Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) (33 page)

Professional at work, Dean's rules 101.

Fingering the pearl buttons high on her
throat, she waved him over and pointed at her book. "You aren't
going to believe what I pulled off."

His tongue traced his bottom lip as he
approached her. "Remind me about the office policy?"

Her nose wrinkled. "
Your
office
policy."

"Ah, yes. Mine." He let out a gruff laugh.
"Show me what you pulled off before I forget why the policy is a
good idea."

Oh, I could so torture you!
Tempting—but no. She wanted to see what he thought of all her hard
work more than she wanted to get off. Of course, maybe he'd think
it was stupid. It wasn't his style. Or even Daddy's style.

"Hey, what happened to the woman who was so
excited she danced around her office for about ten minutes?"

Heat rushed over her cheeks. She glared at
him. "You were watching me!"

He shrugged. "Your door was open." He rested
a hand on the edge of her desk and studied her book. "You've booked
several meetings with a Canadian network. Are you getting the team
more air time?"

"Kinda." She circled her desk as she spoke,
straightening her pencil holder and her files. Her purse lay open
on the far corner and she fetched a lollypop. The second the candy
was in her mouth she felt much better.
Here goes nothing.
"We're doing a reality show."

Shock? Outrage? Amusement? She prepared for
any or all, but he simply nodded.

"Other teams have done it. Are you thinking
of following certain players into their personal lives or a 'inside
the locker room' type series?"

"Umm . . . ." Those were actually good ideas
too. She'd have to look into it—after they saw how the ratings went
with her original idea. "Well, you see, I'm sorta going for sex
appeal."

His brow lifted. "And . . . ?"

"Well—"

"Silver, if you don't get to the point I am
going to bend you over this desk and spank you." He picked up a
long wooden ruler. "With this."

He was teasing, and she knew it, but she
couldn't help but wince. He'd been right about needing a
pillow.

His forehead creased and he cursed under his
breath. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"It's okay." She sighed and glanced down at
her buzzing phone.
Landon.
She pressed end and squared her
shoulders. It took her a moment to remember what she wanted to tell
Dean.
Oh, right. Sex appeal.
"We're going to have a
competition to recruit ice girls."

"Ice girls."

"Yes."

"No."

No? No!
She slammed her fist on the
desk and broke her lollipop. "Yes! You don't get to veto this,
Dean! It's happening whether you like it or not!"

"I've seen these girls prancing around on the
ice. They distract the players. Our men need to focus on the game
and not the half naked women shaking their asses in their faces."
He shook his head and slumped into her chair. "I understand how
this might seem like a good idea to you, but we need to concentrate
on getting the team to the playoffs."

"If we don't get viewership up, no one will
care if they make it to the playoffs! Now get out of my chair!" As
soon as he moved, she sat and pointed across the desk. "That's your
place! Now you're going to fucking hear me out and stop thinking
like an old fashioned tight ass!"

His eyes narrowed. "Pet—"

"Don't you fucking
dare
'pet' me!" The
chair crashed to the floor as she thrust back up to her feet. "We
can please the old farts who love old school hockey or we can
appeal to a new generation and make this team into a real
franchise!" Since he'd stopped glaring at her, she decided to stop
screaming. "I've given the okay for the network to audition across
the nation. I'm using my own money to bring the girls who make the
cut here and I've already found a nice place for them to stay. And
just so you know, these aren't just hot, sleazy girls shaking their
asses. They're figure skaters, speed skaters, women with real
talent. They'll put on shows in between periods and do charity
events with the team. Granted, the guys might drool a bit, but
they'll have to deal with it and so will you."

Her breath came out in a huff. She turned
around and righted her chair, then took a seat. Energy buzzed
through her veins and she prepared to continue the argument, but
one look at his face stole her breath. A flash of teeth, a glint in
his eyes, and,
oh my God
, he was actually grinning.

His hands lifted in surrender. "You're right.
It's not something I—or your father—would have come up with, but it
just might work. And, more importantly, you are in charge of PR,
not me. I'm guessing you didn't hire any of the agents from the
list I gave you?"

"No." She toyed with the little red pieces of
candy scattered over her desk. "I talked to a few, but their ideas
seemed . . . boring. And then I came up with some ideas and—"

"Good. This team needs something fresh and
I'm sorry I didn't see that." He sighed. "After what you did with
the charity event, I should have."

She sat up straight and inclined her head.
"You are forgiven."

He smirked. "How gracious of you,
dragonfly."

Oh, so not fair! That special nickname he now
had for her made her feel the silly warm fuzzies. How could she not
forgive him?

"Yes, well just don't do it again." Thrumming
her fingers on her planner, she tongued her bottom lip and tried to
find somewhere else to put all her restless energy. Now that she
wasn't mad at him anymore, make-up sex seemed as good a place as
any, but that brought her back to his stupid rules. So . . .
business . . . "I take it you didn't come here just 'cause you
missed me?"

"I've been looking for an excuse to see you,
but no, in all honesty, I have to discuss something with you." He
leaned back in his chair. "The team is going on a road trip for the
next week. We have one game scheduled in the Eastern Conference and
four in the Western."

"I know that." She patted her book. "I spent
Monday morning getting all organized. Every game is in here. Pink
for away games, blue for home."

His lips quirked. "Red is typically home,
while blue is away."

Childish, maybe, but she couldn't help but
stick out her tongue at him. "It's my book."

He chuckled. "Very true."

"So what did we need to discuss?"

"I'm going with the team to see how my
brother performs as head coach." He waited for her nod, then
continued. "I'd like you to come with me."

"Oh!" Her mind went over the schedule.
Buffalo, San Jose, Los Angeles, and Vancouver. She'd always loved
traveling, and it would be nice to get away. With Dean.
For
work.
A cruel voice in her head reminded her. She sighed.
"That's a long time to go by your rules."

Dean stood, straightened his jacket, then
strode around her desk before she had a chance to stand. He trapped
her with his hands on her armrest and loomed over her. "Work hours
are 9 to 5, pet. We will also attend games, but beyond that." His
lips curved into a positively evil smile. "The rules don't
apply."

* * * *

Dean hesitated as Silver opened the door to
her apartment and almost retreated. The place had fallen victim to
a cotton candy explosion. He'd never been to her apartment, but he
had a hard time believing any man, gay or not, had every set foot
in the place.

Pink and powder blue everywhere. The walls
were a pale raspberry color, the white sofa was buried in tiny
cushions, the wood floors covered in a peacock feather printed
carpet. He inched inside, warily avoiding getting too close to
anything. A wet paint scent hung in the air and he'd rather not
wear that color on the plane.

And she wants to redecorate the VIP
boxes?

"Oh my God! You should see your face!" Silver
shut the door with her hip and let out a bubbly laugh. "Feeling
less manly just being in here?"

He gave her a tight smile. "Where are your
suitcases?"

"Dean." Sauntering up to his side, she gazed
up at him, eyelashes fluttering. "I redecorated. Don't you like
it?"

"It's . . . ." He hated to lie, but no good
would come of telling her the truth. So he settled for a diplomatic
response. "Very interesting."

"It's hideous!" Silver smacked his arm. "I
wanted to make some changes since Asher and Cedric moved out, so I
hired a interior design student and told her she could sell
everything inside the apartment—except my personal stuff of
course—and use the money to give the place a facelift. I didn't
have the heart to tell her I hated it, so I'll have to put up with
it until I have time to make it look less like Candyland."

He couldn't hold back his sigh of relief.
He'd fully expected Silver to be high maintenance, maybe even
messy—which would have irked him since he liked order in his life,
but he could have dealt because he lived with a teenager who
thrived in chaos. This, however, looked like something someone on
an acid trip would find pretty.

Shaking his head, he pulled her against him
and wrapped her arms around her in a straightjacket hold. "It's not
nice to tease your Dom, Silver."

"Nice is boring." She looked over her
shoulder at him and smirked. "Besides, if I don't keep you on your
toes, you start acting like you have a stick up your ass. Or a
great big butt plug."

"Hmm, speaking of great big butt plugs . . .
."

Her cheeks went as hot pink as her throw
pillows. A spoonful of arousal with a dash of fear. Utter
perfection. If only they had time to play.

Why ruin the moment by reminding her we
don't?
He brought his lips to her ear. "I'm glad you chose a
skirt today, sweetheart. All I have to do is bend you over and move
the string of your thong aside to get access to your pretty little
asshole."

She whimpered.

"Would you hold still while I slicked you up
with lube and slowly worked it inside you, or would I have to tie
you down?"

"No, no tying. No butt plugs." Her hips
pressed back against his pelvis and he groaned as her tight little
bottom bumped his very hard cock. "I'll give you anything you
want."

"You'll give me anything I want anyway,
pet."

Her pulse pounded against his lips as he
kissed her throat. She squirmed a bit, but not enough to convince
him she really wanted to get away. "What do you want?"

"I want . . . ." He rubbed his freshly shaved
cheek against her neck, tightened his grip on her arms, and nipped
her earlobe. When she gasped, he released her. "Your suitcase." He
smacked her butt. "And hurry, dragonfly."

With a strangled scream, she stomped off,
muttering something about an egg-sucking-ass-clown.

He chuckled and wandered into the kitchen.
Which had a strange poker slash chess theme in black and
periwinkle. Wincing at the visual assault, he took a seat at the
table and called out. "Either I help you redecorate when we come
back or you'll be spending a lot of time at my place."

"Both sound good to me!"

"We have thirty minutes to get to the
airport!" He double checked his watched. "Are you almost
ready?"

"Almost!" She paused. "Sorry, I'm being rude!
Would you like a drink or something? Help yourself!"

Choosing a shiny red apple from the fruit
bowl on the table, he stood and idly paced from the kitchen and
back while he ate the tart fruit, his mind going over all this trip
would accomplish. Observing his brother's coaching style, the
rookies who may be ready to join the team, and the performance of
both Demyan and Bower. Having Silver along was a plus. They would
learn how to work as a unit. He could teach her more about the
game.

And more importantly, hold her in his arms
every night.

A few last bites close to the core and he was
done. He checked his watched again. Fifteen minutes.

"Silver?"

"Coming!"

Uh huh.
He sighed and went to toss the
core in the trash. Maybe he should go back to giving her two hours
to get ready.

The apple core hit the side of a hardcover
book. Dean frowned and picked it up.

The Game by Ken Dryden.
He had a copy
of this book—only his was much older. This looked brand new. He
glanced at the small white trash can and spotted two other books.
Not ruined, since other than several takeout containers, they were
the only things in the garbage. He fished them out, then took a
cloth from the sink to clean some sauce from the dust jacket of
The Boys of Winter.

Inside the cover, he spotted a short note:
Apprendre à surmonter tes obstacles, mignonne. Landon.

"What are you doing?" Silver asked from
behind him.

He closed the book and pressed his lips into
a hard line. He'd figured Silver would be upset for awhile about
what had happened last weekend. Hell,
he
was still pretty
pissed off. But not at Bower. At himself. If he hadn't put Silver
in that position, things with her and Bower would still be . .
.

Be what exactly?

Damn if he knew. He couldn't even say for
sure how he felt about their 'friendship', but he did know it
bothered him more to see them at odds. Especially since it seemed
like Bower was reaching out.

Picking up
The Game,
he turned to face
her. "What was this doing in the trash?"

The color left her cheeks. Her bottom lip
trembled, but was held still by her teeth. And in a blink her
expression turned completely unreadable. If he hadn't been paying
attention, he wouldn't have caught the telling slip.

"I don't want those books. I rarely buy paper
books anymore. Such a waste of space—"

"These were a gift."

"So what? People get rid of gifts all the
time." She fiddled with the grey scarf around her neck, then slid
on some big, black sunglasses. "Let's go before we're late."