Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) (17 page)

An investor? She recalled the message left on
her cell days ago and shuddered. "You sure he doesn't want to talk
to Dean?"

"He asked for you."

Uck, I really don't like you.
Anne had
always seemed so pleasant, answering her phone calls sweetly before
transferring her to Daddy. But after she'd gone and told Oriana
that Silver was looking into trading Sloan . . . yeah, the woman
was a bitch. And probably a gold-digger too. She'd spent an awful
lot of time at Daddy's bedside over the summer.

"You know, Anne." She put a tight smile on
her lips and approached the desk. "My ex-boyfriend is a lawyer, and
he's been going over the contracts of the employees here. I'm no
expert, but I do know what a non-disclosure agreement is. You've
already breeched that, so I would suggest you be very careful from
now on. I'd hate to fire you, what with a new baby on the way and
all, but if you don't show me some respect that is
exactly
what I'm going to do."

Anne paled and nodded. "Yes, Miss
Delgado."

"From now on, you do not let people into my
office without clearing it with me first. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"There's something sexy about a woman who
knows how to take charge." Dean's deep voice and hot breath had all
the hairs on the nape of her neck standing on end. His tone dropped
to a whisper. "If you weren't so sweetly submissive, I'd peg you
for a Domme."

It took every ounce of strength she had not
to melt back into his arms. She sucked air through her teeth and
glanced over her shoulder. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. But it can wait until after we see to
your uninvited guest." He pressed lightly on the small of her back
to get her moving towards her office. Stopping at the door, he held
her shoulders and turned her to face him. His lips curved slightly
as he flicked a flake of croissant from her jacket. "May I make one
request before we go in?"

A request? Be still my heart!
She
wrinkled her nose and stared at his gold hockey stick tie clip.
"Sure. What?"

He tapped her nose and chuckled when she
skidded out of reach. "Stop looking so terrified. I have no
intention of molesting you."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, well
that's good."

"Tonight."

"Ugh."
Infuriating man!
Arms folded
over her chest, she glared up at him. "I hate you."

"Again?" He slid his hand around her throat
and drew her close for a light kiss. His brow arched when she rose
up for more. "And now?"

The minty taste of his mouth lingered,
leaving a hot and cold sensation on her lips. She glared at him as
she reached out to open the door. "I want to kill you and bury you
in an unmarked grave."

"Liar." He pushed the door open and his
entire bearing changed so abruptly she shivered. This side of him,
pure raw power unleashed, scared her. More than a little. "Can we
help you?"

The short, pudgy man shot out of her chair
and quickly moved away from the desk. "Ah . . . I'm sorry. I
expected to speak with Miss Delgado alone. You are . . . ?"

"Dean Richter. The General Manager of The
Dartmouth Cobras." Dean thrust his hand out. "I understand you are
one of the team's investors?"

"Charles Lee." He handed Dean a card. "And I
am simply a representative of Kingsley Enterprises." His gaze
flicked from Silver to Dean and he winced as he shook Dean's hand.
"My client is naturally concerned with the changes in management
and asked for some assurances—"

"Naturally." Dean gave the man a cold smile
and put his hand on Silver's shoulder. "Miss Delgado is young, but
the league would not allow her to take on the responsibility if she
did not have advisors to back her. Aside from that, her father has
given me a share in the team to run by proxy, which means very
little will change."

Mr. Lee's lip curled slightly. "Really? So am
I to understand you approved the team's acquisition of Scott
Demyan? I find that hard to believe."

"And why is that?" Dean asked.

"To be frank, the man doesn't fit with the
team's image. That aside, Miss Delgado signed the contract, not
you." Mr. Lee smirked and continued. "Obviously, as the owner, she
has more say than you do. My clients need to know the team is
stable."

"You may assure them it is." Dean stepped
away from Silver and loomed over the man in a way that made Silver
wonder if she should grab him before things got violent. His fist
clenched at his sides . . . and stayed there. "And you may also
inform them I am well aware of Kingsley Enterprises part in the
s
ituation
with Coach Stanton last season. No charges have
been laid—yet. They would do well to avoid bringing any further
attention to themselves. They will profit from the success of the
team. Nothing else."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Mr.
Lee paled and glanced towards the door. "But I will convey your
message. If you'll excuse me?"

Dean gestured dismissively towards the door.
Mr. Lee scurried out.

Then Dean turned to Silver and she gasped.
The rage in his eyes tempted her to follow the potato in a suit out
the door.

"Don't ever meet with that man alone—or with
anyone associated with him." He grasped her wrists, making her drop
all her folders, and pulled her towards him, trapping her wide eyes
with his hard gaze. "Promise me."

"I promise." She trembled and tugged at her
wrists. "But you have to tell me what's going on. What did he
really want?"

"I don't know." Dean relaxed his grip and
stroked his thumbs over her inner wrists. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt
you?"

"No." She nibbled on her bottom lip. "But
you're kinda freaking me out. You must have some idea of why he
came if you're this upset."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and
turned, moving away from her to take a seat in front of her desk.
He pressed his eyes shut and inhaled roughly. "You must have heard
that Oriana's ex—Paul—was involved in a scandal."

"I might have heard something." She frowned
and went to perch on the edge of the desk in front of him. "Oriana
didn't tell me much, but people are talking."

"People?"

"Anne. She's a gossip."

"Ah." His shook his head. "Investors paid him
to rig games so they could bet on them. He involved the goalie I
traded and the defenseman whose contract I bought out so he could
retire. Paul disappeared—it seems like he got roughed up by his
'partners' in the hospital—he tried to blame Max Perron, your new
brother-in-law, for the injuries, but then screwed himself over by
asking another doctor to clear him to coach an important game. The
police looked into it and found discrepancies in his initial exam
and his condition hours later. The charges against Perron didn't
stick."

"That's good." She smiled and pictured Max
with Oriana. They were sweet together and she liked Max. "He makes
my sister happy."

"So does Dominik. And Sloan." His brow arched
when she mumbled her grudging accord under her breath. "I'm not
surprised that you don't like Sloan, but what's your problem with
Dominik?"

Well that's easy.
"He's an uber
Dom."

"An uber Dom?" Dean laughed. "Don't you read
all those kinky romance books? Aren't uber Doms exactly what women
like you want?"

Kinky romance books?
She shook her
head and giggled. "Seriously? I'm so not the romance type. I've
read some nonfiction BDSM. Mostly because I had a part I was trying
out for . . . there's this movie coming out based on some popular
BDSM book and I wanted to get an idea of what the appeal was. My
agent asked me not to read the book—she wanted me to have my own
take on the character from the script. I started going to kinky
clubs when I was nineteen, so I thought I knew everything. Those
books proved me wrong."

His brow creased slightly. "Have you ever
been with an 'uber Dom'?"

Her thoughts slipped to the one time she'd
almost fallen into that trap. The man had been hot, powerful,
intimidating. She found herself wanting to obey his every command
and that had her saying her safeword before he even snapped her
cuffs together. The things she might have let him do to her—she
shuddered.

"Once . . . almost. But I'm not a real sub. I
like playing around sometimes, but it's never real. He almost made
it real."

Dean rose from the chair and approached her
slowly, as though she was a skittish little kitten. "Before he made
you feel that way, were you attracted to him?"

"He was attractive, but . . . ." Damn, how to
explain? To Dean of all people? "I would have fucked him, just
normal like, but when I fool around with the kinky stuff, it's with
guys I know I can control. I totally top from the bottom, I know
all the definitions and that's why I know I'm not a sub."

"You keep saying that." He cupped her cheek.
"Stand up."

She stood and gapped at him as he curved his
hand around her throat.

"Let's test your theory, shall we?" His lips
quirked at her frown. "What? Afraid that you're wrong?"

"I'm not wrong. I'll admit I never saw Oriana
as a sub, but she shows all the signs of being one and it makes her
happy. Which is awesome." She hooked a finger to the buttons of
Dean's shirt. "But I'm not like that. I've never been sexually
repressed, so if the whole being tied down and spanked thing really
got me off I'd know."

"You were wet after I spanked you." Dean
crowded her against the desk and put a bit more pressure on her
throat. Her insides liquefied. "I slapped your breasts and pussy
and you responded in a beautifully submissive way. I believe you've
focused too much on what a 'real' submissive is, concentrated on
all the ways you didn't fit, because you don't know what would
happen if you truly surrendered to a dominant man. Any more than
you know what would happen if you got into a serious
relationship."

"I was in a serious relationship with Asher
and Cedric."

"As in you no longer are?" His steady gaze
held sympathy. "I'm sorry Silver. I didn't know it was over. I had
the impression that you had an open relationship—and despite the
fact that I didn't feel that you were right together, I knew they
meant something to you. When did this happen?"

"Yesterday—or . . . well, this morning I
guess." She shrugged as her throat grew tight. Then frowned at his
shiny black shoes. "It doesn't matter. I should have seen it
coming."

"Perhaps." His shoes moved closer and his
hand came into her line of sight. His fingers brushed up her jaw
and into her hair. He kissed her cheek, then her nose, then her
lips. "But you still have the right to be upset about it."

She groaned and latched onto the back of his
neck before he could back away. For good measure, she hooked her
ankles behind his knees. "I'm not upset—about that anyway. I am
annoyed at you though."

His eyes crinkled. "May I ask why?"

"You know why." She reached into his jacket
and grabbed his belt. "You make me forget that I don't like you
when you get me thinking about letting you fuck me."

He pushed her hands down and shook his head.
"I'm not going to fuck you."

"Arg!" Slapping her hands on the desk, she
released him and scowled. "You keep saying that! Why the hell
not?"

"This isn't the place for this discussion,
Silver." He went over to the files she'd dropped and quickly put
them in some semblance of order before bringing them to her desk.
"Which is actually why I wanted to speak to you. We really should
keep things professional at work. I don't want whatever is going on
between us to distract you."

Sliding off the desk, she straightened her
jacket with an agitated yank. "There's nothing going on between us.
Not even sex because you keep turning me down. But thank you for
reminding me what a condescending asshole you are. Makes things
much easier."

His jaw ticked and he shot her a cool look.
"Don't be childish. I'd like to establish an amicable working
relationship. We got off to a rough start, but I think we both want
what's best for the team."

"Yes we do." Her whole body shook as though
she'd just taken an espresso shot. The dampness between her thighs
pissed her off. She really, really wanted to throw something at
Dean for making her feel this way again, but she wouldn't be
'childish'. She just had to remind herself that there were other
dicks around to be had. And worse came to worse, she had an arsenal
of toys at home. "Is that all?"

He shook his head, started for the door, then
paused. "I meant to tell you . . . the way you handled Landon—I was
impressed. People say that you're selfish. But they're wrong."

The door shut behind him. She couldn't move.
All the air in the room had rushed out with him, but the
temperature had gone up. She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks
and bit back a smile.

Impressing him never occurred to her.
Never.

But she had and damn if it didn't feel
good.

Dean crossed the hall with long strides, his
rubber soles creating a brisk tattoo on the tiles, remnant of his
brief military stint. He put his thoughts in order with regimental
efficiency, stacking wayward emotions in the back of his mind where
they belonged. The game tonight had to take priority. He had a
mission and . . .

He shook his head and quietly laughed at
himself.
It's a preseason game, Richter. Not combat.

Regret speared his chest and his cadence
faltered. He'd enlisted in his late teens to attend university
fully funded in return for 48 months of service. What had started
out as a way to receive the education he couldn't have afforded
otherwise became a way to get the structure he craved.
Unfortunately, his pastime of playing street hockey ended his
career. An awkward fall tore the ligaments in his right knee and
reconstructive surgery, while essentially successful, wasn't enough
for him to pass the medicals. After his discharge he'd turned his
focus to the game he'd loved as a boy. He couldn't coach, but he'd
been successful as a scout and had worked his way up to assistant
general manager of the Washington Capitals.