Ryker

  My eyes snap over to Hensley's and she looks at me with a hopeful smile. "My flight doesn't leave until tomorrow, so I figured I could help, and maybe I could sleep in the girls'--"

  I cut her off right there before she can say another word.

  "Ruby...go upstairs and get your jacket," I say swiftly, a little loudly to drown out Hensley's words.

  "But Violet's getting them," she says.

  "Let me be clearer then," I tell her with a wink. "Go upstairs because I need to talk to your mommy privately." I follow up with my stern don't-bother-trying-to-argue-with-me look. It's been historically proven to be effective in 97.2 percent of all occasions.

  She gives me a quick "Okay" and jets into the living room. I hear her feet pounding up the stairs and she yells, "We have to stay up here, Vi, because Daddy and Mommy want to be alone."

  I cringe because the girls probably think we're down here kissing.

  When I turn to look at Hensley, she has an amused look on her face because I know she's thinking the same exact thing. "You can't stay here tonight," I tell her firmly.

  Her face falls. "But I thought...I mean, it's in the girls' room..."

  "No," I tell her without an inch of budging in my tone. "This is my house and it is not a good idea for you to stay here. It sets up unreasonable expectations for the girls. You can help put up the decorations tonight, but then you need to stay at a hotel."

  Hensley looks crestfallen but I don't let it touch me. I harden my heart into concrete, and feel equally ashamed, because I know the girls would love it if Hensley stayed with them. But it's a bad move all around. The girls have to get used to the fact that their mom is only part-time, and that's all she'll ever be within the bounds of this household.

  Most of all...the absolute most important thing that they need to understand is that their mom and me are over.

  Chapter 10

  Gray

  The team starts filtering off the bus that brought them from the Vipers' arena back to the hotel. I watch as they walk into the lobby where I'm waiting, one by one with their heads hanging low.

  They should be hanging low, because it was a terrible game.

  It's almost midnight. I'm tired, hungry, and I'm pissed.

  Not for the loss but for something else entirely, and I'm waiting for the one person on whom I can take out my anger to get off the bus. He may not be the one who deserves it, but I have to start somewhere.

  The minute I see him coming through the revolving glass door, my blood pressure starts to rise because this is not going to be a pleasant conversation. He looks up as soon as he steps free and makes eye contact with me. I don't want to cause a scene so I do nothing more than say, "I need a word with you in private."

  He stares at me in surprise, gives a quick glance around, and then nods his head. He follows me through the massive lobby, studded with various areas of seating. I choose a set of chairs that are arranged perpendicular to each other in a corner and sit down, waiting for Alex Crossman to take the other chair.

  Flipping through a few screens on my phone, I glance up to Alex looking at me curiously. I turn my phone to show him the screen and in a controlled voice, I say, "I want to know why I'm just now finding out about this."

  Alex's face pales slightly and it should. The picture he's looking at is a photo that showed up on Instagram today. It was dark, a little fuzzy, but the people in the photo were clearly distinguishable. Claude Amedee lying on a floor with Ryker on top of him, one arm cocked back and poised to take a punch. Just barely coming into the frame was Alex reaching out toward Ryker in what I'm assuming was an attempt to stop him.

  I remembered Ryker's cut and bruise when we had coffee last Wednesday and I asked him what happened. He told me it was nothing, and that thought alone caused my blood pressure to boil with turbulence. I put two and two together, and it's clear that this picture was taken by someone a week ago during our away game in D.C.

  For an entire week, my team's captain sat on this knowledge and didn't tell me that two of my players got into a fistfight and I'm just now finding out about it.

  But that's not what really has my panties in a twist.

  What really has me angry is that Frank Lessier is the one who sought me out to show me the photo. It had been forwarded to him by our director of social media, who saw it not ten minutes before the game against the Vipers started. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was getting ready to hit me with something bad. It wasn't a grave look by any means, but one of slight victory. My stomach rolled as I watched him approach my father and me in the guest owner's suite.

  Fuck, he took such pleasure in showing both of us and my father didn't need to say anything. I could feel the anger and disappointment coming off of him.

  It didn't help that Frank used the opportunity to launch back into a tirade about why bringing Ryker to the team was a bad decision.

  "I told you he wouldn't fit in here," Frank blustered. "For God's sake, he was being let go from the Eagles because he punched a teammate. And now...looks like he's doing it again."

  "He had good reason," I pointed out calmly. "He just found out Sutter was screwing his wife."

  Frank ignored me and turned to my father. "Brian...it's time to make a change. Max is back at practice and looking strong. He's young and healthy. Evans won't hold up for the rest of the season at the level he's playing at. Trust me...he's going to start tanking and our playoff hopes will go right with him."

  My father stroked his chin a moment, and for a bleak second I thought he was going to side with Frank. But how could I have ever doubted him? He merely looked at me, then back to Frank and said, "You need to take that up with Gray. She's the general manager."

  God, I wanted to throw my arms around my dad and hug the shit out of him. But I kept my cool and professionalism, instead telling Frank that we would discuss it back at the office tomorrow. I also told him that I would handle this directly with Alex tonight. The game was starting and I really needed to think hard about all of this.

  "Why didn't you tell me this happened?" I ask Alex with a level voice. My guts may be churning with lavalike anger right now but I know how to calmly address a situation.

  "I had no clue there was a photo taken. There was no one there other than the bartender and it never occurred to me that he would have done that."

  "That didn't answer my question."

  Alex's face turns gravely apologetic because he understands that as captain, he has a duty not only to his teammates but to the management as well. He of all people knows what it's like to deal with an image problem in the public eye.

  "I'm sorry," he says contritely. "I should have said something to you. I knew Claude wasn't going to do anything about it and I dressed Ryker down for it. I thought I handled the problem."

  "And yet here I am dealing with it," I say curtly as I stand up from my chair. I can get where he's coming from, and I suppose as team captain he had thought it was handled. It lessens my anger against him, and now I'm left just being pissed at Claude and Ryker.

  Ryker more so since I asked him point blank what happened and he lied to me by omission.

  "You had a great game tonight," I praise Alex before turning away and heading toward the elevator.

  As I walk, I send a quick text to Ryker.

  What's your room number?

  I can imagine what he must be thinking when he reads this text. I've purposely been distant with him since that kiss in the coffee shop. The same kiss that I continually play over and over again in my mind because it was just that perfect.

  He said we could be friends although he wanted more.

  He was willing to wait.

  When he texted me on Saturday, asking me out to coffee again, I had to almost physically restrain myself from texting back my agreement. I couldn't meet him because I was afraid of what I might say.

  Afraid of what I might do.

  So I politely declined and I haven't heard from him since.

  Unti
l now.

  His return text simply says 7056.

  --

  When the door swings open, I almost expect Ryker to have a sensual look on his face. I almost expect him to kiss me and I'm disgusted with myself that I'm strangely disappointed he doesn't but instead gives me a curt nod and steps back for me to enter.

  "I can tell by that look on your face that you know already," I surmise, thinking Alex must have given him a heads up.

  "I have no clue what you're talking about," he says, his voice flat. "The look you're seeing on my face is my I'm-pissed-we-lost-a-game look."

  For a brief second I admire him even more as a player. Because although I suspected as much, it's clear he takes every win and loss deeply to heart. Tonight's loss wasn't on him either. Other than Alex scoring a goal, the rest of our offense looked sluggishly amateur. It was a team loss for sure.

  But I push that aside and instead hold my phone out to him so he can see the screen. His eyes flick down, then he lets out a sigh and turns away from me. "I take it you're pissed."

  "Pissed is not the word I'd even use to describe how I'm feeling," I grit out as I watch him take a mini bottle of bourbon from the honor bar.

  He holds one up to me and I shake my head. Ryker shrugs his shoulders and unscrews the cap before tilting it up to his mouth and sucking it down in one powerful swallow. He looks at me thoughtfully as he lets out a slight hiss through his teeth over the burn of the liquor.

  Ryker just stares at me, offering no explanation. No apology.

  My blood pressure starts to rise again. "I asked you last week what happened to your face and you lied to me."

  "I didn't lie," he says tiredly as rubs the back of one shoulder.

  "You didn't tell me what happened when I asked, and that is a lie," I throw back at him.

  Ryker sets the empty bottle of bourbon on the bar and walks over to his bed. With another drawn-out sigh, he turns and sits on the edge, legs spread slightly apart. He's still in his suit...well, at least the gray dress pants and light blue oxford shirt. The jacket and tie lie carelessly on the floor.

  When he lifts his head to look at me, he says, "The circumstances of why that happened are very ugly and I didn't want you to be exposed to it."

  Those words give me pause, cooling the anger in me a bit. It doesn't take my brilliant brain but a mere second to understand exactly what happened. Claude Amedee does not like me. I got that loud and clear from our meeting week before last. I had heard through the grapevine he was the most vocal of my player opponents, but I let it ride. I let it ride because I was never going to judge him for the stuff that came out of his mouth, but rather for how well he played on the ice.

  "What did he say about me?" I ask with curiosity.

  "It was nothing," he says, trying to blow me off.

  "It was something," I say as I take a step toward him, my shoulders set firmly and my chin raised so he knows I mean business. "What did he say?"

  "I don't think you--"

  "Oh, for Christ's sake, Evans...what the fuck could he have possibly said that would cause you to hit him? I think you need to learn some restraint."

  Ryker's eyes flash with fury and he stands up from the bed. One step toward me, his voice low and guttural. "I'm just paraphrasing here, but I believe he said that you wouldn't look so high and mighty with his dick shoved down your throat."

  I grimace, completely disgusted with Claude.

  But Ryker's not finished. He gives it to me straight. Another step toward me and he leans down so our faces are just inches apart. "He said your ass was fine, which I have to agree with, but I took extreme exception to him saying he'd fuck it hard to make you learn your place."

  I gasp and take a startled step backward. Ryker moves with me, not about to let me get too far away. His eyes are glazed with anger over the memory of what Claude said. "So I brought that fucker down and I taught him a lesson. And if you think I was wrong to do it, then release me from the team right now, because I'd do it all over again. My only regret is that Alex was there to stop me."

  There are no words to describe how I feel in this moment. The timbre of Ryker's voice, the way his fists are clenched in fury, the proprietary look in his eyes as he practically snarls out his hatred of what Claude said. I'm going straight to hell, I know for sure, when a slight shiver of pleasure races up my spine.

  In this very singular moment, I have never felt more protected and valued in my life as a woman. I find I like this feeling so much that another shiver moves up my spine that is pure fear.

  Fear of letting this man inside.

  I take another step back and put on my general manager face, because I need that boundary between us right now. "You should have walked away. Let management handle it. Instead, I had to listen to Frank rant again about what a bad choice I made bringing you on, and trust me when I say I don't like having to argue with Frank. As it stands now, we have a meeting set tomorrow where I'm going to have to again defend my decision to sign you."

  The heat and passion of the moment swiftly dies out of Ryker's eyes. His lips flatten and he gives me a short nod that he accepts what I just said. Then he throws me for a loop when he brushes past me, right to the door, and opens it up. Giving a jerk of his head to the hallway, he says, "Understood, boss. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get to bed. We have an early flight tomorrow."

  What?

  He's dismissing me?

  This conversation is over?

  Why isn't he insisting again that he did the right thing by defending my honor? I reach out internally, seeking that feeling of cherished protection he made me feel just seconds ago, and it's gone.

  All gone.

  Ryker's eyes are aloof, and when I don't move, he makes another jerk of his head toward the door. The message is clear. He wants me to leave.

  I square my shoulders and turn to face him fully. He holds my gaze for just a second, then lowers his face to stare at the floor. I move my feet, feeling like they're stuck in molasses and the door looms closer. Just as I reach Ryker, I pause but without looking at him ask, "Out of curiosity, did you defend Gray Brannon the woman you're interested in or Gray Brannon your general manager?"

  My body remains absolutely still, my breath frozen in my lungs while I wait for his answer. I think the mad thumping of my heart is a good indication to me of just how important this answer is.

  His voice barely makes it to me, it's so soft. "You know the answer to that, Big Bang."

  Warmth blossoms, unfurls, spreads throughout me.

  I do know the answer to that.

  I turn swiftly, my hands grabbing on to his shirt, just below the edge of each collar. I only have a moment to see Ryker's eyes pop wide with surprise before I pull him down toward me.

  Right down onto my mouth.

  He doesn't hesitate or give any token resistance. His lips meet mine in a fiery clash of pent-up desire and yearning. I have no control over my body as it leans in and finally melds to his frame. Ryker's hands slide to my backside, his fingers digging into my ass, and he's pulling me into him closer.

  Right there...on my lower belly...I feel him start to swell as he kisses me. I moan softly over the knowledge that he wants me.

  Gray Brannon...the woman.

  Ryker bends, lifts me up, and wraps my legs around his waist. I ignore the slight tear in the back seam of my skirt as my legs are forced wide. I feel rather than see him kick the door shut and then he's walking me toward the bed. His lips never falter once against mine, a testament to the Brick Wall's strength. He makes me feel tiny and vulnerable, yet safe at the same time.

  One knee goes to the bed and then he's lowering both of us. Only when my back hits the mattress and he presses his erection right in between my legs does he finally lift his mouth from mine.

  His solemn eyes hold me captive, now a dark steel gray. "Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure," I tell him.

  Chapter 11

  Ryker

  That's all I needed to hear. br />
  I'm sure.

  In typical Gray Brannon executive decision fashion, she told me she was all in. All the other consequences and ways in which this is wrong be damned.

  I fall back down onto her, kissing her hard and deep. Dueling tongues, heavy panting, tentative touches. She rocks her hips against me, making me harder, and I feel like I'm back in high school making out with the smart, hot chick, desperate to get to third base with her.

  And yet I'm completely satisfied if we just continue to kiss and feel each other up, because every touch and sound feels so fucking good right now. We roll to our sides and my hand automatically goes to the hem of her skirt to drag it up. Her skin is so silky...feels so good against my fingertips. I want them to continue their journey up and in between her legs, but her skirt is too damn tight around her hips, so I have to settle with snaking my hand up the back to grip her ass. Pressing my pelvis forward, I groan when Gray starts grinding herself on me and I'm overwhelmed with the need to touch her more intimately.

  "Jesus," I mutter as I roll slightly, pushing her onto her back. She stares up at me with fevered eyes and her breasts heaving. Grinning down at her, I say, "I used to be better in my youth at getting women out of their clothes."

  Gray snickers and moves her hands to her blouse, unbuttoning it efficiently. My eyes can't help but follow her movements, watching as pale skin is uncovered, followed by the rounded swells of her breast, and finally a nude-color lacy bra. When she gets the last button undone, I peel the edges apart until her entire chest and stomach are revealed to me.

  With just the tip of my finger, I trace a path from her collarbone over her right breast, catching the edge of the laced cup, and pull the material down. When her nipple pops free I'm on it, sucking it into my mouth and giving it a few hard pulls. Gray cries out and clasps the back of my head hard, holding it to her.

  But I can't...I'm too wound up and need more.

  "Skirt," I say as I push up from her. "Fastest way for me to get it off without tearing it?"

  Gray's hands go to the side of her hip where she undoes a single button. I knock her hands away now that I see the opening and pull the zipper down. Scrambling off the bed, I slip my hands into the loosened waistband and start pulling the offending material from her body. She lifts her hips to help me out and when I glance up at her, my knees almost buckle.