Chapter Seventeen

 

I dressed for business the next morning. Serious business. And that meant a tight cream trouser suit with a scarlet blouse and matching heels. I piled my hair up, added Tiffany diamond earrings Dad had given me for Christmas a couple of years ago, and shoved my laptop into my brown leather bag. Combined with a glow from time on the beach and a sweep of red lipstick, even I had to admit I looked ready to take on the world.

Or at least a financially ailing hockey team.

I pulled my Mercedes into the lot at the arena a little after nine and scowled at a pile of litter lodged up in the corner by a perimeter fence. But I didn’t have time to sort out that mess. I had bigger things to do. I’d spent the whole previous evening moping around the house thinking about Dustin, feeling lost that he wasn’t at my side and cheated that what we’d barely even started had come to such an abrupt halt. It seemed so unfair that something so good had been cut so short. Had we really done all of those things just yesterday?

By midnight my angst had turned to anger, by one a.m. and true to my usual self, I was prepared to do battle. But not for Dustin, he didn’t want me, so that ship had sailed. Battle for the Vipers.

Okay, Dad had told me not to give myself a heart attack over it, and I wouldn’t, but what I would do is turn the books around. I’d show him that I didn’t need to just be given hobbies, something to keep me busy, a grown-up toy, as it were. I could use my business brain and qualifications and do good, real good for my family.

My heels clicked as I strode toward my office. I paused to glance down at the rink through the window just outside, in the corridor. It was empty, the lights dim and the ice giving off a ghostly glow.

I tsked. It was a waste of money having it sitting there all cold and ready for action yet nothing happening. But I’d soon change that. The Vipers trained eleven ’til three most days, but apart from that, unless there was a game on, it was empty.

I’d heard rumors about a US women’s hockey team that was looking for a new home. Bought by Serbian Billionaire, Luka Kovic, the Vixens were up and coming and rapidly making a name for themselves on the international circuit. Perhaps they’d like a permanent base as opposed to flitting from rink to rink like drifters.

I had a phone call to make.

 

*****

 

Three hours and four coffees later, I ended a call to Luka Kovic’s right-hand man. He’d been hard to track down, even for a half-hour conversation, but it was worth it. Mr. Kovic was indeed interested in setting down roots for the Vixens, and Orlando might just be the place. He was still keen even after I set out my terms and conditions. The Vipers would, of course, have to have priority when it came to scheduling, but with a little juggling it should be possible to figure out.

After arranging for Mr. Kovic to meet with me next week to discuss the details and take a tour of the rink, we said goodbye.

I couldn’t have asked for more and my research had paid off big-time.

Quickly I set up arrangements for a silver service luncheon to be supplied in the boardroom during Mr. Kovic’s visit, then checked my emails.

First up was Dustin’s new contract from the team lawyer. Just seeing Dustin’s name created a lump in my throat. Quickly I beat it down and let the elation of the possibility of the Vixens solving a whole heap of financial problems rule my emotions instead.

I hit print and as the contract emerged on several sheets of white paper, I flicked through my next few emails.

One caught my interest. It was from the cleaning company, Ice Bright, also asking also for a renewal of contract. After pulling up the original, signed by my father, I sat back to read.

Only two pages in and alarm bells went off in my head. This contract was ludicrous and the charges extortionate. There were more managers than cleaners and no extra staff on game days. Plus, despite it being in the contract that the outside of the arena was also part of the deal, not one person, from what I could make out on a separate allocation document, ever went out there.

I rubbed my temples. No wonder the place was filled with litter and looking filthy. I’d have to get on this before Mr. Kovic arrived.

Spurred on with indignation that my father had been taken for a ride by this work-shirking cleaning company, I set to business. I arranged for the CEO of Ice Bright to come in later that day and also for another company to quote for taking on the job. I wouldn’t just sit back on my laurels like Dad and let things slip by, that wasn’t how I was going to save money, not by a long shot.

My phone rang and I answered it briskly. “Yes?”

“Representative from Sports Network on the line, Miss Gunner,” my secretary informed me.

“Great, put him through.”

There was a click and then, “Hi, this is Blake from Sports Network.”

“Thanks for calling back.” I said.

“No problem. Can we set up a time to discuss broadcasting rights? I’m free later this week.”

“Perfect.” I flicked open my diary. “Friday, ten?”

“Sure, see you then.”

I ended the call, stood and walked to the window to stare at the white-hot heat of the day. The sun was a glowing orb in a brilliant blue sky raining down golden heat. Suddenly I no longer felt like the little girl who was afraid of the sea, or who found flying a real strain on her nerves. I was a fighter, grabbing what I wanted, taking on the world and standing up for what was right. I’d make my father proud. I’d turn this ’round with my attention to detail, by thinking out of the box and not tolerating slackers or ridiculous wages.

I didn’t need anyone. I could do this. Stand tall and show the world that this was a challenge I would hit square on and win with determination and sharp thinking. I might not be able to hit a puck, and to be honest, skating was a bit of a drama for me, too, but I could and would run this team successfully despite being thought of as a spoiled rich girl.

I walked to the printer, lifted Dustin’s contract and shuffled it neat. After stapling it at the top left-hand corner, I picked up a fountain pen, signed in my section and then printed my name beneath. That was one big saving right there.

Deal done.

I glanced at the clock. It was midday. The players would be on the ice now, going through their daily training regimen.

Like a magnetic pull I was drawn out of my office and to the viewing window. I stood, hands on hips, looking down at my multimillion-dollar team working out.

The rink was lit now, the ice a dazzling snow-white with azure-blue and scarlet-red marking the areas. Several hulking players were dashing about, flicking pucks so fast the small discs were nothing but a black blur. It was hard to tell who was who, they didn’t have team uniforms on, but one thing was for sure, Dustin was in the goal farthest from me. I couldn’t see his face clearly, he had on his helmet and his cage was down, but the huge set of his shoulders, his stance that reminded me of an impenetrable brick wall and the way he filled the net with his solid mass was unmistakable.

Phoenix was in the faceoff circle—he had Taylor written on his back—and was playing with a puck, tapping it as he spun on the spot, trying, I guessed, to confuse Dustin as to when it would come his way. Suddenly he struck out, took the shot. It was a good one, fast and accurate, but not fast or accurate enough. Dustin stopped it with a stretch of his arm and slung it back across the ice. Another player caught it, hip-checked Phoenix and then went for a shot. Again it was a no-go. Dustin was too big, too quick and too damn good.

A bubble of pride went through me. I really did have the best goaltender in the NHL. He set a hard daily practice for a group of the most skilled players in the world. No wonder they came up with the results more often than not.

Mike slid onto the ice with a hockey stick in his hand, his blades a silver streak. He called Phoenix over and the other player who’d taken a strike and seemingly started to discuss details.

I looked at Dustin again. He’d removed his helmet and was running his hand over his hair.

I clenched my fists and remembered what he felt like to touch. The prickle of his short cut was almost tangible on my skin. I swallowed as my heart lurched. I’d successfully managed not to think about him for more than a few minutes in the last five hours, but all the good of that had been undone by seeing him for just a handful of seconds.

He raised his face and looked directly at me.

My breathing stuttered. A flush traveled through my body. It was as if he’d felt my gaze on him and had known I was thinking of us together, touching, flesh on flesh.

He didn’t smile, didn’t raise a hand or tip his head. Just stared.

I stared back, a thousand thoughts and words rushing through my mind. I wanted to convey that I’d missed him before he’d even walked away yesterday. Had spent the night working out detailed plans for the team so that I didn’t cry myself to sleep thinking of him. That my bed had felt big, cold and lonely without his body to curl around mine.

But between us was a thick layer of glass, the stretch of a rink, and a ton of players and coaches he didn’t want to know about us.

We were over.

I turned, determined to be the first to look away, and headed back into my office. I had a security company to call, one that needed to be reminded about the rules of letting rink bunnies in to the locker room.

 

*****

 

Another four hours passed. I crammed my schedule for the next week with meetings and appointments, all with the intention of cutting my budget. From merchandising and energy saving to raising the price of rink-side snacks that had been the same for over eight years. I thought of it all and set the wheels in motion for a ton of small savings that would all hopefully add up to a much bigger one.

When my stomach rumbled I munched a chicken salad wrap that I’d brought from home and then washed it down with a bottle of water. Every ten minutes or so I was tempted to go and look at the rink again, right up until I knew the players would have gone for the day. Then it was a relief to know that I didn’t have to stretch the delicate shred of willpower that was keeping me in my office. They’d have all gone home, or to a bar, or off with a rink bunny to do bad hockey-player things.

The thought of Dustin with someone else turned my chicken wrap into a leaden weight in my stomach. The image was repulsive to me and it sickened my heart as well as my guts. But what was the point in those emotions? He wasn’t mine. I had no right to be jealous.

A sudden knock on my office door raised my head from my laptop, which I’d been staring at unseeing.

Dustin stood there, filling the frame. His hair was a little damp, perhaps from a recent shower, and his white t-shirt with a small Viper logo on the right breast hugged his chest.

A pinching sensation attacked my breasts and I pressed my legs together to ward off a rush of heat.

A bit of warning that he was visiting my office would have been nice. That way I would have time to put on a mask of okayness and brace myself for the devilish things he made my body remember and want all over again. But at least he wasn’t with someone else, at least not yet.

“Good practice?” I asked, trying to sound causal.

“Yeah. Good to be back on the ice after a few days off.” He walked into the room and a waft of his aftershave filtered my way.

I shut my laptop and wondered how long I could hold my breath. Did he really have to attack all of my senses? Make each and every one of them long for him?

“I spoke to my agent,” he said. “He’s been on to your lawyer, seems everything is ready to be signed and sealed.”

I blew out a breath. “Yep, here you go.” I pushed the contract across my table, sliding it on the polished wood toward him. “You want to read it through first.”

He shrugged and stepped closer. “Nah, my agent has, that’ll do for me. He might be pissed at me for undoing his hard work but he still looks out for my best interest.”

“Yes, of course.” I tried not to stare at the way his worn jeans hugged his package. Then tried and failed not to think about how I’d released those very buttons just the day before and taken him into my mouth. Damn, he’d come so hard. I nearly had, too, just from giving him head.

I licked my lips as I handed him my fountain pen and forced my gaze upward. “Here, I’ve signed already.”

He took the pen, leaned down and looked me in the eye. The right side of his mouth twitched. “You really think you can cope with me for the next three seasons, sweet cheeks?”

I couldn’t help but smile. He did that to me. “I can handle you just fine, Speed.” My heart softened, the air in my body seemed to float me upward and my stomach did a little leap of hope that we still had a spark.

But we didn’t. I was fooling myself. Sparks were no good at starting a fire that had no oxygen to breathe.

Quickly I pushed my chair away, stood and walked to the window, showing him my back. What was I doing smiling and going all gooey? I couldn’t let him get to me like that. Make me want him. Allow him to call me sweet cheeks and permit his damn delicious cologne to get my body buzzing.

The room was so silent I heard the scrape of the pen on paper, a flourish and a flick and then the click of the lid being replaced.

I watched a lime-green motorbike whiz across the lot, leaving a hot dark trail where the wheel spun from the parking space. Brick, I guessed. He was renowned for burning rubber on his Kawasaki.

A sudden warmth on my back told me Dustin had come to stand close, real close right behind me.

I froze, trapped between him and the window. I’d never felt more hemmed in, more devoid of an escape route. Not that I wanted to escape him.

I closed my eyes and braced myself to be strong.

But could I be? All I wanted was to fall into his arms. Temptation was a bitch and she was slapping me on the butt.

I prayed he wouldn’t say he regretted his decision for us not to be together or, heaven forbid, actually touch me. I’d weaken to mush if he did that. Gone would be the efficient, competent Miss Gunner, I’d just be sweet cheeks lost in his arms, ready to block out the rest of the world and sacrifice my dignity to be with him on whatever terms he wanted.

He touched me on my right shoulder.

I juddered in a breath.

“Gina,” he whispered.

My actual name once again sounded foreign on his lips. “What?” I swallowed, but my mouth was dry and I was sure he could hear the scraping in my throat.

“I…” He trailed off.

“Tell me.”

He slid his arm down my shoulder, to my elbow and onto my hand. I stared at his thick, hairy forearm, at the way the tendons moved beneath his tanned skin and how his three thread bracelets sat on his wrist a little crooked. I loved his arms. I loved his touch. I wanted nothing more than to rest back into him, tell him everything, remove my mask and just be me again.

“On the island,” he murmured, his lips by my ear. “I’ve never felt so—”

“Huh-hum.”

The loud clearing of a throat behind us snapped Dustin away from me. His touch and his body heat were gone in an instant. He wasn’t called Speed for nothing.

Heart skittering, I folded my arms, set my jaw tight and turned.

Vadmir stood in the doorway, his blond hair also damp and wearing a leather jacket over the same Viper logo t-shirt Dustin was wearing.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” he asked, looking between us with his pale eyebrows raised.

“No, buddy, just finalizing a contract.” Dustin walked over to him and slapped his hand on Vadmir’s shoulder, the sound of flesh on leather creating a crack. “Seems our new boss is pretty smart at getting what she wants.”

“I wouldn’t argue with that.” Vadmir grinned at me in that predatory way of his and I remembered what Dustin had said about him chewing me up and spitting me out had I gone to bed with him back at the hotel.

Not that I would have. It seemed Dustin “Speed” Reed had been the only man I could think of since the very first time he’d called me “sweet cheeks.” No one else had been on my radar since, despite being surrounded by a glut of hot guys.

And he’d just walked away from me all over again.