rooms are. When I press my security badge to the scanner, the doors open. I push a glaring Willow inside.

  When the doors close, I hit the button for the top floor and take a step back to give her a cool look. “You know damn well you have no reason to be mad, Willow. I didn’t intentionally spill your secret, nor did I even know it was a secret.”

  “Oh, you knew,” she snaps, but I can hear it in her tone… she doesn’t believe it. She’d just wanted the opportunity to put herself within my range so we can hash everything out.

  So be it.

  The elevator opens and I take her elbow again, maneuvering her down a darkened hall and into my office. I shove the door open, push her through, and kick it shut. Before Willow can get another word in, I sling her around until she collides into my body. My mouth crashes down on hers, and I kiss her fucking silent.

  It’s a beautiful thing—the way she responds—and it confirms everything I had been hoping for. She’s not truly mad. It’s repairable.

  I pull away, prepared to apologize for giving her an ultimatum, but fuck if she doesn’t launch into me again. “I mean seriously, Dominik… you should have known my family wouldn’t know about how I got those scars. And besides… what I do with my life is none of your damn business. Why were you even on that phone call to begin—”

  I tune her out. Disconnecting from her ranting, I start to remove my lime green and electric blue tie.

  Vengeance colors, but it has other uses than team pride.

  Seemingly without taking a breath, Willow continues to rail against me. I put my hand to the back of her head and when her jaw unhinges especially wide while calling me all kinds of colorful names, I shove the tie inside.