Wicked Games (Denver Rebels) (24 page)

For the second time that day, Reid wanted to commit murder on behalf of a woman he cared deeply about.

Nadia inhaled a shaky breath before continuing. “I was crying and begging him to stop, but he wasn’t listening. He started taunting me, calling me a dirty little slut and telling me how much I was going to enjoy his big dick. He’d just unzipped his pants when the door suddenly burst open and one of his friends stumbled into the room. He had his girlfriend on his arm, and they were drunk and laughing about something or other. Brody started yelling at them to get out. While he was distracted, I managed to shove him off me. Then I ran out of that room and out of that dorm like the devil was chasing me. I didn’t look back until I was safe in my own room with the door locked behind me. I even propped a chair under the doorknob just to be safe. My roommate had gone home that weekend and Nelson was working on a research paper, so I didn’t want to bother him. But I was so shaken up by what happened that I didn’t leave my room until Monday morning.

“When Nelson asked me why I broke up with Brody, I told him that he was flirting with other girls at the party. I knew if I told Nelson the truth, he would have gotten himself expelled—or killed—trying to defend my honor. And my father probably would have gone to prison for murder. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Every muscle in Reid’s body was rigid with fury. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry you had to go through that.”

She shook her head, blinking back tears. “It’s ancient history. I’m over it.”

“Jesus Christ, Nadia,” Reid growled hoarsely. “He almost raped you!”

“But he didn’t. I got away. So many other girls aren’t so lucky.” She moistened her lips, her fingers tightening around the bedsheet. “What happened to me was terrible, but considering what the outcome could have been if he’d remembered to lock the door, if his friend hadn’t interrupted...” She swallowed hard and shook her head. “I was very lucky. And I’ve never stopped thanking God for that.”

A fierce wave of tenderness caught Reid by the throat and squeezed. “Now I understand why you hate violence so much. And now I know why you don’t go out with athletes.”

She nodded slowly. “Yet here I am,” she whispered with a self-deprecating half smile. “Dating yet another athlete.”

Her words hit him in the chest. He reached out and cupped her chin, searching the depths of her dark eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you, Nadia. You know that, don’t you? I won’t hurt you. Do you believe me?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears glinting in her lashes. “I want to,” she whispered.

“You can, baby. You can.” He pulled her into his arms, holding her protectively close to his chest. To his heart.

“I wish to God I could go back and erase what that motherfucker did to you.” His voice was rough with restrained emotion. “The thought of him terrifying you and hurting you like that…ah, babe, it fucking
kills
me.”

“I know,” Nadia whispered against his chest. “I can tell how much you care, and it means more to me than you can ever know.”

Reid nuzzled his face in her hair, running his hands up and down the curve of her back. “What happened with him? Did you report him to campus police?”

She sighed. “I spent the weekend going back and forth on what to do. I was afraid to come forward and not be taken seriously or, worse, blamed for what happened. At the same time, I was angry and didn’t want him to get away with what he’d done. I knew I’d never forgive myself if I found out that he raped another girl and I did nothing to stop him.” She drew a breath. “It took me almost a week to work up the courage to go talk to his coach. When I got to his office, he gave me the shocking news that Brody had just been expelled.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Uh-uh. Apparently he’d already been on academic probation. When he got caught cheating on an exam, the university wasted no time in expelling him. He was already back home in Arizona by the time I met with his coach.” Nadia shook her head. “I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t expecting that kind of swift justice. I mean, even though he wasn’t being punished for attempted rape, I felt like the universe had intervened on my behalf.”

“Hell, yeah.” Reid still wanted the fucker dead, his head on a spike. But the expulsion was something, at least.

“I still told the coach what Brody did to me,” Nadia went on. “He was shocked, angry and disappointed. He said Brody was the last player he would have ever expected to behave like that. I told him I didn’t want Brody to hurt any other girls, and he agreed. In case Brody ended up at another school playing on the lacrosse team, I made the coach promise to reach out to the new coach to warn him what kind of player he was getting. He assured me he would. He even promised to call Brody and have a stern talk with him. He said he was going to warn him to change his ways or face even more consequences. I don’t know if I believed him, or if I did enough to protect other girls from being victimized by Brody. I did what I thought was best at the time, but sometimes I wonder….” She trailed off with a sad shake of her head.

Reid held her tighter. “Don’t beat yourself up. You were only, what, nineteen?”

She nodded.

“Too damn young to be put in that position in the first place.” He lowered his chin to press his lips to her forehead, letting them linger until she pulled away and gazed up at him.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“For what, baby?”

“For listening. For caring.”

His throat closed on a spasm of raw emotion. He couldn’t speak, could only stare at her, his eyes tenderly tracing her features. He knew, in that moment, that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.

He swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat something.” There was knowing amusement in her voice. “I bet
you’re
starving.”

He managed a crooked grin. “How’d you know?”

She laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. Lucky guess.”

He shifted his gaze back to her and smiled. “I don’t cook very often, and I have a limited repertoire of recipes. But I make a mean spaghetti.”

She gave him a glowing smile. “I love spaghetti.”

“A woman after my own heart.” He winked at her. “I have something for you. Wait right here.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

He climbed out of bed and crossed the room to his massive walk-in closet. After pulling on a white T-shirt and some lounge pants, he shuffled past rows of hanging clothes and shoe shelves until he found what he was looking for.

When he emerged from the closet, Nadia propped herself up on her elbows to watch him approach.

He sat on the edge of the bed next to her and held up the black-and-gold jersey he’d brought out. “I want you to have this.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Is that one of your game jerseys?”

“It is.” He had replica jerseys that he wore for team charity events and other public appearances. But he wanted her to have the real deal.

She was staring at him, her eyes soft with wonder. “You’re actually giving me a jersey you wore during a game?”

“Not just any game. The game where I scored my first hat trick while Bobby Orr cheered me on from the stands.”

“Oh my God,” Nadia whispered. “Reid…”

“Raise your arms for me, baby.” He helped her into the jersey, once again marveling at how natural it felt to be dressing her in his clothes. He watched as she put her arms through the long sleeves and was immediately swallowed up in the material.

He gulped past the sudden tightness in his throat and grinned. “You look adorable.”

She beamed, looking down at herself. “It’s so soft and warm.” She lifted the sweater to her nose and inhaled with a look of dreamy pleasure. “And it smells like you.”

“It shouldn’t. It’s been professionally cleaned.”

She sniffed again, then sighed. “Your essence lingers.”

He smiled. “I want you to wear this every night while I’m on the road.”

Her eyes twinkled at him. “Every night?”

“Yes, ma’am. Every single night.”

She gave him a smile that would have launched a thousand ships. “Nothing would please me more than to wear your jersey, Reid Holden.”

Ah, God.
His chest expanded with the same euphoric burst he always felt after scoring a goal. It was such a simple thing. But given her traumatic history with athletes, her willingness to wear his jersey felt sacred to him. It was the ultimate gesture of trust.

Sliding his hands into her hair, he leaned down and kissed her with passionate thoroughness, leaving her breathless and limp beneath him.

“Oh my,” she whispered when he reluctantly released her mouth to trail his lips down her arched throat. “I’ll wear it to work every day too, if that’ll make you happy.”

He let out a muffled laugh, then pulled away and tenderly palmed her hair back from her face. “Let me get started on dinner.”

“Mmmkay.” She gave him a hazy smile. “I’ll be right out after I use the bathroom...if I can remember how to walk.”

“Take your time, sweetheart.” Reid winked at her, then got up and headed out of the bedroom.

He was whistling by the time he sauntered through the doorway of the professional chef’s kitchen, which featured Sub-Zero appliances and a huge butcher-block island. Adjoining the large room was a breakfast nook with bay windows that overlooked the sprawling backyard and distant mountain range.

He glanced outside at the pouring rain, sighed contentedly, then crossed to the sink and washed his hands.

The 6,500 square foot home featured a state-of-the-art sound system that played music throughout the house. With the satellite radio tuned to a classic rock channel, Reid opened a bottle of Bordeaux to let it breathe and then took out all the ingredients he would need while the Black Crowes blasted out “Twice As Hard.”

Bobbing his head to the music, he found a cutting board and got busy chopping garlic, onions, fresh oregano and Italian sausage. When he’d finished, he drizzled olive oil into a large saucepan and let it heat up, then tossed in the chopped sausage and oregano.

“Mmm. It already smells wonderful in here.”

He turned around to see Nadia setting her phone and laptop on the breakfast table. He’d cranked up the music, so he hadn’t heard her come out of the bedroom.

He smiled, lowering the volume on the radio. “There you are.”

“Here I am.”

He watched her pad across the kitchen, looking her over from the top of her tousled head to the manicured toes of her delicate feet. She’d rolled up the sleeves of his jersey, which was so long it hung past her knees.

When she reached him, he put his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the center island, close enough for him to touch but far enough away from the hot burner.

She smiled up at him. “Do you need any help?”

“Nah, babe.” He kissed the tip of her nose and winked. “Just sit there and look beautiful.”

“Oh, I can do that,” she cooed, batting her eyelashes in perfect imitation of a Southern belle.

He laughed, delighted.

Crossing her legs, she watched as he tossed the onions and garlic cloves into the pan, blending them with the browned sausage using a wooden spoon. “So where’d you learn how to make this mean spaghetti of yours?”

“It’s an old family recipe that I’ve tweaked over the years.”

“Tweaked? Is that another word for perfected?”

He chuckled. “Nah. It was perfect the way it was,” he said, lining up tomatoes on the cutting board. “I just like to experiment and mess with stuff.”

Nadia smiled. “Was spaghetti one of your favorite foods growing up?”

“Yup.” A soft, reminiscent smile curved his lips. “I always came home starving after hockey practice. I’d stampede through the door peeling off my jersey and dropping my skates in the middle of the living room floor. My mom would be fussing at me to go wash up, but all I cared about was running to the dinner table and diving face-first into a plate of her spaghetti.”

Nadia laughed. “I can totally picture you doing that. How often did she make spaghetti?”

“At least once a week. My siblings got tired of it, but she knew how much I loved it. So…”

“She made it just for you.”

“Yup.”

Nadia grinned. “Spoiled boy.”

He laughed. “Pretty much.”

Shaking her head, Nadia pulled her legs up on the counter and folded them Indian style, teasing him with a glimpse of her pink panties before she tugged the long jersey around her knees to form a tent.

“You told me your dad worked for Ford,” she said conversationally. “What about your mother? Where did she work?”

“She was a stay-at-home mom,” Reid answered, deftly dicing tomatoes. “She used to say that being a hockey mom was more than a full-time job, and I saw that firsthand. She was the hardest-working woman I knew. She drove me to and from practices and games and tournaments, washed my uniform, cleaned my equipment, organized bake sales and fundraisers, served as team mom, and always made sure I had everything I needed. And it’s not like she didn’t have three other kids and a husband to take care of.”