Misconduct (Hot Ice series Book 6) (15 page)

“But now it’s back to work. I’ll get your contract sorted
first thing tomorrow, though of course you’re entitled to a cooling-off period,
especially since you’ve made such a drastic change to your salary. I’m guessing
your agent will have something to say about it too. He’s not going to be
happy.”

Dustin shrugged. “I pay
his
wages. He’ll do what I
tell him.”

I nodded, but stopped when I felt his hands on my cheeks,
holding me firm, his fingers just touching my ears. I looked up at him, my
heart skittering, wanting to hurl myself against his body and beg him to come
back to Dad’s enormous house where I was about to go and rattle around in on my
own.

I wanted to ask him to make love to me again, in that
special way he had of making me feel as though nothing and no one else existed.
But I couldn’t. I’d promised myself that we’d make love only once. Any more
than that and I would have absolutely no hope of repairing the rips in my
heart. Once, well perhaps with a solo tear I could shove a Band-Aid on and hope
for the best. Immerse myself in work and hope that a busy mind would dull the
pain.

He dropped his head lower, pressed his forehead against mine
and shut his eyes. I could feel his warm breath spreading over my face, down my
neck and onto my chest. I let my arms hang at my sides, resisting the urge to
wrap them around his thick body and pull him close.

“I guess I’ll catch up with you at the arena then,” he said,
opening his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Yes,” I whispered, “I guess so.”

As suddenly as he’d touched me he released me and then
strode away, heading for the gateway to the lot. His huge SUV sat there waiting
for him, shimmering in the heat. He drew closer to it and farther from me. The
haze on the tarmac shivered around his feet and legs, making him almost like a
mirage, a vision. Had our time together been a dream? It certainly felt that
way, except for one thing, that was—I could still taste him.

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., 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 well 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 sort this out 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
from me 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, not bad. 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 think 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.