Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) (23 page)

"There we go." He pulled her to
her feet. "Take your shower and leave it in. I may take it out
before you sit down to eat if you tell me how sorry you are."

"I'm not sorry."

He frowned as though
frustrated with her response. "You know what, I believe you. I may
have been very wrong about you. Do whatever you want."

Fine, I
will.
Not like it mattered what he
thought. She laughed in his face and scampered to the bathroom
before he could use the flogger again. The plug was just big enough
for discomfort, but nothing she couldn't handle. He should have
gone for a bigger size if he really wanted to punish
her.

Size didn't
matter much as the heavy plug weighed on the
snug ring of muscles. Irritating, but worse, a constant reminder of
how things had shifted from their talking and then their lusty
play. Under the hot spray she felt her defiance wash away. Part of
her wanted to push him, to test him, but . . .

But what?

The way he'd looked at her, that
disappointment, which only darkened after she'd laughed, ruined
everything. Maybe she'd pushed him too far. She didn't want him to
stop caring.

Why? He's not your Master. You
don't want a Master.

Well, playing with one once in
awhile might be interesting.

Find another one. Shouldn't be
that hard.

But, she didn't want another
one.

She wanted Dean.

Which scared the hell out of
her. Dean was too intense. Too . . . real. Who knew how far she'd
go with him at the club if she went there and let him dominate her.
What if he proved that she was submissive? What then?

Her fingers, slick with some
fresh spring scented soap, found the tiny bumps on her ass where
he'd bitten her.

What if I just get off on the
pain?

Only one way to find out. For
now, she could submit to him—another hour wouldn't kill her. Then
tomorrow she would test her pain theory. With someone a little less
. . .

Uber
Dom!
She giggled and finished washing.
After drying off, she cracked the door open and called out.
"Sir?"

Dean came to the door and arched
a brow at her.

"I'm really, truly sorry.
Calling you names was immature and rude. I mean, you invited me for
breakfast and gave me a fucking amazing orgasm and—"

"All right, that's enough, pet."
He shook his head and backed her into the bathroom. "Apology
accepted. Grovelling doesn't suit you."

"Then—"

"Hands on the bathtub."

She put her hands on the bathtub
and braced for him to take the plug out. He pressed on it and her
body shuddered.

"It will take some work to wear
you out, won't it, baby." Stroking her spine, he curved his fingers
into her while keeping pressure on the plug with his palm. "You'll
come again when I take this out."

"Nonono! Ah!" The orgasm
slammed into her as he gently eased the butt plug out. She sobbed
at the empty, empty feeling but his fingers saved her, giving her
something to clench down on. The last wave drained her and she
dropped to her knees, not moving as he found a cloth and cleaned
her, though whispers of humiliation escaped her. "Don't, oh
don't."

"It's all right, sweetie. We're
done." He pressed her head against his thigh and petted her hair.
"I put your suit on my bed. Get changed in my room and join me for
breakfast. Things will be all back to normal."

He was right. Shortly after,
dressed and primped, with her damp hair in a nice neat bun, she was
able to sit at the table across from him without one thought of all
she'd let him do. Or all she wanted to let him do. She could almost
pretend this was actually a normal breakfast with a co-worker.
Except for when Dean fed her the first, delicious mouthful, which
reminded her of decadent apple pie without the thick, flaky crust.
Or when she watched Dean lick a bit of apple filling from his
bottom lip. Or when she wished he would kiss her again.

"What would you think of cooking
lessons?"

Almost certain they'd been
discussing the press conference—or had that been before she'd
distractedly mentioned her ideas for renovating the VIP boxes—she
washed down a mouthful with a sip of milk and tried to get her
thoughts back on track.

"Cooking lessons?"

"You said you wanted to learn."
He set his fork on his empty plate and leaned back. "I'd be happy
to teach you."

She tore her gaze away from his
chest and filled her mouth again so she wouldn't recall how good he
tasted. "You don't have enough to do with teaching me about the
team?"

"The offer's on the
table." Dean stood and cleared the table. "Let me know what you
decide."

"I'd love it, I just
don't—" She cut herself off. He obviously couldn't hear her over
the water blasting into the kitchen sink. So she answered
herself.
Maybe he wants to
spend time with me.

The concept of a man wanting to
spend time with her to do something other than fuck was still a
little strange, but Landon had already shown her how pleasant it
could be. Could she have something like that with Dean? Did she
want to?

Spotting a cloth hanging
from the stove, she went to fetch it and approached the dish rack.
"Is it okay to use this to dry the dishes?"

"I can do it."

"But I want to." She picked up a
fork when he nodded and chewed her bottom lip as she rubbed it with
the cloth until it shone. "Thanks for breakfast. I really enjoyed
it."

"You're very welcome." He
glanced over at her as he washed the frying pan. "So, you were
saying the colors in the VIP boxes are too drab?"

She nodded. "I'm thinking
something a bit more modern. I've called in a designer and a
contractor. I know they're already all sold for the season, but
there's space for two more if we cut down on seats—I mean, with all
the empties we've always got near the back—"

He smiled, shut off the water,
and rested his hip on the counter. "You've done your homework."

"Well, what do you think I do in
the office all day?"

"I wasn't sure, but I'd like to
know what else you've come up with."

Warmth filled her as she looked
into his eyes and saw he really, truly meant it. "How much time do
we have? This could take awhile?"

He checked his watch. "We have
an hour."

"That's not enough." She quickly
finished putting away the dishes and waved him over to the table.
"But I guess I can tell you about the magazine."

"The magazine." He blinked and
sat across from her. "I'm not sure—"

"Please hear me out. I think
this will be great for the team and they need all the publicity
they can get, just . . . ." Inhaling deep, she watched his face to
make sure she hadn't lost his interest already. She hadn't.
"Promise not to laugh."

Reaching across the table, he
held his hand out, palm up. When she gave him her hand, he squeezed
it. "I will never laugh at you. I may not always agree, but I will
always take you seriously." He released her hand at her nod and
straightened. "Now, tell me about the magazine."

She told him about it. And about
the charity events, speaking in a rush, sure he'd eventually get
bored.

But an hour and a half
later
she
was the one who noticed the time. And he made
her
promise they could discuss her plans further after the
press conference. They made it there just in time and she was sure
she'd have to powder her face for the cameras because she must be
glowing, she felt that good.

Unfortunately, her only
appearance in front of the cameras was to tell the media the press
conference was cancelled.

Scott hadn't bothered to show
up.

The swarm of reporters slowly
thinned until only a couple from the gossip columns remained. Dean
watched them with his arms folded over his chest as they hovered
near Silver, practically frothing at the mouth, waiting for her to
say something they could use. These kinds of leeches didn't usually
come to press conferences, but it wasn't too hard to figure out
what had drawn them. Two celebrities, the first Silver herself, the
second the infamous Scott Demyan.

Moments ago, Silver had begged
for a break to get a glass of water. He'd tried to intercede and
tell the vermin it was time to leave, but she'd caught his eye and
mouthed, "Let me deal with it." So he stood back and watched,
feeling useless for the first time in his career. Much as he
publicly supported Silver, nothing he could say or do would make
this acquisition okay. And as much as he wanted to protect her from
the aftermath, she seemed determined to handle it on her own.

His chest tightened as he
watched her turn away from the reporters, blinking fast and
swallowing hard. He took a step forward.

She spun around and smiled
at the young man in the cheap, twill jacket and the middle-aged
woman who looked like she moonlighted as a hooker. "All right, now
that the rest of them are gone, I do have a little tidbit to give
you, but you
have
to promise not to share it with your editors
until this afternoon."

Close enough to listen,
but not close enough to intrude, Dean's eyes widened as she laid
out the 'real' reason why Scott hadn't shown up. Both reporters
scribbled notes and nodded vigorously as Silver admonished them
once again not to tell
anyone
.

Once they were gone, Dean strode
up to her side and pulled up a chair, forcing her to sit when he
noticed her trembling. "Do you need anything? More water?"

"Just hand me my purse,
please." She thanked him when he did and felt around inside it. Her
hand came out with a liquorice stick. Chewing thoughtfully, she
glanced towards the door to the conference room, then leaned
forward. "You were right. This is
nothing
like Hollywood. They were
asking me about things I know nothing about. I felt so stupid. One
guy laughed at me when I said the minor goalie we used was really
good and we might keep him. I don't know what was so funny. If he
wasn't good, we wouldn't play him right? I know he didn't do well
last night, but he'll get better?"

"He will get better, but he's
only eighteen and he'll need to play a few years in the farm team
before he's ready to play for us in the regular season. But don't
worry about that. You did great."

"I didn't say anything I
shouldn't have?"

"No, but we're going to be hard
pressed to get everything set up." He checked his watched. "I'll
have to make a few calls, but there's something we need to handle
first."

Her lips curved in a slow smile.
"'We'? So you're coming with me to give Scott the good news?"

You're a
vicious little thing, aren't you?
He held
out his arm and felt his own lips curl up as she hooked her arm to
his. "I wouldn't miss this for The Cup." He laughed and shook his
head. "Okay, that's not true, but you know what I mean."

"All hail Lord Stanley."
She bit her bottom lip and shot him a questioning glance as though
making sure she'd gotten it right. At his nod, she grinned. "Shall
we?"

"After you, Miss Delgado."

* * * *

Silver couldn't keep her eyes
off Dean as they drove to Scott's apartment. The plan had been so
last minute, so crazy, that she would have bet he'd tell her off
for being impulsive and not clearing it with him. But, so far,
aside from when she'd contracted Scott and considered trading
Sloan, he'd . . . respected her input on everything. She couldn't
help but wonder when he would brush her off or treat her like a
silly girl who had no business sticking her nose in a man's
game.

He's not Daddy.

The disloyal thought lodged a
lump in her throat. Yes, Daddy was old fashioned, but that didn't
make him a bad person. He'd trusted her enough to give her his most
prized possession.

But why not Oriana?

There was no easy answer.
But she couldn't think about that now. Every time she considered
how unfair it was that Oriana had been overlooked she felt guilty
and that made it harder to do what needed to be done. Like today.
This plan
so
wasn't Oriana's style.

Of course, Oriana
never
would have signed someone like Scott.

"We're here," Dean said, pulling
over to the curb.

Action.

She giggled and shook her head
when Dean frowned at her. He wouldn't get how she turned doing
things like this into a movie she had a lead role in. Most people
probably wouldn't. It just came so automatically most times she
didn't have to think about it. Only this time, she knew there would
be no second take. If she didn't put Scott in his place, he'd ruin
her reputation.

The cool sea breeze lapped her
gently as a sun soaked wave as she clipped up the cobbled steps and
pressed the buzzer for the concierge. A stooped old man opened the
door and Pine Sol clashed with the salty air.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but
we work with Mr. Demyan and we're very concerned." She curved her
hand around her throat and blinked fast. "You see, he's been so
sick that he can't even play and he isn't answering our calls. I
tried buzzing him, but he isn't answering. I need to know that he's
okay."

"After last night, I'd say he's
fine. I got three calls about music and women screaming, but he
ignored me when I knocked on his door." The old man grunted and
unhooked a nest of keys from his belt. "I didn't want to bother the
cops with nonsense. But if you're worried about him, go for it. And
tell him the landlord is considering throwing him out."