FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 9

  “What the hell are you trying to pull?”

  She drew her fingernail down my chest. “What do you see in her, anyway? Little, simpering thing—doesn’t even have the guts to yell at me for threatening to take her man? That’s not what you need. You need danger. You need a woman who knows how to handle a man like you.”

  “You know nothing about what I need,” I thundered, protectiveness making me louder then I’d ever heard myself yell before. Lisette actually shrank back, some of the wild confidence draining from her face. “But you should know this, since you say you know me so well. You. Cheated. On me. It’s over. Get out.” I opened the door.

  “Don’t you even care if I get dressed first?”

  “I don’t care if you run out naked, shrieking into the streets of Chicago. If I ever see you in my house again, or anywhere near here, I’m calling the police. And most of them would love for me to deliver an autographed stick as a thank you.”

  Lisette’s pale blue eyes watered at the threat. Without a word, she gathered her clothes, and slunk into the hallway.

  I slammed the door behind her, and threw each one of the three deadbolts securely into place.

  Why hadn’t I thought to get the locks changed? That should have been the first thing I did. And now it was going to cost me.

  Should I send flowers? Candy? What kind of apology gift is appropriate to send when the girl you’re dating meets your naked ex-fiancé? If I were a nice guy, if these things came naturally to me, I was certain I could come up with the right gift to mark the occasion. But as it was, nothing seemed right.

  Another surge of protective anger rushed through me. How dare Lisette tell me what I needed?

  I knew what I needed.

  I need a girl like Candace. Someone sweet, funny…nice.

  Nice.

  To win her back, I needed to do something that she would do. Something thoughtful. Sincere.

  I sat down, burying my face in my hands. Through the spaces between my fingers, I could see the rug, the one Lisette had insisted upon, still spread across my living room floor.

  In an instant I had it up and rolled into the corner. It would go out with the trash tomorrow.

  And tomorrow I would go about setting things right with Candace.

  Randall pushed his chair back from his massive desk and interlaced his fingers onto the top of his balding, shiny head. “Well,” he said, once I had finished my pitch. “Publicity is absolutely not my strong suit. But I’ll pass it along anyway.”

  “It’s a good idea,” I pressed him. “Might even bring more female fans to the games.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Randall nodded, though his face betrayed how completely mystified he was by the entire concept of female hockey fans. “Let me get back to you, okay?”

  I stood up, and reached across his desk to shake his hand. “In the meantime, I’ll talk it up with the rest of the team.” I couldn’t help but smirk. “Who knows, maybe we might even be able to help Bradley’s situation.”

  “You leave that poor guy alone,” Randall admonished me. “He suffers from being a perpetual middle schooler. It’s not his fault.”

  I chuckled and lifted my hand in goodbye as I left his office.

  Randall had proven to be a surprisingly easy to convince. And, to my even greater surprise, the rest of my team seemed unnaturally eager to join in.

  “Maybe my wife will want to come?” Oswald muttered wistfully. Our goalie had just gone through a completely shattering divorce, and was clearly still in love with his now ex.

  The rest of the team, except… “And Randall approved this?” Jake piped up from the back, like the needy little shit that he was.

  God, he was irritating.

  I took a deep breath instead of punching him. “Like I said, nothing is set in stone yet. I still have to meet with the agency that’d be sponsoring it. But we are a team. I wanted to get your input first.”

  “I say, go for it!” Bradley piped up. He looked so unashamedly eager that I had to smile.

  “Then let’s get this show on the road,” I clapped my hands together twice, and was joined with a chorus of whoops and yells.

  The offices of Cupid’s Arrow were a decidedly more somber setting than the locker room after a Hawks practice.

  The CEO had the face of a 13-year old boy, and the body of a middle-aged banker. I had no idea how old he was, nor did I have any idea how Candace put up with him, day in and day out. “It’s a good idea, and even better that you came right to me,” he smarmed.

  I gritted my teeth, and smiled as neutrally as I could. I probably looked like a snarling dog, but he beamed like we were already best friends. “I already talked to Hawks publicity,” he went on. “And we reached an agreement.” He stood up and reached out a soft, limp hand. “I think you’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Carter.”

  I reached across the desk, and tried not to wince as I touched his cold, clammy skin and endured his weak handshake. “Remember,” I told him, “Candace Hunter is the one who gets the credit.”

  At the mention Candace’s name, the CEO’s face changed so completely, that I suddenly realized, crap. He’s in love with her.

  The thought made me chuckle. If this plan didn’t succeed in winning Candace’s heart back, at least I knew she had options.

  That is, if I could resist punching his face in if he went anywhere near her.

  I stood up and made for the door, and stopped short when I saw Candace staring at me, stock still, from down the hall.

  I lifted my hand in greeting.

  She pressed her lips together, and looked left, then right, as if she was planning out her options for escape. I moved towards her, trying to exude more confidence than I was feeling. What if this had all been an absolutely terrible idea? What if she thought I was completely overstepping, getting her involved without her approval?

  This was where it would really come in handy if I knew what nice girls expected.

  “Hey,” I said, once I reached her.

  She lifted her chin. “What are you doing here?” she asked softly, but with steel in her voice.

  “I think I just came up with the best idea for publicity for your app,” I told her, heart hammering in my throat.

  Her eyes widened. “My app?”

  “After you told me how much you liked programming, how hard you’ve been working, I wanted to help,” I said. Then I stretched out my hand to her. “Can I take you out to lunch? Talk about what happened?”

  “What are you doing for my app?” she asked, some of the steel gone from her voice. She was genuinely curious now.

  She hadn’t taken my hand yet, so I just reached down and grabbed it. She looked at where we were joined with a small grimace of confusion, but she did not pull back.

  “It’s already been cleared with the team and Hawks publicity,” I told her, running my thumb in small circles along the top of her wrist. She was so delicate, like a piece of fine china. And her skin was so fucking smooth…

  I cleared my throat and reined in my wandering thoughts. “Your smarmy little CEO just approved it, too, and agreed to give all of the credit to you. Valentine’s Day is coming up, Candace. And the Hawks will be auctioning themselves off on dates at your launch party.”

  “What? You did this for me?” Her eyelashes fluttered. “What about your fiancé?”

  I swallowed hard. “Can I please take you somewhere so we can talk?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Candace

  The Grapery was a confortable little wine bar where they knew Olivia and me on sight. Helena, the hostess, did a discreet double take when she saw me entering without Olivia laughing on my arm, and with Ian glowering on it instead.

  “Someplace quiet?” she asked, recovering quickly.

  “Please,” I said. Whatever Ian has to tell me, it was clearly not something he wanted to have in danger of being overheard.

  She found us a cozy booth in the back. Ian looked at the menu in confusion. “What do you hav
e on draft?” he asked hopefully.

  “We’re, uh, a wine bar?” Helena said. “Um, sorry about that, Mr. Carter, sir.”

  “Red wines are good for winter,” I told him, smiling. “You can pretend it’s a stout.”

  “Okay, fine,” he groused, clearly unconvinced. “Bring me a red wine that tastes like a beer,” he said, putting on a game face.

  “Make that two,” I said, handing her the menu.

  Helena closed her hanging-open mouth with a pop and turned smartly on her heels.

  “I have literally no idea what I just ordered,” I told Ian.

  “You and me both, Candy,” he sighed, raking his fingers down his beard.

  “Thanks for the Valentine’s Day stunt,” I said carefully. “That was nice of you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, staring down at his hand for a second, before he went right back to raking his beard.

  “Ian, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

  He shook his head. “No, I do. You deserve an explanation for what the hell Lisette was doing in my apartment.”

  “Lisette?” I said.

  He sighed heavily at hearing her name. “My ex-fiancé. Ex being the part I need you to hear.”

  “She doesn’t seem to think she’s your ex,” I pointed out. “With the naked ring-wearing and all.”

  “Well, I think she’s my ex,” Ian said flatly. “She earned that status quite well on the day I caught her in bed with another guy.”

  I pressed my hand against the table to keep it from shaking, but I could not prevent my mouth from dropping open in shock. Ian saw my reaction and looked away. I saw embarrassment flicker across his face, along with anger and defensiveness, too. A proud guy like him, openly admitting to being cheated on.

  “Ian, my god,” I whispered.

  “Thing was,” he went on, “I shouldn’t be so pissed about it, because I never really loved her.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Not even close.”

  “But you put on a ring on her finger.”

  “Yep, I did. And that was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “She told me she was pregnant.”

  I opened my mouth. No sound came out, so I closed it and blinked away the shocked tears that had collected almost instantly.

  “And I wanted to do the right thing,” Ian went on. “Wanted to be a good guy. A nice guy,” he said, very carefully emphasizing the words. “So I did what I thought was right. I proposed.”

  I felt like something heavy had landed across my shoulders. I leaned back in my chair, grateful that Helena chose that moment to deliver our drinks. It gave me a moment to collect my thoughts.

  “I tried to do the right thing,” Ian continued. His voice was far away now, calling up old pain. I ached for him as it cracked with emotion. “I knew what it was like, growing up without a dad. Hurt like that never completely heals.” He cleared his throat. “I couldn’t do that to any child, much less my very own. So I put a ring on her finger, even though I didn’t love her, even though I didn’t even like her very much. I still wanted to be there for that baby.”

  I blinked away the tears that still pricked the edges of my eyes. “How long ago was this?”

  “That I proposed? Seven months.”

  I conjured the picture that had been seared into my brain of Lisette standing naked in Ian’s bedroom. Her high breasts, and flat, toned stomach.

  “She’s not, er, she isn’t pregnant anymore though, so—”

  He shook his head. “About a month after the engagement, she came to me, crying that she lost it.”

  “Jesus Christ, Ian.”

  He nodded. “Then I felt even worse.” He calmly took a sip of his wine, even as my hands shook so hard I had to sit on them. “And even though I was realizing that the engagement was the worst mistake I had ever made, I felt like I couldn’t leave.” He shook his head again and again, like a horse trying to escape a nagging fly. “Because she’d gone through the miscarriage while I was on the road, I felt awful, and completely guilty.” He sipped his wine once again, and made a disgusted face.

  Though whether the reaction was from the wine or the memory, I couldn’t be certain.

  “And she knew that, too.” he went on. “She knew I felt guilty, and she wanted to keep me feeling that way. She brought it up any time she possibly could.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Oh, Ian, that’s awful.”

  He shook his head. “Not as awful as why I finally ended it with her.”

  “What happened?”

  His lip curled, baring his teeth for a moment, and his fingers curled around the stem of the wineglass like he meant to snap it in half. “I found her in bed.”

  “Oh my god.”

  “With some random guy.”

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “Who knows how long she’d been cheating on me.” He spread his hands helplessly. “I had no idea. Maybe it was the entire time she was living in my apartment, spending my money, and calling herself Mrs. Carter.” He smacked the table, making me jump. “Maybe it was just a one time mistake. I didn’t bother to ask. But afterward? After I had broken it off with her?” He stared at a spot over my shoulder, “Word got back to me that she had never been pregnant in the first place.”

  He leaned back in the chair, and dumped the contents of his wineglass down his throat like he was pounding a beer. “Or rather,” he coughed, “she actually was pregnant, but she had an abortion, back when we first started dating.” He shook his head, even as I was wracked with anger. “And I had to wonder, that baby, that kid. Was it someone else’s from when she cheated on me? Was she pregnant when we got together, and wanted to saddle me with a kid that wasn’t mine? Or had I really gotten her pregnant and she just ended it without talking to me at all?” He swallowed hard. “And then lied to me about the baby, about loving me—about everything?”

  I reached across the table and closed my hand over his. “Ian,” I said softly. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.

  He winced. “That’s the worst part,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m not someone who normally lets things just happen to him.” He turned his palm upward and encircled my wrist with his fingers. He looked back up at me, and his eyes seemed somehow darker. “I like to be the one who makes things happen.”

  He lifted my fingers to his mouth and brushed his lips across my knuckles. My lips parted hungrily and I heard a small gasp escape. The side of his mouth curved upward. “And if you’ll let me try again, I’d like to make a few things happen for you.”

  I smiled. “Check, please!” I called to Helena.

  Even as I was gathering my coat, allowing him to help me put it on, the rational portion of my brain—the part that still held on to my dreams of a knight in shining armor, a love like my parents’, the part that was yearning for something soft, and sturdy, and full of small, comfortable moments—that section of my brain still reeled to realize how much I was drawn in to this man. This wild, barely controlled man, who hid his hurt behind anger and power plays in the rink. This complicated man, who had complicated my life beyond anything I ever thought I wanted.

  I couldn’t stay away from him, no matter how many naked women greeted me in his bedroom.

  And the thing was, I believed the story he told me. I saw how hard it was for him to humble himself to me, to admit how deeply he had been hurt. Those words had cost him a great deal; I would have been blind to not see that.

  He had shared his soul. He let me in.

  There was something very romantic about that.

  It wasn’t like how it was in the stories. It was real, and raw. And it set my body alight.

  He slipped my scarf around my neck, and wound it around to the front so that he caught it in his hands and pulled me to him. His lips grazed mine, then nibbled forward to whisper in my ear.

  “Am I forgiven?”

  Then, without
waiting for response, he took the sensitive flesh of my earlobe into his teeth and bit down.

  The shockwave started the base of my neck and hurtled straight down to my toes. Which curled inside of my boots.

  “Nothing to forgive,” I half gasped, half panted. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I should have told you, right then and there,” he growled, moving his lips over the curve of my ear, “but I was too much of a pussy to lay it all out there with her standing in the room.”

  “What were you supposed to do? Throw her out on the street, naked?” I giggled as he exhaled, tickling me.

  “I did,” he said, low and slow. “But not until you left.”

  “Oh, poor Lisette!”

  He stopped teasing me and pulled back to look deep into my eyes. I saw confusion, and wonder, and something else, too. “You beautiful, brave thing.” He shook his head. “Only you would have sympathy for that bitch.”

  I reached up and gently bopped him on the nose. “Everybody is the hero of their own story, Ian,” I chided. “We all have our reasons, and while they may not be the best in the eyes of others, they still make sense in our own lives.”

  He opened his mouth as if to say something more, then exhaled with a groan and pressed his lips to mine. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m going to keep on doing it for as long as you’ll let me.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ian

  Even though I had apologized, and even though I was certain that Candace forgave me, it still felt wrong to take her back to my apartment. I needed an exorcist to come and expunge Lisette’s demons from my bedroom before I could think of bringing Candy back there with me.

  She must have been thinking the same thing. “My place?” she whispered, as I kissed her again and again. The eagerness in her voice was enough to make me explode, right then and there.

  I never drove so fast in my life.

  “So—it’s a little smaller than yours…” she started to say. “I’m not—oh!”

  She gave a startled little whoop as I caught her up around the waist and threw her over my shoulder. “Bedroom?” I growled.