Misconduct (Hot Ice series Book 6) (2 page)

Mike hopped up and down on the bench throughout the entire
game against the Sharks. He shouted and cursed—apparently forgetting I was just
behind him—he muttered and wrung his hands, paced and balled his fists.

It was tense; the opposition hard to beat. I sat, stood,
pulled my jacket close and then flapped it when I felt hot. I was all about the
team, seeing how they interacted and bounced off one another. Phoenix was the
top scorer, Raven and Vadmir a solid defensive pairing, and the way Ramrod had
his guys pulling together as one unit was not only awe-inspiring but demonstrated
his skill as a captain.

Brick had a run-in that resulted in two minutes in the
penalty box, but luckily this didn’t interfere with the scoreboard and when he
hit the ice again he was smiling. Within a minute he’d put the Vipers another
goal ahead.

Dustin produced a robust front. His sheer size combined with
agility made it hard for pucks to cross the line. He saved several shots from
top-class players and made it look effortless—as if he could do it in his
sleep.

I couldn’t deny he was worth his price.

When he was doing his stuff that was. Shame he couldn’t keep
his impudent mouth shut.

One look at the young substitute goaltender, Jackson Price,
made me wonder how well he would fare in goal? He’d been playing for several
years in the minor leagues, but creating a reputation that had made my father
trade for him, much cheaper than his more experienced players admittedly, yet
still, he was ours now. But had his goaltender blades met the cold stuff yet?
Perhaps it was time for him to flex his keeper muscles, let him do
his
stuff for the Vipers.

I could make that decision.

Right?

And if he was just as good as Dustin, would we still need
“Speed”Reed? I could trade him when his contract ended. That would go
some way to balancing the bank account. Not completely, granted, but it would
help and it was definitely something for me to think about.

The game drew to an end amidst much excitement. The Vipers
had claimed victory and were fisting the air, banging helmets and slapping
sticks. The home crowd went wild, behind me triumphant fans yelled and
applauded. The Sharks slunk to the tunnel as the majority of the Vipers slid
high and fast from sight, leaving only three to take the final moment of
glory—Ramrod, Vadmir and Dustin.

Mike raced from view, several fellow coaches whacking him on
the shoulders as he went.

I stood and followed suit, wanting to hear what he said to
the team about their win and their play and keen to be a part of their elation.

The locker room was crowded with big men and piles of
equipment. The atmosphere was euphoric, a stark contrast to the earlier
determined, somber air. Helmets had been removed and some of the players had
stripped off their tops, revealing wide, hot chests, though most still clunked
around in their skates.

I could hardly hear myself think and Mike certainly couldn’t
make himself heard. That was until Ramrod careered in, Raven and Dustin hot on
his trail, and began chanting a rhyme about the unbeatable Vipers.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a gaggle of rink bunnies
scurrying in, the door held wide by a grinning security guard. I bristled. What
the hell was he thinking, letting any old Tom, Dick or Harry in to see the
players. Didn’t he know the rules?

A wild cheer erupted from the players as they reached the
end of their chant and spotted the tottering girls.

I moved my attention to Dustin as he removed his blocker and
trapper. I don’t know why. I guess I was looking for dirt on him. Expecting him
to behave badly with the rink bunnies.

I wasn’t disappointed.

A woman in white hot pants and a practically sprayed-on
Vipers t-shirt raced up to him just as he dropped his gloves. She kind of fell,
but more threw herself onto him. He shoved up the cage of his helmet and I saw
him laugh as he caught her in his arms and pulled her close.

I could have sworn her knees purposefully weakened so her
body could sag against his. He didn’t seem to mind, and he wrapped his big
hands around her ass and lifted her into the air as she smacked a kiss onto his
cheek.

I shook my head, sighed and turned to Mike to discuss the
game.

He was reaching a huge bottle of champagne from the fridge
and talking animatedly to Ramrod.

My attention was drawn back to Dustin. He’d taken his helmet
off and his short black hair was sweat-slicked and stuck close to his scalp. He
looked like a man who’d worked hard, given it his all and was damn pleased with
his performance.

He shot a look my way.

I kept my expression neutral but held his gaze. He’d done
his job, that was all. Kept the pucks out of the net. What did he want, a
freakin’ medal?

Suddenly he moved toward me—rink bunny still attached and
swooning up at him with fluttering lashes.

“Hey, boss,” he said with a grin.

He had a ridiculous scarlet lipstick mark on his flushed
cheek, at an angle. Did he have any idea how tacky that was?

I folded my arms.

“You like what you see?” he asked.

“I see a man doing his job, which pleases me, yes, since I’m
paying you.”

His smile slipped a fraction. “Ah, okay, it’s like that, is
it? Well, you’ll notice that I can keep my eye on the game.” He pointed at his
eyes with two spread fingers and then once again let his gaze dip down my body.
It was a languid perusal that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in
annoyance as a flush of heat wound through me.

I wanted to stamp my foot in frustration. He wasn’t
attractive, he was maddening—wasn’t he?

“Even though,” he said, “you’re standing there with your
sweet cheeks I could still concentrate. Amazing that, a guy who can multitask.”

“You’d be a poor goaltender if a woman in the arena stopped
you from keeping your eye on the play.”

He leaned closer. A drop of sweat was making its way down
his temple.

The girl he held caught it on her finger and drew it into
her mouth.

I shook my head and grimaced.
Disgusting.

He laughed and pulled her closer. “You’re right, so it’s
just as well you have me, the best of the best.”

I huffed. “And the most arrogant too.”

He shrugged and straightened. “Just saying it how it is. If
you wanna perceive knowing I can deliver results as arrogance, that’s up to
you.”

Once again I had the urge to wipe the cocky smile from his
face. What the hell was his problem?

“Well,” I said, unable to help what was about to spill out
of my mouth. “I think you may have to sit out the starting lineup for the next
game. It’s time for Price to prove his worth.”

Oh yeah, that worked. His lips flattened until they were
pressed white and his eyebrows pulled low. “What?” His nostrils flared and he
puffed up his chest.

“You heard me. My father paid good money for an up-and-coming
goaltender and he deserves the chance to prove himself in meetings of this
caliber. I’m going to speak to Mike.” I turned, reached for my purse.

“Fuck, really. Are you crazy? Price is just a kid. The next
game is against the Rangers. You really want a kindergartener in goal?” The
tease had gone from Dustin’s voice. I had really shocked him to his socks with
that suggestion.

Good.

“He’s hardly a kindergartener,” I said. “Don’t be so
ridiculous.” I secured my purse on my shoulder. I was sure it wasn’t
that
stupid an idea. At least I hoped it wasn’t.

“Sure, I agree, he should have some starting experience, but
pick your fucking moments.”

“Are you saying he’s no good?” I tipped my head, daring him
to criticize a fellow team member who was standing on the other side of the
room. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. The guy didn’t seem to have any
scruples.

“No, of course not, he’s great, but he hasn’t played under
this kind of stress before and he’s still recovering from a hand injury.”

“What hand injury?” That was news to me.

He shook his head. “Jesus, we really should be afraid of
you, very afraid. You’re fucking dangerous.”

After one last glowering look he turned, leaving me gawping
at his wide back as he tugged his new friend toward the champagne.

Dangerous. Hardly. I was here as a savior. My role was to
pull the club from financial jeopardy.

I strutted from the locker room and into one of the back
corridors away from the crowds, my heels
clacking
and a frown creasing
my brow. If being dangerous and ultimately unpopular was the way it had to be,
then so be it.

It wasn’t as if I gave a shit what Dustin Reed thought of me
anyway.

Overnight, Dustin’s comment about Price’s hand injury bothered
me. He’d been right, I should have known that bit of information. It should
have been in my head.

So I found myself in my father’s office at the arena bright
and early with the intention of studying all of the players’ files, learning
their stats and making sure “Speed”couldn’t trip me up again.

I didn’t like being caught out, not one bit.

With files spread all around my desk and set on the
blue-and-white-striped couch beneath my big window overlooking downtown
Orlando, I got to business. Each player’s bio made for interesting reading.
Vadmir had required knee surgery in Moscow before his transfer to the Vipers
and I wondered why the hell my father had spent so much money on a player who
hadn’t proven that he’d fully recovered. Phoenix and Brick both spent more time
in the sin bin than was acceptable. Ramrod, well, I’d heard about the problems
he and his fiancée had encountered with a crazed stalker the year before, but
my father had added the insurance reports into his file and that made for extra
reading. They’d had a pretty close call.

I snacked in my office at lunchtime, too engrossed to do
otherwise, and had just poured a midafternoon coffee when Mike knocked on my
door and wandered in.

“Hey,” I said, looking up from the couch. “You want coffee?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He rubbed his hands together and shifted
from one foot to the other.

“Something wrong?” I asked, sitting back and crossing my
legs.

“Er, not, not wrong exactly, it’s just…”

“What?” I sipped my drink.

“Speed, he’s a bit pis…fed up today.”

Ah, I’d guessed this was coming. I was surprised it had
taken until three o’clock for it to be mentioned though. “Really?” I acted
surprised.

“Yeah, he seems to think you have plans of benching him when
we meet the Rangers next week.”

I shrugged. “Yes, I did want to discuss that with you.”

“That’s good. We should, discuss it that is.” He nodded
rapidly.

“It seems fair to give Jackson Price a chance to gain
experience playing for the Vipers. That’s what he’s here to do, after all. I
know he’s new and young, but he has a great record. My father wouldn’t have
traded him if he didn’t think he was adding strength to the team.”

“I agree, but let’s throw him on for the last period if
we’re ahead. Starting with him in goal will throw everyone’s psyche off. He
just hasn’t done that before, not since he arrived. What with your father being
taken ill and—”

“And his hairline metacarpal fracture is healed, according
to his last medical report, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Well no, I—”

“I want you to think about it, Mike, that’s all I ask. I’m
not going to pretend to be a hockey coach or even a hockey expert, but I do
know about finances and business. Between you and me, my father has got the
finances into a mess with his excitement to keep bringing elite players to the
team, extravagant merchandising and marketing plans and the upkeep of the
arena. It means I have to look at players as though they’re not men at all,
merely commodities.”

“Commodities?”

“Yes, contracts, employees, whatever.” I sipped my coffee
again, hungering for the caffeine hit. “Stock.”

“But—”

“There’s no buts. I’m not here to be popular, I’m here to
pull this club from the red and at the same time keep my father happy with the
results. That’s all I want to do.”

He nodded and backed toward the door. “Yes, Miss Gunner. I
had no idea that we were in a mess.”

I frowned. “Can you keep that bit of information to
yourself, you know, until I get my feet under the table properly? Figure out
what to do.”

“Of course, ma’am. You can rely on me.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” I paused. “Is that all, Mike?”

“Yes, yes, it is, and I will think about putting Price out
there when puck drops next game.”

“Good.” I set my coffee down and picked up Dustin Reed’s
file. “Let me know what you decide.”

“Certainly, ma’am.” He turned and went from my office, half
pulling the door closed behind him.

I sighed. It seemed I wasn’t going to be popular with the
head coach either, but what could I do? I was entitled to express my opinion.
It wasn’t as if I was telling him what to do, just making suggestions. In the
long run it could save me money, my father money, my whole damn family money.

And we had to slim down our expenses.

Dustin’s file proved to be colorful reading.

He’d grown up the eldest of three in Calgary. Seemed he’d
been skating as long as he could walk and played throughout his junior high
years before going to Okanagan Hockey Academy where he was quickly spotted as a
talented goaltender. He then went on to play for several league teams, which
included winning CHL Player of the Year before finding himself here, with me,
at the Vipers. He also had a gold medal under his belt, having played for his
country in the 2010 Olympics.

At only twenty-nine, he’d done a lot in his personal life
too. He’d married and divorced, no kids. Spent his summers in Austria
voluntarily coaching kids from all over Europe and, back home, had helped
establish a charity, along with several other NHL players, aimed at getting
underprivileged kids onto the ice.

I paused and glanced out the window at the hazy sunshine and
the shimmer of heat sitting on the horizon. Perhaps he wasn’t so arrogant after
all. Surely someone that generous with his time and obviously good with
children couldn’t be as big a schmuck as he came across.

I turned to his stats—six feet one and a half and a fraction
under two hundred pounds. His bulk, when padded up, could certainly fill the
goal. I flicked to his injuries—nothing major, slight concussion after an
altercation with a Penguins player the year before. Broken nose and split lip
from a high stick during a practice scrimmage—why he hadn’t been properly
protected was anyone’s guess. And an appendectomy aged eighteen, performed in
Ontario. I wondered if he had a scar on his lower abdomen. Of course he would
have. No doubt it was silvery by now, like the one on his chin, and sitting
right in that sexy bit of a man where the abdominal muscles turned into
obliques, the tempting, lickable section of their hips that always made me…

A sharp rapping on my door caught my attention and I flicked
the file closed, shocked at the direction my thoughts had wandered.

Damn.

There stood the man I’d been thinking about licking.

No. That wasn’t true. It was just that part of the male
anatomy I’d been imagining dragging my tongue over, tasting sweat and desire.

Wasn’t it?

“We need to fucking talk,” Dustin said, marching in and
slamming the door behind him.

A hanging picture of an arctic fox rattled, the metal blind
against my window shifted.

Yes, it was just that bit of the male body I liked, not him.
Definitely not him.

I forced myself to stay sitting, though instinct was to jump
up and protect myself. He looked mad as hell. Fists clenched and his cheeks
red. The scrub of coal-black facial hair that lined his jaw just made him look
all the wilder.

“Talk or shout?” I asked, going for calm the way I would if
a feral beast were approaching me.

“Whatever gets the damn results I need.”

“And what results would they be?” As if I didn’t know. He’d
clearly run into Mike in the last few minutes.

“I thought you were just yanking my chain to get a reaction
last night, when you suggested it.”

“What are you talking about?” As if I didn’t know.

“You need me in that lineup next week. Price hasn’t got that
kind of big game experience yet. I’m not opposed to coming off for the third
period so he can start getting those minutes under his belt, but only if we’re
winning. Jesus, the Rangers have got Todd-fucking-Carty playing for them, or
had you forgotten that minor detail?”

“No, of course not.” How could I? Todd was rated number-one
player in the league at the moment.

Dustin slammed his hands onto his denim-clad hips and shook
his head. “It’s a no-brainer. And I’m not saying it because I’m full of myself,
I’m saying it because I’m a team player, and the team needs a goaltender they
can trust. Me and Raven and Vadmir are a well-oiled defense machine.”

“That may be the case—”

“And so damn close to the Stanley Cup. You have to be
insane.” He tapped the side of his head.

I crossed and uncrossed my legs, then wished I hadn’t when
his attention slipped to my sheer black stockings and heeled sandals.

“I’m not insane, and actually it’s not my decision. I just
discussed the possibility with Mike, that’s all. I’m prepared to let him have
the last say. He’s the head coach at the end of the day.”

Dustin half turned, walked to the wall, and for a moment I
wondered if he were going to bang his forehead against it. Instead he just
groaned.

“What?” I asked.

“Mike, fuck, he’s a nice guy and all, but the way he looks
at you, stutters when you’re around. Jesus, he’s got a major crush and he’ll do
whatever the hell you ask him with the hope of getting into your Victoria
Secret lace panties.”

“That’s crazy. No way does he have a crush on me. You’re
talking trash.” Now
that
I hadn’t expected. Mike had always seemed a
little on edge around me, but I presumed that was because he didn’t know me yet
and I was in the role my father, who’d hired him, had been.”

Dustin leaned against the wall. “Crazy? Why is it so crazy
that a single heterosexual man wouldn’t be attracted to a woman in sexy, tight
suits, stockings and stilettoes, and, to top it all, with the power to make him
bend to her will? Hell, a lot of guys have that fantasy, and you, sweet cheeks,
have just delivered it to Mike on a plate. Or rather your father has.”

I stood, grabbed his folder and marched to my desk. I
slapped the file down, happy to have my suit, stockings and shoes hidden from
his view. “Oh, shut up, will you? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think I have.” He turned, stalked to the other side of my
desk and gestured at my chest. “But let me tell you, I’m not falling under that
sexy spell of yours. I can see you for what you are. A spoiled little rich girl
who has been given a new toy—us.”

Really! Had he no control over his damn mouth? It was like
he just couldn’t stop throwing insults at me.

“Oh, just get out, will you? You have no idea about me, or
what my plans are for the Vipers.”

“So far it sounds like your plans are to drop us to the
bottom of the league.”

“Of course it isn’t, but if we do go there, don’t worry, I
won’t drag you down too.” Why the hell was I engaging in this ridiculous
conversation with this infuriating man?

I sat, pulled my chair up close to my desk and picked up a
pen. I had no idea what I was going to write but I needed to hold something,
keep my fingers occupied so I didn’t slap him the way I’d imagined yesterday in
the locker room.

He leaned forward, gorilla-like, with his fists bunched on
the table and his elbows locked. I tried not to stare at the three thready
bracelets he wore on his right wrist. Two red and one white.

“What the hell does that mean? You won’t drag me down too.”
His voice was low and rumbling.

“It means.” I tapped the top of his folder, “that you only
signed a one-year contract, Mr. Reed, and it will be up for renewal in a matter
of months.”

His eyes narrowed, yet still glinted menacingly. “My agent
is already in discussions about a three-year renewal. That was always in the
cards, from day one.”

“Discussion, that’s right. Nothing is signed and sealed.”

“Fuck, scrap dangerous, you’re lethal to this team, woman.”
He spoke through gritted teeth. “You’d really risk losing me?”

I tilted my chin, not prepared to throw a retort back to
that
comment. His opinion didn’t mean anything. I was in charge now, in control. He
was just a goaltender, a really good one, but still, a commodity. No one was
irreplaceable.

He did smell rather nice though. He must have showered after
training and the scent of something sweet and berrylike filtered toward me.

Shame there was nothing sweet about him.

“And,” he said, “I guess you think you know me now.” He
stabbed his finger on top of his file, over his name printed in black ink. “As
you’ve read all about my life.”

“I’ve learned some stuff, yes.”

“Anything you want to know that isn’t covered in there?” He
bit at his bottom lip, stretching that little scar.

“No, it’s pretty comprehensive.”

“Good.” He straightened and folded his arms, making his
biceps bulge as they pressed on his knuckles. “Because I’d hate for you not to
have all the facts at your disposal when you bring this team tumbling to the
ground.”

“I have a degree in business. I deal in facts and figures,
and right now you need to understand that emotions are not part of the
equation.” I raised my voice. I couldn’t help it. “I’ll do whatever I need to
and in the meantime I’ll let Mike handle the team, juggle the players the way
he thinks best, whatever players they happen to be.”

“Well I wish you luck, because hockey is a game that makes
emotions explode, and if you’re going to ignore that, you may end up getting
burned.” He stepped back toward the door.

“Thanks for your concern, but I can handle the heat.” It was
a good job he’d stepped away, right now I was having visions of stuffing the
pen I was holding up his nose.

“You really think so.” He shook his head and huffed.

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”