Game For Love_Delay of Game Read online

  Vale muttered under her breath the entire time, whether she was cursing her brother or encouraging him, Constantine wasn’t positive. All she knew was she was sending every good thought she could think of to him. He shot…and scored. Green checkmark.

  She exhaled loudly and slumped back, needing a breather herself. The next Ranger missed, as well—second red x—and she squealed in anticipation. If their next shooter got it, they won. It was a guy who was one of their best, Tevosyan. Unfortunately, he missed, so the opposing team still had a chance to put up a green checkmark.

  The final Ranger stood by the ref, waiting for the nod to go, and she rocked forward in her chair, nerves completely shot. The roar in the building was insane, and she didn’t know how the men on the ice did it. Hell, or how Vale did. All this attention, all this craziness.

  He pushed off, gliding down the ice and she held her breath as he shot…and scored. Ranger fans cheered, and Raptors fans didn’t.

  “Final up for the Raptors is their forward Sergej Markovich. If he makes it, they win; if he doesn’t, they’re tied up at one, and we go again.”

  She rocked back and forth as his blades took him closer to the goal. Their goalie, ready for anything, blocked his way. Her heart thundered, and her mouth grew dry. Her world slammed into slow motion as the sound of his skates on the solid ice were the only sound aside from her heart. Right. Left. He feinted, trying to get their man to commit one way or the other. He couldn’t budge him; he’d been to too many rodeos to get tricked out.

  Sergej lifted his stick as if he were going to send the puck over a shoulder, and that got the goalie to react. When he did, with stunning ability and speed, Sergej slapped the stick down so the puck shot between his legs. Shutting them, the goalie fell to the side, and the puck slid over the goal line and into the far corner of the net.

  The crowd was silent for half a heartbeat then the Raptors fans erupted into cheers that sounded like they were the home team instead of the visitors. She shot up from her seat, arms straight up in the air, yelling with the rest of them. Hugging Vale, she blinked back tears.

  “He did it!”

  She turned back to the ice and saw the rest of the Raptors take the ice, congratulating each other. Wiping the corners of her eyes, she sat back on shaky legs. Who knew that was going to be so intense?

  Sergej and Victor broke away and came to Constantine and Vale’s section. Fans around them pounded on the glass, screaming congratulations and other things. Vale hollered to her brother, but Constantine only had eyes for Sergej. He waved her forward with his glove.

  She shook her head. He nodded and did it again, moving backward toward the team bench area.

  “Go with him,” Vale encouraged.

  “No.”

  But the crowd near picked up on it and began chanting, “Go, go, go.”

  So, she went. Along the back of the bench where the team had sat, the Raptors looked at her as she walked behind, wrapped in Sergej’s large jacket. He continued on until she was at the railing by where they left the ice for their locker room. She gripped the metal and swiped her tongue along her dry lips. As she stood there, he stepped off the ice and walked toward her, each step more commanding than the last. He unsnapped his helmet and held it in the hand with his stick.

  “Come here,” he ordered, staring up at her with those damn aqua blue eyes.

  She inched down, well aware that the entire arena had them in their focus. When they were eye to eye, he reached out with a gloved hand, put the massive thing at the back of her head and drew her close for a kiss.

  Her lids fluttered closed, and she moaned, leaning into him. Electricity ran through her and she made a mewl of disappointment when he ended the kiss. She dragged her eyes open and found him there, sweaty and exhausted with a smile on his face.

  “Thanks for coming.” Another wink, and he slapped the helmet back on his head and strode back out to where his teammates waited for him with a roar of approval. Even Victor gave her a smile and patted Sergej on the back.

  Her trembling legs barely got her to her seat where she sat with a groan. Vale gave her a hug and said, “Told you.”

  Constantine touched her trembling lips and sighed. Maybe he has been thinking about me, as well. From all appearances, he had been, and she smiled again, before sinking lower into his jacket and tugging tight around her. She wasn’t going anywhere until after the presentation. No way she was leaving.

  Chapter Six

  Penalty—major: five minutes, minor: two minutes; match: five minute that includes automatic expulsion from the game

  Sergej wiped the champagne off his face and stepped to the side as Skovald continued by, spraying anyone in his way. The festive mood was amazing. After all, they’d hefted the Stanley Cup tonight, and on away ice. Hell, he might be pulling confetti from places for weeks to come.

  He had bruises and even a fracture or two. All worth it. They’d talked to reporters, taken pics, and now, he wanted one thing.

  Constantine.

  Shoving into his boots, he glanced up at the slap on his shoulder. His agent, Nathan Marks. His grin was from ear to ear.

  “Endorsements are fuckin’ flying in, man. From left and right. I mean you had plenty before, but these offers are even better. Not just chips but cars and shoes.”

  Sergej grunted, happy but focused on something else. Or rather someone. “Thanks for taking her my jacket.”

  The excitement cooled in Nathan’s blue eyes, and his gaze sharpened intensely. “So, who is she? I saw her at the last quarter final game.”

  Sergej slammed the locker then zipped shut his duffel. “That, Nate, is the future Mrs. Markovich.”

  “Fuck, man, you never said you’d gotten engaged. Congrats!” He turned and grabbed a member of the team staff. “Can you please bring in Constantine Gleason? She’s Sergej’s fiancée.” The man’s eyes widened but he nodded.

  Fuck. Not his intended course of action.

  “I was just leaving.”

  “No way. You just won the fucking Cup. I have two words for you. After party.” Another shoulder smack. “Fiancée should be there, meet the other wives.”

  This wasn’t going in the right direction at all. “No, we—”

  “There she is,” Nate cried out. “Welcome to the family.” He drew a shocked Constantine in his arms. Her brown eyes darted to Sergej’s, and the unvoiced question flashed as obvious as a neon sign on a dark night.

  Sergej left his bag and went to her. He was like lightning on skates, but without them… Human. Normal. Which meant, he was too late. Too late to stop the inevitable diarrhea of Nate’s mouth.

  “Everyone. Everyone. Everyone! This is Sergej’s fiancée. Does everyone know her? Constantine Gleason.”

  Sergej’s gaze snapped to the few reporters left in the room, who were busy jotting this down. He knew her life had forever changed. He’d sealed that when he’d sent out his jacket, but it hadn’t hit him until now. They would dig up everything they could on her. Especially…that one in the back.

  The room fell to a muted thrum. Lingering reporters moved up close; players and coaches all faced them. Sergej slipped his arm around her, anchoring them together, halting her bolting. Not that he blamed her.

  “It’s a misunderstanding,” he whispered as he kissed the corner of her mouth. “Go with me on this.”

  Deer in the headlights had nothing on her. She longed to bolt; he could read it every single line of her face and the way her body leaned toward the door. From the expression Victor had, he was as shocked she’d not run for the door.

  Regardless, Sergej took it as a good sign. She moaned lightly as the brush of his lips. He laced her fingers with his, grateful once more for skin on skin contact with this woman.

  “You’re married?” one female asked, a statuesque reporter. A woman he’d made the mistake of sleeping with a while ago.

  “Not yet,” he said easily. “Engaged.”

  More questions filed in, and the cameras flas
hed. Constantine leaned into him, and he squeezed her hand in a show of silent support.

  “Really?” The woman stepped closer. “I hear a story here. How did you two meet? How long have you been engaged?”

  He held her blue gaze. “No story. It’s our private life.” Suddenly, he understood why some people despised talking to reporters. So damn nosy.

  “What do you do?” a male asked Constantine.

  She rocked back on her heels. “Work.”

  “The reported blinked, thrown for a heartbeat, then rediscovered his footing. “What type?”

  “Does it matter? I’m not the hockey star.”

  “If you’ll excuse us, we have a party to go to.” Hand clasped in hers, possessiveness flowing freely, he guided her through the group of still coming questions to the door. “See you at the party,” he tossed to teammates, who clapped him on the back as they departed the locker room.

  She was silent until they stepped outside. His large jacket dwarfing her. He liked her in it. She was the only person he’d allowed to wear that particular jacket. She’ll be the only one, as well.

  “So, then, about this engagement?”

  There was an edge to her tone. A smile tugged at his lips, and he hoped she didn’t take it to mean he was laughing at her.

  “My agent, Nate—he brought you the jacket—asked me who had it. When I told him you, he jumped to the wrong conclusion.” A car waited to take him to the party, and he waved the driver back in and held the door for her himself.

  “Why would he make that assumption?” She slid over the buttery soft seat, and he joined her, drawing the door closed behind him.

  “Because I’ve never let anyone wear it before.” He met the gaze of the driver and gave him a nod. The man drove off.

  “So, because I’m wearing a jacket that no other puck bunny has worn, that means we’re engaged?”

  “Kind of like wearing my wedding ring.” He gave her a tiny grin. “And you’re not a puck bunny.”

  She didn’t respond to his grin. He reached out and grabbed the edges of the jacket and tugged her closer to him. Dipping his head, he put their mouths touching.

  “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Okay.”

  He hadn’t thought she’d be that okay with everything and kissed her in thanks. Not only in thanks. Lord, he loved her taste and could kiss her all day and then some. He pushed one hand into her curls and wound them around his fingers. She inched nearer.

  He pulled away when the car slowed and stopped before the large club they were having their party at. “Come on,” he said.

  A good number of the players had already shown up and were drinking, dancing, and other things. He tucked an arm around her.

  “You okay?”

  “I feel bad I left Vale.”

  He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Victor. The response came immediately. “Don’t be. Victor’s bringing her along.” He tipped her chin up so he could stare into her eyes. “Want me to take the jacket?”

  “Hell, no, this is mine now.”

  He grinned. “You can have the Stanley Cup winner jacket if you’d like.”

  “Nope, this one works fine for me. Ain’t taking it off.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “You will eventually,” he promised.

  “I don’t know about that,” she replied with a wink.

  “I do.”

  “I’ll get us some drinks.” Another kiss and he headed for the bar. As he waited for his order to be filled, he looked over at her. She talked to another of the wives. While she didn’t look overly comfortable there, she didn’t appear completely out of place.

  “What’s this about you being married?”

  He glanced to the left and groaned at the sight of Martine Howard, reporter and ex-lover, standing there in a painted on dress.

  “I’m not married, yet; again, she’s my fiancée.”

  “Mighty quick, don’t you think?”

  “Thanks,” he said, taking the drinks. “Since when is my life your business?”

  She leaned closer, her cloying perfume making his eyes water. “Since before I saw her at that quarterfinal game, you had just been in my hotel room with me. Fucking me. How do you think your little woman would appreciate that if I went and filled her in on that? About how many times you sank your cock into me? How I went down on you?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

  She looked down to his crotch. “You know what I want.”

  “Are you seriously trying to blackmail me for sex? Here? Now?”

  Her grin made his skin crawl. “That’s why it’s called blackmail.”

  “Most people want money.”

  “Trust me, I’ll get to that, but I want that cock again first.”

  He shrugged. “Go tell her. Since I’ve been with her, I’ve never cheated on her. Say what you must. Do what you must. But, if you approach me again, I’ll tell everyone about this. And I have proof of it from where my phone recorded it.” He turned around and walked off, anger surging. If only I could hit women.

  As he neared where he left Constantine, Vale approached. Her expression one he knew well. Her game face. This was the Vale who scared even some of the male hockey players. The one who’d been evicted from more than one game.

  “Vale.”

  “You selfish bastard,” she seethed.

  Shit. That anger was directed at him. She’d overheard him with the reporter.

  Vale also didn’t give a damn about making a scene. There wasn’t any reason to pretend he didn’t know what she was upset over.

  “I’m going to explain everything to her.”

  “And to think, for a moment, I thought it was a good idea for her to be with you. Hell, I encouraged her to come to see you here.” She clenched her fists and muttered, cursing herself.

  Her voice carried, and a few began looking. Sergej respected her support of her friend. He wasn’t, however, going to do this with her. Not now and definitely not here. Talk, sure. Fight, not happening.

  “Vale,” he tried.

  “Do you see this?” She thrust her phone at him.

  He stared at the screen. There was a headline that made him nauseous. It read: Sergej Markovich of the Washington Raptors is engaged to an underwater welder—and yes, it is a woman.

  His heart sank with the speed of lead hitting the floor. Shoving his drinks at Vale, he ignored her juggling to keep everything from dropping. He pushed by and went straight for Constantine. She was standing with two players, Adamsson and Skovald. The phone Skovald held for her--Segej knew in his gut what was on that particular image. The same article. He captured her arm and propelled her toward the door.

  “We have to talk.”

  He made his way to one of the waiting limos. Yanking the door open, he pushed her in. “Out,” he barked to the driver. The man scrambled out, doors slamming behind him in quick succession. Angling on the seat, Sergej stared at the woman in there with him. Whereas before there’d not been emotion now there was. Anger. No that wasn’t the right word. Fury. Rage.

  “Let me explain,” he began.

  “Oh, please do. I’m dying to hear this.” Her tone fell colder than the ice he made his living on and had the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

  “My agent—”

  “Did you not think to correct the mistake? It’s not hard. You merely open your mouth and let it be known that we’re not engaged.”

  He reached for her, but she backed away, hands up as if it would stop him.

  “Constantine, listen.” Crap, he was floundering. Horribly.

  She stared at the man across from her in the low lighting of the limo. “I didn’t lose it in front of those vultures you consider reporters when they ambushed me about us being engaged. Not pleased, but I kept my shit together. Now, however, all of a sudden my life is in the spotlight. My life.” Her heart hurt it pounded so fast and actually made her wonder if she was okay. She hadn’t though
t this through, not nearly well enough. “They are talking about my work, hell, my gender.”

  Her vision blurred, and she scrambled out the other side of the vehicle. Hands on hips, she bent at the waist, lightheaded. She moved her hands to her knees. Christ, I’m going to pass out. Her world, in a matter of seconds, had turned topsy-turvy.

  She couldn’t recall every being so pissed off in her life. Sure, her field was a predominately male-dominated one, a lot of fields were, but she busted her ass and took all necessary precautions and safety warnings to make sure her team wasn’t ever in danger, more than that job provided, anyway.

  “But now, because of you, you, they’ve dredged up everything they can possibly find on me. The fact I was adopted. They’re asking questions about my adoptive family. My work. My friends. Everything.” Her fists were clenched, and she seriously entertained the notion of swinging at him. “All because you were too much of a pussy to say we weren’t engaged.”

  He ran his hands over his face and swore. “This is my fault.”

  “Yeah, you’re damn right it is.” She stepped closer to him and shoved her finger in her chest. “If my team takes a hit because of this nonsense, my work gets more complicated, my family suffers, you’ll find out where Vale learned her psychotic behavior on the ice. Only it won’t be contained to there, and it will damn sure be a sight more dangerous to you.”

  Her phone rang, and she yanked it out of his jacket pocket and answered in one ring. “What?”

  “What’s this I hear about you being engaged to the star hockey player, Sergej Markovich?”

  “Hey, Mom,” she said, glaring at the man across from her. Damn, he was so handsome it hurt. “I’m not engaged to anyone.”

  “Brian called and said he saw the news blog thingy. And what is this about them being shocked you’re a woman. You don’t even look like a man.”

  “Mom, most welders are men. I would assume that’s what they meant by that. Look, I’ll call you and Dad later to explain the entire thing. Right now, I have to get going. Tell Brian I’ll call—oh never mind, I’ll call him as well. Love you, Mom. Bye.” She ended the call before her mother could get revved up on the matter.