Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) (18 page)

When Delgado offered him the position of
general manager, he'd jumped on the opportunity. As much as he'd
loved his team in the States, his ambitions had him packing his
wife and daughter and moving back to his birth country. While his
marriage fell apart, he took comfort in the fact that twenty three
men relied on him to see to their futures. It was almost like being
an officer again—only without the prestige and honor of fighting
for a cause. Or such a
big
cause. They still fought for
something, in a way.

Maybe his love for the game made it seemed
grander than it was, but it satisfied him. He pushed his men hard.
Granted, they weren't putting their lives on the line for their
country, but there was some national pride involved. Canada lived
and breathed hockey and he would see his team flourish and become
one of the legendary franchises.

So long as
he
didn't let anything
distract him.

Pausing in front of the elevator, he pressed
the down button and groaned. Reaffirming his goals didn't help. His
dick strained against the steel-toothed cage of his zipper and his
flesh recalled Silver's soft skin, her brief submission . . . and,
worst of all, her strength. She cared for Landon, and the fear of
losing him had almost paralyzed her, but she'd set that aside to
see to his needs. How could he not respect that?

You told her you didn't want to distract
her,
the cold, logical voice within said.
Be honest. You're
afraid she'll distract you.

No. Nothing could distract him. But that
didn't mean he couldn't enjoy her away from here, at the club where
he was in complete control, where nothing unexpected could be
thrown at him that he couldn't handle . . .

Speaking of which, it was time for him to
meet their new player.

The elevator doors opened. He stepped
forward. A woman with a CBC press badge pinned to her chest stepped
out, forcing him back.

"Are you Dean Richter?"

"Yes." He glanced at her badge and ground his
teeth. "Rebecca Bower. Are you here to see your brother?"

"No." The petite woman looked him over and
pursed her lips. "I'd like to speak to you first."

"Of course." He held out his hand towards the
elevator. "I am heading down to the rink to meet our new
acquisition. You may join me—if you keep this off record."

"Sure." She backed into the elevator and
fiddled with the amethyst pin on her lapel. She seemed nervous, but
she pounced when the doors closed. "You have a game tonight. I need
to know there's no chance of my brother playing."

Dean inclined his head and smiled. "You do
know he's been cleared?"

"I really don't give a shit. I may have
agreed to off the record, but if my brother is put on the ice, I'll
dig in deep and find a way to expose your team for putting your
players at risk." Rebecca pulled her cell phone out of her
serviceable black purse. "The fire made the headlines. I've been
fending off calls offering sympathy for my brother's demise all
day. He left a message while I was on my way here, saying he was
fine, but that's not good enough. I've already spoken to the doctor
he saw at the hospital. He was advised to take a few days off to
make sure there weren't any lingering symptoms from smoke
inhalation."

"Ma'am, I make a point of being informed of
my player's medical conditions. I apologize if you've made this
trip for nothing, but Landon is being well cared for."

"My trip wasn't for nothing." Her cheeks
reddened slightly. "My editor approved it hoping I'd get a story. I
refuse to make one out of my brother being an idiot. But an
exclusive with Scott Demyan will satisfy him."

Dean nodded. "I can arrange that. The team
will hold a press conference about the acquisition tomorrow, but I
see no harm in you providing a preliminary report. Last I heard,
your brother is resting in the player's lounge. He's a dedicated
player and sticks to his routine. I'd prefer not to disturb him if
you will accept my assurance that he's well."

"Thank you, Sir." She ducked her head and his
inner Dom instantly acknowledged her tone and submissive behavior.
For some reason, this seemed natural for her. And accepted. He
refused to guess on her involvement in the lifestyle, but she was
clearly comfortable with it. Unlike Silver— Rebecca cleared her
throat to regain his attention. "May I ask you a question? Off the
record?"

"You may."

"Are
all
your men Doms? I only ask
because I need to know Landon will fit in here."

"Why wouldn't he?" His eyes narrowed when she
looked away. "Answer me."

Her breath hitched. "He was eighteen when one
of his professors introduced him to the lifestyle. The man was hard
core, leatherman, but even after he learned that Landon was
straight and dominant . . . well, he didn't care. He taught Landon
everything he knows. They became close friends and the only thing
Landon cared about as much as hockey was becoming the 'perfect
Dom'." She scowled at her patent leather pumps. "His girlfriend at
the time pretended to be submissive to keep her hooks in him. He
felt guilty for not being able to give her the time she needed
because of his dedication to the game, so he gave into her every
demand when he wasn't on the road. Things ended . . . tragically."
She paused and made a face, as though suddenly realizing she'd said
too much. "If he wants you to know more, he'll tell you, but I just
wanted you to know . . . ."

"I understand." Dean wanted to push her for
more, and with how vulnerable she was after nearly losing her
brother, she'd likely tell him anything he wanted to know, but he
wouldn't take advantage of her. "And I'll keep an eye on him."

"Good." Her nostrils flared with a sharp
inhale. "Because there are rumors spreading about him and Silver
Delgado and I don't want her to—"

He straightened and put his hand on her arm
as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. "Landon is a big
boy, Rebecca. I will do my best to make sure he doesn't get into a
bad situation, but you'll have to trust him to make his own
decisions. And Silver won't hurt him."

She glared at him and yanked her arm free.
"So you say."

"Silver is the reason he's not playing
tonight."

"Oh."

"Yes. 'Oh'." He smirked. "You really don't
need to protect your brother from her. From what I've seen, she
considers him a friend."

Rebecca followed him to the training room,
muttering softly. "The friend status with that woman is a good
thing."

Dean sighed and pushed the door open. He
expected to see Demyan on one of the bikes, warming up for the
game. Instead the man was face down on a table, groaning as one of
their only female trainers massaged him.

"Right there—oh, yeah." Demyan shifted and
caste the petite Asian woman a hooded look. "You've got magic
fingers, babe. I can breathe all right now. You wanna see what else
I can do?"

Before the trainer could answer, Dean spoke
up. "I would. Perhaps you can join your teammates and get dressed
for the game?"

"Coach didn't tell you?" Demyan let out a
fairly convincing hacking cough. "I'm not on the lineup tonight.
I'm sick."

Like hell you are.
Dean studied the
man, ignoring his cynical thoughts. His skin did seem a little
flush, and he was breathing hard—accusing him of faking would start
their working relationship off on a bad foot, so Dean let his
suspicions slide and waved the trainer away.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Have you seen the
team doctor?"

"Naw, he's busy with some kid—Tyler Vanek?"
Demyan rolled over and stretched. "I'll be fine for the last
preseason game, I just need to rest up a bit."

Vanek?
Dean shook his head. The boy
wouldn't be fit to play until midseason, if that. His head injury
was so severe the doctor had told Dean, quite frankly, that his
career might be over. The fact that he was young and in good shape
leaned in his favor, but it was too soon to do more than pray for a
good outcome.
After
he'd had time to heal.

Dean would have to speak to him.

"You have to pass the medical evaluation
before you can play, but if you rest up tonight, I think you should
be fine for Friday's game." Dean reached out and patted the wiry
man on the shoulder. He wasn't even warm. "We'll be holding a press
conference tomorrow to show you off to the fans." He glanced over
at the pile of clothes by the table and pressed his lips together.
Ragged jeans and a white wife-beater. Real classy. "I expect you to
be wearing a suit."

Demyan chuckled. "A suit? Yeah, I don't do
suits."

"You do now." Dean did his best to keep his
tone neutral. He already didn't like the guy. "I suggest you go
over your contract with your agent. All players must dress
appropriately for team functions. This includes all games and press
conferences. Not exceptions."

"Really? We'll see about that." Demyan sat up
and wrapped the white towel draped over his groin around his hips.
He looked ready to make a smart-assed remark, but then noticed
Rebecca, standing a few feet behind Dean. "Hey there, cutie. Sorry
the GM is being rude—he should have made introductions before he
started nagging." He held a hand out. "I'm Scott Demyan."

"Rebecca Bower." Rebecca strode forward and
grabbed Demyan's hand, shaking it hard before blurting out. "I
would like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind."

Raking his gaze over her professional attire
like he was stripping each piece off with his eyes, Demyan nodded
slowly. "Let me take you out to dinner and I'll tell you anything
you want to know, babe."

"I won't be here that long." Rebecca gave him
a sweet smile and pulled her wallet out of her purse. "I left my
daughter with my parents, but I promised to be back in time to tuck
her in. My flight leaves in an hour. I miss her so much. Isn't she
adorable?"

The way Demyan stared at the picture of the
sweet little girl with curly pigtails proved that Rebecca had
chosen the right escape route. Men like him didn't fool around with
women who had 'baggage'.

Demyan cocked his head to one side. "Can't
your husband tuck her in?"

Rebecca held out her left hand, wiggling her
fingers with an amused expression on her face. "I'm divorced."

"Get your parents to do it then. I swear,
it'll be worth it."

That did it. Dean didn't want this scum-bag
on his team. Unfortunately, he was stuck with him.

"A fifteen minute interview shouldn't make
your
condition
any worse." Dean slapped Demyan's shoulder
hard enough that both he and Rebecca winced. "This will show the
fans how
dedicated
you are."

Demyan grumbled something under his breath
and squared his shoulders. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

Rebecca dropped her purse on the table after
taking out a notepad. She glanced at it, then shot off her first
question. "You've been involved in several scandals, including one
that involved two prostitutes. Should the Dartmouth Cobras expect
the same behavior here or have you changed your ways?"

Gut check!
Dean grinned. Not only had
Rebecca turned the slick asshole down quite effectively, but she'd
gone right for the jugular to begin her interview. He'd heard good
things about the Bower family and he already liked Landon. Perhaps
he should send Rebecca off with tickets for the first at home game
so he could meet them all.

Shoving himself off the table, Demyan scowled
at his clothes. "Mind if I get dressed before the
interrogation?"

"Not at all," Rebecca said. "I'll wait for
you in the hall."

Dean followed her to the door, then glanced
over his shoulder at Demyan. "My assistant will be present for the
interview, since we're presently between PR agents and we don't
want you to say anything that would damage your—or the
team's—reputation."

"Wouldn't want that." Demyan pulled on his
jeans, looked up, and let out a weak cough. "After that I'm heading
home. I'll swing by around noon for the press thing."

"It's scheduled for 10am."

"10am it is then." Demyan rolled his eyes.
"Anything else, Richter?"

"No, that will be all." Dean smiled. "Ms.
Bower will meet with you in the player's lounge. I think she can
handle things from there."

And sometime between now and then, I'll
have to speak to Silver.
He closed the door behind him and
hesitated beside it.
She screwed up. She needs to know the press
will rub it in.

For some reason 'I told you so' didn't even
register. All Dean could see was the coming media circus. All he
could think of was ways to protect her from it.

Even though she'd brought this on
herself.

* * * *

Landon uncapped a bottle of beer and passed
it to Silver. They'd sat silently in the Owner's box through most
of the first period while she remained fixed on the play as though
he might give her a pop quiz when it was over. He relaxed into the
cushy leather sofa and fought the urge to play with her hair as she
leaned forward and held her breath.

Down on the ice, several players brought up
from their farm team jostled for the puck. Callahan and Perron
rested on the bench, red faced and exhilarated, even with their
limited play time. Preseason was a time to get the team ready for
the real games, and to test the rookies to see who was ready to
take their place on the team. The best players took the ice for a
couple of games and the results meant nothing. Still, he would have
liked to be down there with his new team. It didn't matter that the
stats didn't count. He was itching to prove himself.

Silver tugged his sleeve and let out a tiny
growl as Luke Carter, a rookie power forward, took a nasty hit into
the boards. "That can't be legal! We have to go down there
and—"