GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) (8 page)

She squirmed as Perron’s hand covered her ass. “Max—”

One firm arm around her shoulders held her still as Perron tugged down the hem of her dress. “There you go, love. Not tryin’ to take advantage—you were giving the boys a show.”

Yeah, she was. Thanks for ruining it, buddy.

“Oh, god.” Oriana hid her face under Perron’s arm, whispering. “This isn’t embarrassing enough?”

“It’s all right, darlin’.” The southern drawl Perron usually hid in order to fit in crept into his tone as it deepened with concern. He kissed the top of her head and murmured into her hair. “Would you like for me to ask them?”

Whiskey-colored eyes flicked from one man to the next, paused on Sloan, and closed before she pressed her face to Perron’s chest and mumbled. “No, I will. I’m just . . .”

Sloan grinned. S
urrounded?

Mason moved into the room, and the door drifted shut behind him. “Is this about Stanton? Are you ready to leave him?”

“I can’t leave him.” Her lips parted in a wide O before she snapped them shut.

“Oh, please—” Sloan scowled when Perron gave him a dirty look. Did the man seriously think he’d waste his time listening to her drama?

Before Sloan could tell them all to enjoy the evening and take off, Mason crossed the room to stand over the girl in full white-knight mode.

“What does that bastard have on you?”

“N-nothing—” Oriana seemed to be trying to burrow under Perron’s jersey. Her words were muffled against his chest. “Forget it. Max, please bring me h . . .” She shook her head. “Somewhere.”

“Are you sure?” Perron frowned, massaging her shoulders when she didn’t answer. “You can trust them; I wouldn’t have suggested this otherwise. Just spit it out.”

She gave him a you-can’t-be-serious look, angled away from him, and crossed her arms over her chest, causing her breasts to strain against the tight black laces of her corset. Sloan struggled with the overwhelming urge to wrench her out of Perron’s arms and bury his face in her cleavage.

Which would likely get him slapped. Unless he showed her what a decent guy he could be. His pulse thrummed low in his gut, then descended a little more.
Yeah, time to play nice
.

“Relax, Perron.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step back. “She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

Her grateful smile told him he was headed in the right direction.

“I can do this.” She bent to pick up her jacket and sucked in a shallow breath. Her words sounded strangled, like she couldn’t breathe right. “Just give me a minute.”

She straightened and her face went white. One hand hovered over her chest.

“Fine.” Perron took the jacket from her and laid it on the counter by the sink. “But in the meantime, how ‘bout you get out of that dress.”

Fuck!
Much as he’d love to see her strip, he couldn’t see the girl doing that with them all watching. Probably wouldn’t take much for
Perron
to get her naked, but if he planned to seduce her, why drag the rest of them along? What the hell was the man up to?

“Out of this . . .” She gulped in air like she was standing on the edge of a pool, about to take a plunge into the deep end. Then she gave each of Sloan’s men a long look—while avoiding looking at him at all—and let out a noisy breath. “Yeah, I guess that’s a good place to start.” She put her fingernails between her lips and backed toward the stalls. “I’ll explain when I . . .” She smacked the stall door and stumbled inside. “Please don’t leave.”

The door clicked shut.

“What’s going on, Perron?” T.J.’s pale eyes flashed with rage. He tried to step between Sloan and Perron. “You better start talking or—”

Sloan sidestepped and did his best to keep the big man out of arm’s reach of Perron’s throat. “Calm down. He’ll tell us.”

“Not for me to tell.” Perron leaned his elbows on the counter behind him. At a loud
thump
from the stalls, he cleared his throat. “Need some help, darlin’?”

“Umm . . .” The girl sounded like someone was choking the life out of her. She groaned and there was another thump. “Maybe someone could give me something to change into—”

Vanek skirted around them. “Come to the locker room with me. I’m sure I’ve got something. You’d float in the other guys clothes, but I’m not that much bigger than you.”

Sloan grabbed Vanek by the back of his shirt when he reached for the door. “Go get the clothes. She’ll change in here.” Sloan’s eyes narrowed when the boy opened his mouth to interrupt. “Alone.”

“No!”

Every man in the room went still at Oriana’s shout. Something crashed into the wall hard enough to make the stalls shake. A sob got Sloan moving. Perron reached the stall a step ahead of him.

“Oriana?” The muscles in Perron’s forearm flexed as he took hold of the top of the door, looking ready to tear it right off the hinges.

“I’m okay . . . I’m just . . .” Oriana sniffed, then sighed. “I’m stuck.”

“Do you want me to come in there and help you?”

“Would you?”

A devilish smile slanted Perron’s lips. “Gladly.”

Sloan mentally counted all the reasons he shouldn’t knock his friend’s perfect teeth down his throat. He got stuck on
one . . .
when Mason spoke up.

“I’ve got a better idea.” Mason folded his arms over his chest and gave Perron the look he usually saved for when playtime was about to get real serious. Whips and chains serious.

Now you’re in for it.
Sloan leaned on the wall by the stall and smirked when Perron nervously glanced his way.

When Mason cleared his throat, Perron jumped. “What?”

“You obviously know something. We’ve all been asked to stay, and neither of you are telling us anything.” Mason waited for Perron’s nod, then continued. “If you want to keep this between you, fine. But if we’re being included, for whatever reason, I want to know why. Now.”

The locked clicked. The door opened a crack. Oriana peeked out at them and spoke so quietly Sloan had to hold his breath to hear her. “Don’t blame Max; he’s doing this for me. I need something I can use against my father. He threatened to cut me off if I break up with Paul. Changing his mind shouldn’t take much—he won’t risk me going as far as my sister did—”

“What does Silver have to do with this?” Sloan’s sharp tone had all the men staring at him, but he didn’t give a damn. He’d known Silver for all of a month—couple of years after Delgado acquired the team. She had to be the most self-centered, high-maintenance woman he’d ever met. Not his type at all, and she hadn’t taken it well when he’d say so.

Tough. He didn’t perform on demand.

Oriana gave Perron a helpless look. Perron held up a hand and shook his head, probably having guessed where Sloan’s thoughts had gone. “No one has to do anything. She’s just gonna walk out of here with all of us; make it look like something was going on by getting out of her clothes—”

“I’m liking this idea so far.” Vanek sidled between Sloan and Mason and pulled off his jersey. He bunched it up to toss it to Oriana. “Even if this don’t work, imagine what the guys will say—”

“You’re not gonna look like some big stud if that’s what you’re thinking, Vanek.” Sloan snatched the jersey, feeling Oriana’s eyes on him as he paced to the sink. He fisted the jersey in his hand and rested his knuckles on the edge of the sink. “As a matter of fact, she’s just going to use us to get what she wants—should be something in this for us, but there won’t be.”

The stall door opened all the way. He watched Oriana’s reflection as she slipped out and moved to stand next to Perron.

“What do you think should be in it for you, Mr. Callahan?”

Sloan shrugged. “At least a little show . . .” Her bottom lip quivered, and he groaned. “Shit. I’m kidding. Don’t start blubbering.” He tossed the jersey to Perron. “Help her get changed; I wanna get this over with.”

Expecting Perron to take her into the stall, Sloan hefted himself up on the counter to sit and wait. Oriana crossed the room and bent down to pick up one of her boots.

He had a second to wonder why before she flung it at his head. The sharp heel nicked the arm he shielded himself with, then clattered on the floor.

“What the hell!”

She came at him so fast he thought she’d claw at him like an angry cat. She stopped a foot away and dug those very sharp-looking nails into her palms. Fists pressed to her sides, she stared at him, opening her mouth twice before she finally spoke.

“I don’t use people and I don’t ‘blubber.’ I would really appreciate your help—I know I’m not much to look at, but still . . .” She blinked fast and held her hand up when he pushed off the counter and stepped forward. “Please don’t make fun of me anymore. I don’t like it.”

Make fun of her? What the . . .
“I wasn’t—”

“Shut up.” Perron glared at Sloan like he’d just called the girl some nasty name and rubbed Oriana’s arms. “You are beautiful. But you don’t have to—”

“Please get it off me.” Oriana turned her head away from the men. Perron slung the jersey over his shoulder and went to work on the knotted ribbon of her corset.

Sloan studied her stiff posture and frowned. “Perron—”

“Not now, Callahan.” Perron murmured something to Oriana, and she nodded.

The corset opened wide, revealing soft round breasts covered by sheer black lace, quivering with the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Lovely—but the girl looked ready to hyperventilate.

Taking hold of the bottom of her dress, Perron gave Oriana a bracing smile. “Arms up.”

Oriana put her arms up. Her face was sickly white.

Sloan couldn’t take it any longer. “Perron, stop. She can’t—”

“Yes, I can.” Oriana took a deep breath. “Do it, Max.”

Perron started lifting the dress but paused when she winced. He knelt and looked at something on her thigh. “Ouch. Why didn’t you tell me you got hurt?”

“It’s just a little burn.”

“It’s pretty red.” Perron didn’t sound so sure of himself anymore. He stood and took her hand. “Come on, we’ll go to my place. I’ll take care of this, and then—”

“I want it off!” She twisted her hand free when Perron shook his head and grabbed the hem of the dress like she wanted to tear it from her body. “I wore this for him and I hate it! Like my father said, like Callahan implied . . .” She hissed in air through her teeth. “I look cheap.”

Jesus,
her father and Paul had done a number on her. Never mind the dress, the girl didn’t look comfortable in her own skin. And he hadn’t helped matters with his crude comments. The reddened flesh made him think of the marks he’d leave if he got his hands on her, but concern overrode his baser impulses.

He held out his hand. “Oriana—”

“I’m fine, Mr. Callahan.” A few deep inhales, and she actually managed a smile. “Just stand back and enjoy the show.”

“We certainly will.” Mason used the husky tone all the ladies seemed to like, yet his eyes trailed over Oriana in a way most women found offensive. Strange contradiction, ‘specially since this woman didn’t seem the least bit offended.

She flushed and ducked her head. “Maybe you can help me, since Max won’t.”

Perron grabbed her by the hips before she could go to Mason. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

“Stop stalling and do it then.”

Aren’t we bossy?
Sloan shook his head when Perron simply grinned and obediently stepped up to her. Peeling the dress up over her head, he gave them all an unobstructed view of her beautiful body. Her black lace bra and panties were so sheer he could see her puckered nipples and waxed pussy. His gaze trailed over the exposed flesh, butter smooth, naturally tanned—he wondered whether she’d mark easily. The head of his dick scraped against the inside of his zipper. Lousy time to go commando. He shoved his hands in his pockets and did his best to unobtrusively shift his dick away from the metal teeth.
Damn, damn, damn
.

Perron lowered the jersey over her head, then pulled her hair free of the collar. “There you go. What does my
lady
require now?”

At the emphasis on “lady,” Oriana’s lips parted. “Tim told you about
that
?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Perron gave her a mock bow. “Command me, Mistress. I am eager to serve.”

Sloan groaned. “Tell me you’re not going to make us watch this.”

“We’ve got some time to kill.” Perron shifted his gaze to Sloan in the barely perceptible way he did when he was about to make a blind pass. “If nothin’ else, watching me make an ass of myself ought to be entertaining.”

“Not really,” Mason said under his breath.

Shaking her head, Oriana put her hands on her hips. “Be serious, Max.”

“Try it,” Perron said.

Oriana smoothed her hands down her sides and bunched the bottom of the jersey in her hands, tugging as though she wanted to make it longer. She licked her bottom lip and pointed at the floor in front of her. “Come here. I liked the position you were in before. Get on your knees; I’m going to kiss you.”

At Sloan’s side, Mason coughed back a laugh. Perron glanced over and winked. Then he got on his knees and waited.

Cupping Perron’s face in her hands, Oriana leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips. When Perron made no effort to return the kiss, she let out a frustrated sound and raked her fingers into his hair. Sloan winced when she jammed her mouth over Perron’s and their teeth clinked.

“Shoot.” She touched Perron’s bottom lip with her thumb. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it. You ‘bout done?” Perron rose at her nod. “I’ve a mind to ask you something.”

“Okay.” Oriana clasped her hands in front of her and rocked on her bare feet. As the silence lengthened, she wrung her hands and glanced across the room. Perron cleared his throat and she jumped. “What?”

“One step at a time, right?”

“Right.” She gave the hem of the jersey a sharp tug.

Perron gave her a level look. “Good. Go sit on the counter.”

At the command in Perron’s tone, Sloan stood a little straighter and noticed Mason doing the same. T.J. stood near the door, arms crossed, brow furrowed. Vanek had gone almost as white as Oriana.