Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) (12 page)

She listened to the silence, wishing she
could hear Landon's voice. She wanted that feeling again—the one
that she'd had the entire time she was with him. Was this what it
was like to have a friend? A real one?

"Okay, before I get all sappy, I'm gonna hang
up. But . . . well give me a call."

Jerking the phone away from her mouth before
she could say anything else, she eyed the phone. If she pressed 2,
the message would be erased. But she held her breath and pressed
1.

"If he doesn't think I'm a freak after lunch,
this won't faze him." She gave a firm nod and played the rest of
her messages. One from Dean—her throat tightened. Daddy wanted to
see her.

The next message made her skin crawl.

"My name is Charles Lee. I represent Roy
Kingsley, one of the team's investors." The man said smoothly. "I
would like to meet you at your convenience to discuss the coming
season. It would be in your best interest to schedule an
appointment within the next few days."

Sure, I'm right on that.
She pressed
'end' and stuffed her phone in her purse. Then took it back out.
She could ignore that last call—
let Dean deal with the creepy
investors—
but she wouldn't ignore Daddy.

Her hand slipped over her little vial, found
a tiny pack of licorice, and fisted around it.
I disappointed
him once by taking off. I won't do it again.

Half an hour later, she strode up to Daddy's
front door, straightened the skirt to her new suit, and pressed her
finger on the doorbell.

The butler, whose name she'd never gotten
because Daddy didn't approve of chatting with the staff, let her in
with a courteous. "Your father is expecting you, Miss Silver."

"Thank you." She inclined her head, then
clipped across the grand room and hurried up the stairs. She
ignored Dean, who was waiting in the hall, and burst into Daddy's
room. "Daddy, you're looking so much better!"

His cold look stopped her in her tracks.
"What have you done?"

"Oh, don't worry about that now." She slapped
a bright smile on her lips. "How soon will you be strong enough to
get out of that bed?"

"Maybe never." He sat up and slammed his fist
into the rumpled blankets. "I trusted you! How dare you take it on
yourself to make decisions for the team without consulting the
advisors I provided for you! What were you thinking?"

"But you said we needed a sniper . . . ." A
blank look. Didn't he remember leaving the message? She barreled
on, willing to take the heat for following his directions to avoid
agitating him more than necessary. "We have to entertain the fans,
Daddy." She sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. "I know
how to do that. I thought that's why you chose me?"

"No. I chose you because there was no one
else."

"But—"

"Shut up!" The veins in his neck swelled and
his face reddened. Her hand hovered over her throat as she prepared
for him to collapse, but his face shifted into a chilling calm. "I
have made Richter your partner. Because of your stupidity, I was
left with no choice but to give him proxy control of fifty percent
of the team. Fortunately, the doctor found me fit to make the
decision. Otherwise, you'd still have the power to destroy
everything I've built!"

Destroy it?
Her eyes teared up.
"Daddy—"

"I said 'shut up'." His monitors made a
frightening sound as he dropped back onto the bed, quivering with
rage. "You do nothing unless Richter approves it. Do you
understand?"

"Yes, Daddy." Tears spilled down her cheeks
and she hastened to wipe them away. "I'm sorry."

His shaky smile took her off guard. "I know
you are. You're a good girl. I will forget everything you've done
in the past if you can do this."

"I can." She clenched her fists at her sides.
"I will."

"All right." He settled into the bed and the
monitors stopped making that awful noise. She noticed the nurse
hovering, but kept her focus on her father as he spoke. "Why don't
you get some renovations done in the boxes? Maybe hire a new PR
agent. I've asked Richter to let you handle those kinds of things.
Much as I hate it, you do have some experience with the media. Make
them happy."

She rubbed her wet nose and nodded. "I can do
that."

"I know you can." He patted her hand as his
eyes drifted shut. "Make me proud."

Whatever it takes.
She vowed as the
nurse waved her away.

Dean met her at the door. "Silver—"

"Unless it's about business, you have nothing
to say that I want to hear." The soreness in her throat burst into
sharp little shards of anger. So much for an amicable working
relationship. She wouldn't give him his own way, so he'd found a
way around her. "I never took you for a tattle tale,
Richter.
"

His shoulders squared as he looked down on
her. "This isn't high school, Silver. You wouldn't listen to me. I
knew you'd listen to him."

"With him in that condition? Of course I'll
listen to him. This upsets him so much . . . ." She crossed her
arms over her chest, hating that with him this close, she was
tempted to move in for the hug he looked tempted to give her. "Just
stay out of my business, all right? Like Daddy said, I'm in control
of renovations. And more importantly, PR. I wonder how long you can
hang onto Sloan after it gets out that he can't play for shit
anymore."

"I believe you are in for an unpleasant
surprise if that's what you think."

"We'll see." She gave him a sweet smile. "And
as for Scott, I hope you can handle him. He's the kind of man fans
wants."

"As if you know what the fans want." His lips
curled into a sneer. "Learn the game. Then we'll talk."

You want to hit below the belt,
Mister?
Hell, his ratting her out cut deep enough to scar, but
as long as the marks weren't physical, she could ignore them. They
ranked as high on her scale of importance as her lingering
attraction to him. Or her insane longing for his respect. Their
verbal battles worked on so many levels. They kept him at arm's
length where he belonged.
And I've got a few low blows of my
own.

"I don't have to know the game to understand
men." She thrummed her fingers on his chest. "Men idolize those who
can get any woman they want. Scott can do that."

"Can he?" Dean leaned forward and spoke low.
"Will you be on his list of conquests?"

"May-be." She smirked and shrugged. "He'd be
a step up from the last guy I fucked."

She felt his eyes on her back as she spun on
her heels and made her way down the stairs. Confident as he was,
she sensed that she'd taken this round. If he wanted to keep up
with her, he better up his game.

The kid circled sideways and waved his stick
in Landon's face, his latest, lame-assed attempt to distract Landon
a bit more effective than his previous efforts, but no less
annoying. Landon shoved Carter aside and skidded across the blue
ice to make an easy pad save.

Carter whooped and patted Landon's helmet
with a gloved hand. "Not too bad, Bower."

"Yeah, thanks."
You pain-in-the-ass.
"You're not too bad yourself."
You're lucky you're on my team or
I'd make you swallow your teeth so you look like a pro.
He
watched the younger man take his position for the puck drop and
decided to take his revenge. "So how long before they send you back
to the farm team?"

Carter didn't look at him, but the
distraction kept him away from the net long enough for Landon to
get a clear view of the puck. He snatched the snap shot out of the
air a second before Coach blew the whistle.

"Slick." Carter shot him a gun-shaped glove
salute before skating away.

Slick. Right.
Landon nodded at the
guys who skated by to give him half-hearted props. Aside from
Carter, the team was still a bit stiff with him, but he didn't
blame them. Goalies held the fort. The last one had thrown games
for profit. They trusted the backup goalie, but he just couldn't
cut it as a starter. Which meant they had to put their faith in
Landon.

He hadn't earned it yet. But he would.

After lingering on the ice long enough to
make sure the locker room would be mostly empty by the time he went
in, Landon lumbered down the hall, stopping short at the sight of
shapely, tanned legs gripped around the waist of the big
defenseman, Dominik Mason.

"What did you say to me, bunny?" Mason
wrapped his hands under the woman's knees, hefting her up a little
higher. "Sure sounded like 'mentally challenged'. What do you
think, Perron?"

"I think we should give the lady a chance to
explain herself." Perron grinned around the mouthpiece he was
chewing on. "So what do you say, sugar? Did we hear wrong?"

"Yes!" Oriana squirmed. "I was talking about
someone else!"

"Were you?" Mason's tone dropped, taking on a
hard edge. "First of all, I do not tolerate lying. Second, your
response was to my question of 'who are you waiting out here for,
dressed like that?'"

Perron shook his head. "You've gotten
yourself in a heap of trouble, Oriana. Might as well come
clean."

Oriana let out a squeak, then a moan.
"Please, Master. Don't do that here."

"Then be honest with me," Mason said,
nuzzling her neck.

"Fine." She sighed as he set her on her feet.
"I insulted you. I lied. I'm a very bad girl." She bit her bottom
lip. "I beg you to take me home to punish me."

Mason rubbed his chin. "Well . . . ."

"No." Perron held a finger up and frowned
when Oriana sputtered a protest. "You've been mouthier than usual
lately. I think a few nights pleasuring yourself while we watch
should get the point across. Then, to make sure you don't forget,
perhaps a public scene at the club?"

"I wasn't
that
bad!"

"Really?"

Oriana shuffled her feet, head down, the
perfect depiction of a contrite little sub. "I'm sorry."

Landon couldn't hold back a smile. Such
natural submission was a beautiful thing.

"You're lucky Landon is too much of a
gentleman to embarrass you by making his presence known, bunny."
Mason lightly cuffed her chin, then gave Landon an offhand salute.
"Would you like her to apologize to you for this willful display,
Master Landon? On your knees, pet."

Brow furrowed, Landon quickly shook his head
before Oriana could kneel in front of him. "That won't be
necessary. I won't—"

"The offer was for a simple apology, Landon."
Mason's jaw hardened. "Do you honestly think we'd pass her off to
someone else as a punishment?"

Landon's eyes narrowed. "If you have any
experience in the lifestyle, you know it happens."

"If?" Mason laughed. "You're awfully young to
claim much experience, Bower."

"You're awfully narrow-minded for a man in
the middle of a ménage."

"Is that so—?"

"Actually, most would consider it a
polyamorous relationship," Perron arched a brow at Mason and pulled
Oriana to his side. "So, you've both proved you've got long
shlongs. Can we bring our baby home so we can watch her play with
the new toys I got her?"

Heat spilled over Landon's cheeks. Pretty
ridiculous, getting into a pissing contest with his teammate.
Granted, people in the lifestyle commenting on his youth often got
his guard up, but that was no excuse. "Excuse me. I meant no
disrespect."

"Don't bother." Perron smacked his shoulder.
"Dominik is in thug mode. You'll be grateful for it on the ice, but
it's a pain in the ass because he gets stuck in the role for hours
after a game."

Oriana giggled. "Which is why you got me the
kinky ref outfit."

Mason rolled his eyes. "I think Bower's heard
enough. Say goodnight to the nice man, pet. We will finish this in
private."

Breathe quickening, Oriana moved closer to
Mason and mumbled. "Goodnight, Sir."

Landon watched the trio walk away, shook his
head, and went into the locker room. The captain, Callahan, was
sitting on the bench in front of Landon's stall.

"You did really good out there." Callahan
stood and moved aside to give Landon space to get changed. "But you
were late coming back from lunch. Paul told me you had an
impeccable attendance for training with your last team. Something
going on I should know about?"

"Not at all." Landon peeled off his sweat
dampened practice jersey and tossed it onto the pile in the corner.
"Just lost track of time."

"I see." Callahan sighed. "Fuck, man, you've
got a shitload of pressure on you, and it sucks, but this team is
recovering from a serious blow. To top it off, I just found out
Scott Demyan was added to the roster. We've got a spoiled little
diva running the show and—"

"I consider Silver a friend, Callahan, and
I'd appreciate it if you don't talk about her like that." Landon
grinned at Callahan's stunned look. "I get that it was a bad trade,
but so what? One man doesn't make us less of a team." He shrugged.
"And who knows, he may surprise us and make her look like a
genius."

"I doubt that."

"Hey, don't give up on the guy before he even
gets here. He agreed to play for the team. That's got to mean
something."

"Yeah, it means no one else wanted him."
Callahan massaged his eyes with his fingertips. "Look, he's my
problem. I'll figure it out. My main concern is making sure you're
comfortable with the men in front of you. You let me know if
there's any way I can make this easier for you."

"Will do."

Callahan nodded and headed for the door.
Halfway there, he paused. "And Bower?"

Landon looked up from where he was undoing
his pads. "Yeah?"

"Don't be late again."

Chuckling, Landon shed the rest of his
equipment and then made his way out to the empty player's lounge.
He liked the captain, even though he seemed like a bit of a tight
ass. Perron seemed pretty cool—though he couldn't fathom a
Honeymoon that lasted less than twenty-four hours being shared . .
. And then there was Mason. He couldn't read the man. His
reputation at the club was sterling, but he was a different animal
on the ice. He'd reserve judgment.