Bonds of Courage (7 page)

“I’ll be here.”

He went to the door and glanced down the hallway. Jimmy stood just down the way, a huge grin on his face. The kid gave a small wave. The little shit had been listening to their conversation. Holden could see Jimmy was itching to run back to the others to tell them what he’d heard. There was no way he’d disappoint the kid now.

Holden turned back to Liv. “Should I bring anything?”

“Just yourself. Oh.” She snapped her fingers. “Wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.”

He glanced down at his polo and khaki shorts. “This isn’t okay?”

“It’s fine, but T-shirts are good, too. We’re not formal here.” She swiped a hand down the front of her. “As you can tell.”

He could’ve said she looked great, but that felt like flirting and he didn’t want to give her the wrong idea. God, did she already have the wrong idea? He hoped not. Vanessa would have his hide if she thought he was after Liv. But then, the idea of V taking his hide wasn’t that bad.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He left before he got into trouble by either saying the wrong thing or sporting a woody that Liv would take the wrong way. Thinking about Vanessa flogging him shouldn’t make him hard, but it did.

He smiled to himself as he started his SUV. He cranked up the music and pulled out of the parking lot, grin still in place. There had to be a way to make his desires a reality. He just needed to figure out the right way in. If Vanessa thought he was giving up, she was damn wrong.

If anything, her repeated denials to be his Mistress only made him more determined to make it happen. He hadn’t made the pros by giving up.

Chapter Seven

The slick cut of the blades scratching over the ice reached Vanessa from her spot along the upper rail that looked down on the rink. Behind her was a concession stand with tables spread out for people to watch the skaters. It was closed now, the area empty except for her, but she stuck to the shadows. Being spotted wasn’t in her plans.

There were six men on the ice, none of them in full gear. It was easy to pick out Hauke. The distance didn’t stop her from homing in on his dark hair and confident pose where he leaned against the boards, talking to another player while pointing to the goal. The other four men were running passing drills as they skated across the blue line toward the net.

She let her gaze linger on Hauke. Finding him hadn’t been hard. Tracking down the ice rink had been a simple matter of calling the few in the area until she found the one that was rented at four o’clock for the summer.

The real question was why she’d hunted him down at all. Her conversation with her sister that afternoon had surprised her. Hauke had actually followed through on his offer to volunteer at the youth center for the last week.

He pushed away from the boards, flipped around and skated backward, prepared to defend the goal. He was an offensive player, but he also had to be good at defense to succeed in the pros.

His baggy sweats didn’t hide the strength that powered through his thighs and glutes every time he pushed off. How long could he hold a squat before those strong muscles started to quiver from the strain? Longer than most, she’d bet.

She recognized the other men on the ice. Two were Glaciers’s players. The other three played for different pro teams but were all native to the area and must’ve come home during the off-season.

Hauke stole the puck and sped toward the other goal before another player swooped in to cut him off. Ice flew in a chisel of powdery snow when Hauke skidded to a stop while flicking the puck to another player speeding up the opposite side of the ice.

She turned away then. The rink wasn’t freezing, but it was chilly enough that she welcomed the heat when she stepped outside. She’d parked at the back of the lot in the little bit of shade offered by a line of trees. She lifted her face to the sun for a second before moving toward her car. It was nothing fancy, which often surprised her clients. It wasn’t a beater, but it hadn’t warranted a second mortgage to buy it.

Sliding onto the leather seat, she flicked the key in the ignition so she could lower the power windows. The temperature was pleasant with the air that passed through, and she took the opportunity to skim through the messages on her phones.

She was typing out a response to Angie regarding a meeting request when the sun glinted off the glass as the doors to the rink swung open. Three men exited, hair damp, bags swung over their shoulders, sticks in hand.

Hauke laughed at something Walters said, punching the man on the arm. Scott Walters was the Glaciers’s starting center. As he was born and raised in Minneapolis, the fans had been ecstatic when the Glaciers had acquired him. He was a year or two older than Holden and a decent guy, from what she knew.

She put her work phone down and waited for Hauke to throw his stuff in the back of his SUV before she grabbed her personal phone and typed in a text.
Meet me at Gina’s on Hennepin at 7:00.

She hit Send. It was only seconds before Hauke was digging his phone out of his pocket before he closed the hatch on the back of the SUV. He had on jeans and another polo shirt, forest green today. It stretched across his shoulders and back muscles when he moved to open the driver’s door. He shook his head, a grin appearing as he looked at his phone.

He was in his car, out of her sight when his response came through.
Why should I?

She typed in the one thing that would hook him if he was serious about playing.
Because it pleases me.

His response was exactly what she expected from a submissive.
Yes
,
Mistress
.

Any man willing to help her sister earned a second chance. That alone wouldn’t change her mind, but it showed a side to him that went beyond the cocky athlete. He intrigued her, and that was more than any man had done since her cousin Rick and his friends had destroyed her trust in men so long ago.

It was just a meeting with no promises. They’d talk and see how things went. And most important, it was on her terms.

She was in control, not Hauke.

* * *

Holden drove into the restaurant parking lot, palms sweating. His stomach had been wound tight since Vanessa’s text and it somehow managed to twist even more now that he was there. This was his second chance, and instinct told him he wouldn’t get another.

He held his hands over the air vent for a few seconds to dry them before getting out. He straightened his collar and puffed air into his cupped palm to test his breath as he made his way through the semi-crowded lot.

A glance at his cell confirmed the time. Six fifty-seven. He was willing to bet Vanessa would leave if he was even a minute late. He ran his hand through his hair, pocketed his phone and stepped into the cooler air of the restaurant.

A perky redhead with over-done makeup and a blouse that strained across her ample breasts greeted him with an approving and not-so-subtle appraisal. He kept his smile small and his words direct. He was used to reactions like the hostess’s and had more experience ignoring the obvious than taking up the silent offer.

Her own smile never faltered as she checked her reservations and led him to a table in a quiet corner near the back. The dinner crowd was thinning, but the place was still fairly busy for a weeknight. He glanced around. The atmosphere was warm and leaned toward the sophisticated side with dark woods, linen napkins, candles and dim lighting.

The waiter had just left two water glasses on the table when he spotted Vanessa weaving her way around the tables toward him. Her black suit jacket was unbuttoned, but the slight bit of casualness didn’t detract from the command she possessed. The hold of her shoulders, tilt of her chin and the general manner in which she strutted as much as walked screamed confidence.

She was all business, not that he’d expected anything different. He blew out a shallow breath, wiped his damp palms over pants and stood to greet her.

“Vanessa.” He extended his hand and smiled when she rested her hand in his palm.

“Hauke.”

He lifted her fingers to his lips, inhaling to capture a whiff of her perfume that was stronger at her wrist. “Mistress,” he said softly, his lips dancing over her skin, eyes closing for a moment to absorb the sense of rightness.

Her face gave away nothing when he straightened. “Still presumptuous, I see.” She tugged her hand away and waited for him to pull out her chair before she sat down.

“Hopeful,” he said, sitting down again.

The waiter appeared, and it didn’t cross Holden’s mind to speak up when the man asked if they’d like something to drink. Vanessa had a brief conversation then ordered a bottle of some brand of red wine.

He knew little about wine except that some was very good and others just as bad. His normal crowd leaned more toward beer and liquor, and even that was limited during the season.

Vanessa picked up the menu, so he did the same. She hadn’t spoken, but the air wasn’t filled with tension. Not like their previous meetings. He set the menu aside when the waiter returned with the wine. The process of opening and tasting the red liquid was handled by Vanessa, and Holden sat back, enjoying the play of emotions that crossed her face.

Based on her clothing, he guessed she hadn’t been home yet. But she showed no signs of fatigue or even relief that the day was almost done. Composed—she was always composed.

Their orders were placed, and the waiter left before Vanessa looked back to Holden. She lifted her wineglass, and he followed suit. “To opportunities,” she said before clicking her glass to his.

The wine was full and almost light on the back of his tongue with a deep flavor that lingered. He smiled and lifted his glass. “It’s very good.”

She tilted her head, her hair flowing over her shoulder in a way that had him longing to run his fingers through the silky strands. “Why’d you do it?”

“What?” He set his glass down, brows drawn.

“Pay for the hockey sticks. Volunteer at the center?”

He shrugged and answered with the truth. “Because I wanted to.”

“It won’t sway my decision about us.”

“I didn’t expect it to.” He really hadn’t.

Her eyes narrowed, the assessment not one of doubt but of consideration. “Do you plan to follow through?”

“On going to the center?” he asked, waiting until she nodded. “Yes. I have time and I want to help.”

“Why?”

“Full of questions tonight, aren’t you?”

She only stared at him, lips held in a tight line that didn’t even wiggle with a suggestion that she was going to answer. He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine to buy some time. He had nothing to hide, but he didn’t like talking about himself. For what had felt like his whole life, there’d been more than enough people willing to talk about him—for him. There’d never been a need for him to add anything.

“I had a lot of people who helped me get to where I am. As cheesy as it sounds, this is a chance for me to give something back.”

“You could’ve written a check and walked away.” She wasn’t giving him an inch. He respected that. Too many people bent over backward to give him whatever he wanted.

“And I probably will do that, too. The check. But kids need more than money.” He sipped his wine, letting the liquid sit on his tongue before he swallowed. “Sometimes they just need someone to believe in them. Your sister does, and it shows. They trust and respect her, and she gives the same back.” He paused. His answer would be enough for most people, but Vanessa wasn’t most people. So he added, “I don’t have a lot of that in my personal life. Open trust and respect. It’s nice to remember how it feels.” He held her gaze, waiting for her next question.

She took a drink, her focus never leaving him. “You surprise me, and that doesn’t happen often.”

He was humbled by her honesty. Instinct told him she didn’t give away information to many people. “Trust me,” he said. It was a bit backward, since he was the one asking to be bound and vulnerable to her. He’d decided before he’d walked into her office that he had to trust her, but the trust thing went both ways. It had to.

“I shouldn’t.” The words were soft, said more to herself than him.

Their food arrived, and he focused on the bowl of pasta and chicken that smelled enticingly of basil and tomato. He managed to eat most of it, despite his lack of appetite. Vanessa picked at her salad, consuming a good portion before pushing the plate aside. He was soaking up the sauce with the last of his garlic bread when she spoke again.

“How much have you played before? Honestly.”

He wiped his hands on his napkin and finished chewing before he brushed the cloth over his mouth. A glance around confirmed no one was seated close to them, but he kept his voice low when he answered.

“I was honest before. The picture was the one time I sought out a Domme. Before that, it’s been bits of stuff done in fun with women I don’t remember. One tied my wrists to a bedpost. Another spanked my ass when she came.”

“So you don’t really know what you want.”

Her statement was said in a way that told him she didn’t really want an answer. The waiter swung by to refill their wineglasses and clear away their plates. Holden sat quietly, withholding the urge to fidget. His nerves had his skin humming again. He was so close. He just had to seal the deal, but it wasn’t his to finalize.

After another stretch of silence, he finally said, “I know I want you.”

Her brows rose. “Me or my services?”

“Both.” He pushed out a breath, going for broke. “The services wouldn’t be the same without you. I know that somehow, but I have no way of proving it unless you give us a chance.”

“Us? There isn’t an ‘us.’” Her denial was quick and sharp. She leaned forward, only slightly, but the action had him sitting straighter. “You would be mine from the time you enter my house until you left. That is it. That doesn’t make us a couple or anything more than a Master and sub. Clear?”

Loud and clear. The smack down had been clearly administered and this time he did look down, but only to collect his thoughts. Had he really expected—wanted—more? He’d never wanted a girlfriend or wife. The time on the road was too hard on relationships. Plus it was too much trouble sorting through the groupies, gold diggers and fame seekers to find a woman who was interested in him for just being him.

He looked up, lips pressed tight. “Clear. Mistress.” The last had her lips curling into a small smile before she hid it behind her glass and sat back.

He didn’t want to hope or believe too much, but the mere thought that this might happen had his leg bouncing and his palms clammy once again.

“We need to discuss rules and limits,” she said.

“Of course.”

“I’ll draw up a trial contract—”

“No. I don’t want a contract.” His adamant refusal was met with cool eyes and a raised brow. How did he explain it so he didn’t blow this chance? “I’ve been bound to a contract since I started playing in the junior hockey league before college. That’s almost half my life. I don’t want the pressure of more demands and requirements of yet another contract.” He’d gone from the United States Hockey League to his scholarship at Michigan State straight to his NHL contracts.

“But I’ll have demands of you, requirements I’ll expect you to follow. If you don’t want the pressure, then this won’t work between us.” She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “You don’t need a Domme, just a woman who likes to play a little kinky.”

That fast, his chance was slipping away when he’d been so close. His stomach clenched around the pasta he’d just consumed, compressing the contents into a tight ball too large for the space. “I want you,” he said, letting his need be exposed in the rough grind of his voice. He resisted the urge to lean forward and crowd her, instead holding himself stiff in his seat. “I want to get lost in the rush to please you. To find calm in giving you everything you want. I know that from our one time at The Den.”