Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) (25 page)

Scott came out with another gem
at exactly the right moment. "My niece was diagnosed with Leukemia
when she was five years old. She . . . she didn't make it, but
funds like this have made a lot of progress in treatments since she
passed away. Hopefully the money we raise will result in more
children beating this. I plan to contribute whenever possible. This
is just the first step."

She had to believe this
part of his interview was real. And what he'd told her and Dean
after convinced her it was. He carried a gun because his brother
was a heavy gambler and when his brother failed to pay his debts,
the thugs he dealt with went after Scott. His brother was too proud
to ask for his help, even when the medical bills threatened to put
his family out on the street. Scott had handled his brother's
debts, but that hadn't been enough, because his brother wouldn't
stop borrowing to feed his addiction. Losing his daughter, then his
wife only made it worse. So Scott continued to pay until one day
he'd had enough. He ignored the phone calls and met 'the collector'
at the door with a gun of his own. The guy hadn't expected it, so
he backed down, but that only bought Scott a bit of
time.

He still expected the goons to
come after him.

What if they do?

"Silver." Landon snapped his
fingers in front of her face. "What are you thinking about? You
just went white."

"The pizza." She leapt to her
feet and rushed to the bathroom. And bent over the toilet as her
excuse became the truth. Someone crouched behind her and gathered
her hair away from her face.

She prayed it was Oriana.

"You will tell me what's got you
so upset," Landon said. When she sat up, he wet a facecloth in the
sink and knelt to dab her lips. "Once you're feeling better. Do you
think you can stand?"

She nodded, and made it to her
feet before the floor tilted like it was trying to pitch her off.
But Landon caught her and the world steadied as she settled into
his arms and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Ma pauvre petit, you've
had a rough day, haven't you?"

"Uh uh. Just tired." She pressed
her eyes shut and sniffed his throat. "Mmm, I like your
cologne."

"I'm not wearing any."

"Oh." She huffed out a breath
and sighed as he lowered her somewhere soft. "I think I need to
sleep."

"I agree." Landon's
fingers delved into her hair, plucking out all the bobby pins she'd
used to secure her bun. "I'll crash on the sofa. You can stay
here."

Landon's bed. She was in
Landon's bed and she really shouldn't be. "Give me a few minutes
and I'll get up and go home."

"In a few minutes you'll be fast
asleep."

Probably.
She burrowed her head
into the pillow. The darkness behind her closed lids swept her
away. And narrowed until she was staring into a circular
hole.
Bang!
She jumped and her eyes shot open. "What was
that?"

"What?" Landon strode across the
room and took her hands, rubbing them as though they were cold.
"You fell asleep, Silver."

"No, I wasn't sleeping." Shaking
her head, she looked past him. The other men and Oriana were
speaking softly in the living room. The TV had been turned down
low. "I heard something loud, like a door slamming or—" She tried
to sit up, but he pushed her back down. "You didn't hear it?"

"No. Oriana came in awhile ago
to check on you. After I told her you were sleeping, she went out
and everything has been really quiet since." He fingered the collar
of her shirt. "You were probably uncomfortable in all this. Why
don't I get your sister to bring you something comfortable to sleep
in?"

She started nodding, but when he
stood acidic fear spilled up from her gut. Her nails dug into
flesh, but she didn't feel pain. She looked down and let go when
she saw the bloody half moons on the back of Landon's hand.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean
to—"

"Don't worry about it." He
pinched the flesh between his eyes and shook his head. "I hate
feeling useless, mignonne. Tell me what you need."

"I need—"
Just say it!
She scooted over and stared at the empty space on the bed.
"Could you stay with me?"

He nodded, then went to the
small pile of clothes on the dresser. He returned with a t-shirt
and some boxers. "Get comfortable. I'll be right outside—"

"No!"
Pathetic! You're so pathetic!
Damn it, she didn't care. "I promise, I'll tell you
everything tomorrow. Just don't leave me."

His lips pressed together, he
studied her for a moment. Opened his mouth a few times. Then spun
around and spoke with his back to her. "How's this?"

"Perfect." Changing quickly, she
left her clothes on the floor and slipped under the blankets. "It's
safe now."

"Do you want the light on or
off?"

What am I?
Two?
Some cruel voice inside seemed to be
laughing, but Landon wasn't. She considered for a moment and
realized, with him beside her, the darkness wasn't all that
scary.

"Off."

The lights went out. The
mattress creaked as Landon climbed into the bed. For awhile, the
only sound was his steady breaths, rhythmic and comforting. As her
eyes adjusted to the darkness she saw he was laying on his side,
stiff as a board, watching her.

"You don't look comfy." She
inched closer to the wall. "There's plenty of space."

"I'm not sure . . . ." He
groaned. "Look, I don't want things to get awkward between us."

"Oh." She really wasn't being
fair. This was his bed and they'd both agreed to stay friends. And
friends didn't share beds. "This was a bad idea. You've got to get
up early for the game tomorrow and I should go—hey! What are you
doing?"

Yanking at the blankets, Landon
nudged her aside and spread them over both their bodies. Stretched
out on his back, he curved his arm under her shoulder and dragged
her towards him until her head rested on his chest. She wiggled a
little, bending her knee over his thighs, deciding that he made a
very good body pillow.

He took her hand and held it
over his heart. "Much better."

As the heat from his body, and
his steady pulse, and his presence lulled her to sleep, she
smiled.

Yes. Much.

Landon's head weighed on
his pillow, still heavy from a slumber he was reluctant to
shake.
He groaned and scrubbed his hands
over his face. The scent of some kind of pastry beckoned, along
with the sweetness of Silver's laughter. Cuddling up with him last
night seemed to have done her some good.

Hell, he couldn't remember
the last time
he'd
slept so well. His body had tried to make an
issue of it at first, but his conscience won out in the end.
Knowing Silver trusted him enough to fall asleep in his arms
without even a question of him wanting more—that was
enough.

That would have to be
enough.

Friends, Bower. Maybe you
should have it tattooed on your ass so you'll see it when you pull
your head out.

He grunted and pushed off
the bed, swinging his legs over the side to stand. No one should be
expected to think straight in the morning until they'd had at least
two cups of coffee.
He padded into the
hall in the long black shorts he'd picked up the day before for
lazing around the house—modesty and all since it wasn't his
place—and straightened his tank top to cover the bulge of his
semi.

"I still can't believe you made
these from scratch! Mmm!"

The sound of pleasure Silver
made tightened his balls. And when he stepped into the kitchen he
knew he was a goner.

Loose bedroom hair caught the
sunrays from the kitchen window and cascaded the glow in a wave
down her back as she bent over the ironing board, chewing on the
strawberry turnover her sister had fed her. His large white t-shirt
hid her curves, but when the light hit her just the right way the
shadow of her body revealed everything. Then her legs—fuck! how had
he missed them last night? Or when he'd held her at the club,
completely naked. Was it those evil red shoes she was wearing that
made him wonder . . .

Moving up behind her, his
fingers twitched as he fought to keep them out of her hair, fought
to keep his hands off her body and his dick from pressing against
her ass. His every inhale was a struggle. He exhaled fast and hard,
right by her ear.

She went perfectly still.

"Silver." His lips brushed that
soft, soft flesh and he wrestled with the urge to taste it. "Please
go get dressed."

After carefully placing the iron
in the holder at the end of the board, she turned and looked up at
him with wide eyes. "I was just getting your shirt ready for you.
You only have two and they're both wrinkled."

"She did a really good job too."
Oriana slinked over, her own nightclothes covered as usual with a
large robe. She held out the plate of turnovers and waited for him
to take one before she continued. "She doesn't know how to work a
washing machine, but she can take the creases out of anything. I
can't even get a collar that perfect."

"That looks great, thank you,
Silver." He tried to catch her eye so she would do as he'd asked.
He didn't want to say anything that might embarrass her in front of
her sister.

Silver sidled away from him and
unplugged the iron. "I find things look fresher when you iron them
before putting them on. I do it every morning." She glanced over at
Oriana. "Thanks for helping me with the washing machine. I couldn't
have worn the same clothes again. I know you think I'm a snob—"

"I do not."

"You do too! You said it every
day when we were kids!"

My cue to
leave.
"Excuse me, ladies. I'm going to
go hop in the shower—"

"Max is using the one downstairs
and Dominik is upstairs." Oriana nodded towards his untouched
turnover. "You'll have just enough time to eat and get dressed.
Sloan said he wanted to get to the rink by 10 since the game's at
12."

"You don't smell bad." Silver
picked up the shirt and stepped up to him. "If that helps."

Helps? Hell no
it doesn't help.
His heart raced like
he'd just run up a flight of stairs in his goalie gear as she held
out the shirt for him and her breasts brushed his arm. "Why are you
wearing shoes?"

"The floor's cold. I didn't have
socks."

Oriana had gone back to the
stove. He took the opportunity to pull Silver close and spoke in a
firm tone. "I would appreciate it if you'd go get dressed."

"I don't see what the big deal
is."

"Silver—"

"You're wearing less than I
am."

"Silver—"

This time a snarl cut him
off. Well put together in a charcoal suit, black silk shirt, and
tie, Callahan stood in the doorway, scowling at him. Then at
Silver. "Can we save the foreplay and fuck-me-shoes until
after
breakfast?"

Silver's eyes narrowed. "Why?
Are they giving you ideas?"

"It's too early for this
shit." Callahan strode up to the table and grabbed the newspaper.
"Be nice if you had enough respect for your sister not to strut
around like that."

Bright red blotches spread over
Silver's cheeks. "Fuck you, Sloan."

"For the—what is it, tenth
time?" Callahan smirked. "The answer is no."

Landon smoothed his hand
down Silver's side
, trying to calm her
even though he wanted to lay his fucking captain out for being such
an asshole. He let Silver nudge him into a seat and grinned when
she swiped the turnover plate out from under Callahan's hand and
offered it to him.

"Stop it
y
ou two." Oriana frowned at Callahan when
he opened his mouth. "Why don't you go in the living room? I'll
bring your breakfast in a minute."

"I don't need you serving
me." Callahan said.

Oriana poked him in the chest.
"You serve me supper every night."

"I serve supper at the kitchen
table. That's hardly the same."

"Ugh! You're impossible in
the morning!"

While the couple bickered,
Silver began creeping towards the door. Landon hated Callahan
embarrassing her, but at least she'd come back covered up and his
sanity would be saved. He took another turnover.

And dropped it when Silver
screamed.

Landon shot to his feet.
Perron burst out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel. Mason
thundered down the stairs in a pair of boxers.

Callaha
n burst out laughing. "A spider, Silver? You're
incredible."

Eyes flashing with rage,
Silver pried off one of her shoes and threw it at Callahan. The
other was slapped down on the spider and quickly followed the
first. "I hate you!"

"I'm heartbroken, really."
Callahan said, dryly.

Without another word, Silver
stomped down the hall, into Landon's room, and slammed the
door.

No one moved. Landon looked to
Oriana, expecting her to go comfort her sister, but she was too
busy glaring at Sloan. He turned away from them all, his teeth
clenched so hard his jaw hurt. Focusing on the dull ache kept him
from cursing them out.

"Leave her for a bit," Oriana
said, her tone dangerously low. Then she continued, sounding so
fucking pissed he turned again to make sure she wasn't talking to
him. "I can't believe you just did that."

Callahan
's eyes widened. "Me? You're joking, right?"