I blink in surprise, not having expected such sincere gratitude from the man I’m fairly sure hates my guts because I like his sister.
Not sure what else to say, I reply, “You’re welcome.”
“You know you’re going to get backlash from this,” he continues, his brow furrowing with concern. “Discounting her claims so… callously. She’s going to go to the press, and it’s going to make you look bad.”
“So be it,” I say calmly. “I don’t cave to scammers and liars. The truth will eventually prevail. But I suggest you not worry about this. I’ll handle it all. You just concentrate on our next playoff game.”
“Will do, Chief,” he replies playfully. For the first time since I have known him, he offers me an actual, genuine smile.
I return his grin as we turn for the elevators.
“You know,” he offers, “Willow can be off-putting at times.”
I’m surprised he’s voluntarily brought up his sister, and it causes me to stop mid-stride. I angle my body to face him, eyebrows raised.
Dax shrugs, as if he can’t believe he’s going there either. “All I’m saying is don’t give up on her.”
“I have no intention of doing that,” I assure him.
Not anytime soon.
“Good,” he replies with a chin lift, which I take as a sign I now have his approval.
Have to say… it feels good, although I do think I’ll miss torturing him with my interest in his sister. Just a little bit.
We turn for the elevators again, but I’m stopped short by his hand landing on the center of my chest. He inclines his head, lowering his voice to a warning growl. “But just to reiterate… if you hurt her, I’ll hurt you.”
“Fair enough,” I reply.CHAPTER 10WillowDominik steps out of the limo, immediately turning to offer his hand to me. The driver stands to the side, holding an umbrella over his head to guard against the onslaught of Seattle rain that started while we were on the way from the arena to the hotel. As Dominik helps me from the vehicle, he moves out from under the protection of the umbrella so I can have it all to myself. The driver tries to adjust his stance to cover us both, but Dominik merely pulls it from his hand to cover just me.
It’s both alpha protective and sweet at the same time.
And yes, I like that.
We walk quickly to enter the Four Seasons, Dominik suavely handing the umbrella to the limo driver before we enter. He brushes droplets of water off his suit, then rakes his fingers through his wet hair with a laugh.
That suit probably costs thousands of dollars—yet he got wet so my Gap jeans and Monahan hockey jersey would stay dry.
I like that, too.
“I checked in before the game,” Dominik explains as he leads me directly to the elevators, his hand at my lower back. It’s the most he’s touched me since we first laid eyes on each other at the game earlier.
As planned, I flew in from Ottawa, straight to Seattle, then took an Uber right to the arena. Dominik insisted I sit in the visiting owner’s box and I didn’t fight him, just made sure Regan was invited as well. She was already there when I arrived and after I hugged it out with my sister-in-law, Dominik merely leaned in and gave me a soft but very quick peck on my cheek.
I think the message was clear.
Dominik wasn’t going to be overt about our relationship in front of other people, and the box was filled with plenty of them. He introduced me to everyone, some of whom I immediately forgot their names. It was a mixed bag of wealthy businesspeople from Los Angeles with a few celebrities thrown into the mix. While the game played out on the ice, Dominik spent much of his time rubbing elbows with his guests and making the rounds to talk. He did this, however, with an eye on the ice, often interrupting conversations to cheer or yell an obscenity at the ref, whichever was appropriate.
For the most part, he ignored me and frankly, it was a relief because I’m not quite sure how I would have reacted. Admitting this to only myself, I thought about him way too much over the last four days.
Dominik mainly left me alone while I was gone. He texted a few times to check in to see how things were going. Once, he told me he couldn’t wait to see me. And I’d texted him after the Vengeance whooped Seattle’s ass in game two—3-2—to congratulate him.
His response of, Can’t wait to celebrate with you, had made me feel all jittery and needy.
I didn’t like it, but it made it clear the man had an effect on me that I couldn’t quite control.
But now, with his hand on my lower back feeling heavy, possessive, and warm, I realize the obsessing I’ve done about him over the last few days was warranted. And I’ll admit to myself—but most certainly not to him—that he kind of has me hooked.