Misconduct (Hot Ice series Book 6)

Lily
Harlem

Hot Ice, Book 6

Manage the Vipers hockey team! Me?
Well, that’s my role now. Shame a gorgeous, cocky-assed goaltender is testing
my patience. Sweet cheeks—really, is that any way to refer to the boss? Dustin
“Speed” Reed certainly seems to think so.

It’s okay though. I’ll escape to my
billionaire father’s paradise retreat. Except Dustin decides to jump on for the
ride. Then the tension really heats up, hotter than the scorching midday sun.

I want to slap him and kiss him.
Push him away and rip off his clothes. The feeling is mutual—a potent cocktail
of anger mixed with lust. I know we shouldn’t. It can’t end well, especially
when I’m going give him the sack as soon as I push him out of it.

But what’s the fun in having rules
if no one ever breaks them? I’ll take what I can, give him what he wants and
worry about balancing the books tomorrow. Surely my heart will be fine.

A Romantica®
contemporary erotic romance
from
Ellora’s Cave

I could do this, really I could. It was just a game, right?
They were just men, right?

Men who played hockey all day every day, for a living.

Men who were renowned for their determination, big muscles
and bad attitudes.

I straightened out my new skirt suit and plucked a scrap of
fluff from the blood-red jacket. Pulling in a deep breath, I clenched and
unclenched my fists. My palms were a little sweaty. My guts were rolling.

Sure, Dad had told me all kinds of stuff over the years
about hockey. Hell, I’d
seen
all kinds of stuff over the years. The
number of times as a kid I’d been dragged to the rink to watch games, playoffs,
daily practice even, I’d lost count. I knew the score, caught the drift,
understood the lay of the land, or rather the lay of the ice.

But this?

Managing the Vipers.

Me! Gina Gunner!

I had no choice. After a few fun years fluttering around the
social calendar I’d spent three years in England completing a business degree.
I had intended on gaining additional work experience, but now, at just
twenty-five, my time to step up to one of the family businesses had come early.
It was how things were despite the fact I was out of touch with hockey. I’d
been all about partying with my friends in Oxford and then enjoying an extended
vacation in Paris over the summer, until, of course, came the terrible news.

But now Dad was recovering from a heart attack at our villa
on Honeysuckle Key with his new young wife Giselle and doctors’ orders were for
him to slow down on a permanent basis. His latest hotshot head coach was good,
but Dad wanted me to keep an eye on things, hold the reins so to speak, and
right now I was all about keeping his blood pressure down.

Though what this venture would do to
my
blood
pressure was anyone’s guess.

I stepped up to the Vipers’ locker room door. My heels
clacked on the hard floor and I felt the tickle of a strand of hair that had
fallen from my swept-up hairdo. I pushed it behind my ear. I was trying to look
professional, in control, to fit the bill as the new, for all intents and
purposes, owner of one of the best hockey teams in the NHL.

I stared at the snake logo on the door. Beneath it was a
picture of a player—a black cutout—stooped over his stick, legs apart and head
down.

I wasn’t used to going into the men’s changing room, but
this is what Dad always did before a game. Once he got the nod from a coach
that everyone was primed and ready for action, he’d strut in and do his stuff.
Give them a pep talk that had the players as high as kites and boost their
confidence so they truly believed they were unbeatable. He was damn good at it
too, and the Vipers’ fans could testify to that. One look at the players’ faces
as they shot onto the ice proved it.

They played to win. Losing was not an option.

Shoving the door, I stepped in. The scent of hot male
bodies, sweat and cologne, and the lingering smell of cleaning fluid filtered
up my nose.

“Miss Gunner, they’re ready for you,” Mike said, touching
the tip of his Vipers cap and dipping his head.

“Thanks.” I nodded briskly. Around the corner, twenty
padded-up, psyched-up guys were waiting to hear what I had to say. That
knowledge made my mouth dry and my tongue stick to my palate.

I licked my lips and tasted the strawberry gloss.

“Are you okay?” Mike asked, touching my elbow.

Mike was the new, top-rated coach. He was experienced yet
still able to take to the ice himself and demonstrate when he needed to, not
like Ted, the last head coach. He’d been flirting with his seventy-fifth
birthday when he’d retired.

I smiled, kind of. “I’m fine. They are all…fully clothed
aren’t they?”

“Yes ma’am, I wouldn’t have called you in otherwise.”

“Good.” I twisted my fingers together.

“Warm-up starts in five,” he said, glancing at his watch.

“I know.”

Shit, this was it.

I stepped around the corner and was greeted with a room full
of curious eyes and expectant faces, some I’d seen before over the years, some
new to me. My skirt suddenly felt tight and claustrophobic, and my bra not
supportive enough. I resisted the urge to cross my arms and instead placed my
hands on my hips when I came to a halt in the center of the room.

“Miss Gunner,” Rick “Ramrod” Lewis, the captain said, “nice
to see you again.” He stood, all six feet and then some more of himself, and
held out his hand.

“Good to see you again too.” I took his hand and shook it,
making sure I had a firm grip and a confident shake, just to let him know I
wasn’t intimidated by his size even though I barely hit five feet three in my
heels.

He settled his gaze on mine for a long moment, then he
smiled and sat down.

“In fact it’s great to see you all,” I said, scanning the
room. “And I really am looking forward to getting to know you, but you have to
hit the ice so we haven’t got time for catching up and introductions.”

I caught the gaze of Phoenix, star forward. He nodded
seriously and I got the impression he was already in the zone, thinking about
points and pucks, checks and opportunities. Did he really need to hear what I
had to say? Would my words benefit one of the most elite players of this
century in any way, shape or form?

But my speech was what I’d intended to do so I got on with
it. “I’m ready and willing to take over where my father left off,” I said.
“He’s doing well by all accounts and will no doubt be watching your performance
on TV. So let’s make him proud.” I clenched my fist, held it up. “Go out and
steal those points from the Sharks, I know they took the win from under our
noses when we last met them, so now is the time to really go for it. Whoop
their asses—”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Brick said, banging his stick on the
ground. “Whoop their asses.”

He had a devilish grin on his face and I wasn’t sure if he
was mocking me. He was as known for being a joker as he was for his brutal
checks. I decided to push on with my rehearsed speech regardless. “But you’re
going to have to concentrate, okay, think about strategies, don’t miss
opportunities or give away easy shots. We need focus, concentration.” I stared
at Canadian goaltender, Dustin “Speed” Reed. He was known for his
lightning-quick saves and skill in protecting the net.

I tapped the side of my head. “Keep your eye on the game,
right.”

“As opposed to keeping my eye on what?” Dustin asked,
gnawing at his gum and not breaking eye contact with me.

“Anything else.”

He grinned slow and lazy, and dipped his gaze down my body.
He lingered on my breasts, the flare of my hips, my wickedly high stilettoes.

The barefaced nerve of him! Didn’t he get that I was paying
his wages now? I wasn’t some rink bunny here for him to ogle.

“Are you gonna be out there?” he asked, shifting some of the
enormous padding in his groin area.

I tilted my chin. “Of course.”

He grinned, showing his right incisor was chipped. “Then I’m
gonna have a hard time keeping my eye on the puck, sweet cheeks.”

Sweet cheeks!

There were a few huffs of amusement around the room. Raven,
the All-Star defenseman, and Ramrod swapped a look. Brick dipped his head and I
was sure it was to hide a grin that matched Dustin’s.

I stepped up to Dustin. He was seated so I could just barely
look down at him. “What did you just call me?”

“Sweet cheeks,” he said, twitching his eyebrows. “Sweet,
sweet cheeks.” He licked his lips in the most ridiculously suggestive way.

“If I hadn’t been brought up educated that violence was
wrong off the ice, Mr. Reed, I would be quite tempted to slap your
not
so
sweet cheek for that remark.” Now I did fold my arms, and I tapped my foot a
little too. Anger was surging around my veins, hot and sharp. I knew I
shouldn’t let it take hold, but I’d always been a bit hotheaded.

“Ah, well, you’re in the rink now, honey, so you’d better
get used to rough and tumble and, as for slapping me, well I’d like to see you
try it.” He paused. “Then again I might just enjoy a good spanking.”

Ramrod coughed and stood. “Time to go,” he grunted in his
deep voice. “Now.”

The rest of the players shuffled and moved past me. Mike darted
between them and then led them out.

Dustin didn’t move, he just continued to smirk as the locker
room went quiet.

I had to force my hands to stay where they were, locked by
the folds of my arms. My palms were itching to take the stupid grin off his face.
“How dare you?” I said, barely containing my annoyance.

“How dare I what?” He stood and stretched in front of me;
impossibly wide in his goaltender getup and ridiculously tall with the added
height his skates gave him.

“This is my first time officially meeting the team as the
new owner, it’s not even been announced to the press yet, and you call me
sweet
cheeks
. Show some damn respect.”

“Oh, I respect you all right.”

He was infuriating, all bright smile, flashing eyes and
heavily stubbled jawline. The scar on his bottom lip, onto his chin, just added
to his harshly handsome looks.

“So show it.” I turned, not wanting to feel hemmed in,
loomed over by him for another second.

Brick suddenly appeared, lunged past us and grabbed a mouth
guard. “Come on, Speed, time to hit the ice.”

“Yeah, coming,” Dustin said from behind me. “Just
apologizing to Miss Gunner here.”

“Apologizing?” I asked, turning back to him as Brick
disappeared. “Strange that I haven’t heard the word sorry.”

“Sometimes you have to take what you can get.” He grinned
and flicked his gum into a nearby bin that had the lid propped open. Perfect
shot.

“No, I usually get
exactly
what I want,” I said,
knowing I sounded like a spoiled little rich girl and hating myself for it. It
was how I’d been brought up, indulged, but I spent a great deal of effort
trying not to come across that way.

“I just bet you do.”

I huffed, so irritated now that I felt as though I had ants
crawling on me. I spun and marched forward several steps, planning on following
Mike and sitting near the bench to watch the game, the way Dad used to on
occasions. No one would take any notice, I wasn’t on the radar yet as the new
owner. Besides, the cool air would do me good rather than the stuffiness of the
skybox. I needed to take some of the heat from my blood. Heat put there by a
certain infuriating goaltender.

“They are particularly sweet though,” Dustin said suddenly.

I froze. Half turned. “What are?”

He stepped forward and gestured with his long, wide stick,
the blade almost but not quite touching my ass. “Your cheeks, in that slinky
skirt, very sweet.”

Now I wanted to do more than slap him, I wanted to shove
him, knee him, whack a fist into his guts. But what would be the point? He was
padded up so much a rhino could charge him and he wouldn’t feel it.

“Are you this inappropriate with all of your bosses or just
female ones?” I asked, barely keeping a quaver from my voice.

“I’ve never had a female boss before,” he said with a shrug
that shifted all of his upper body padding.

“Well, get used to it,” I said, prodding his jersey and
feeling the hard chest protector he wore beneath. “Because I’m here to stay and
calling me
sweet cheeks
is not going to get you into my good books.”

He shot his eyebrows up and they disappeared into his
helmet. “Good books?” he asked quietly and then dipped his head close, right by
my ear. “But perhaps I want to be in your
bad
books.”

I could smell him now. A faded but expensive citrus
aftershave and breath that was laced with mint. “What are you talking about?”

He straightened and his shadow left me. “I’m saying I’m no
teacher’s pet, Miss Gunner, so you want me to toe the line when you give your
little pep talks. You’re gonna have to come up with a better speech than ‘keep
your eye on the damn game’, because that much I get.” He paused. “Get it?”

“I get that you’re lacking in manners,” I said, refusing to
be intimidated by his size and his attitude. “Which is my least favorite
attribute in a person.”

He tutted through an infuriating smile. “And here was me hoping
to be your favorite.”

“Speed, for fuck’s sake…Sorry, ma’am,” Mike said, rushing in
and twisting his hands together. “Get your ass…self out here, now.”

“On my way,” Dustin called. He set his attention on me. “I
guess I’ll be seeing more of you and your sweet cheeks then. If you’re my boss
now.”

Before I could reply, he was gone. Several fast paces and
his bulk slipped from view.

I was left alone in the locker room, staring at the debris
the players had left—day clothes, the odd stick, endless enormous shoes—and
wondering what the hell I was doing. How could I, even for one second, hope to
control this pack of Neanderthals? Because I knew damn well that had been them
being polite. What would happen when they all turned into misogynistic dickwads
like Dustin? A
real
vipers’ nest would be more appealing.

Well, I’d just have to show them what I was made of. Dad had
brought me up tough, despite the luxury we’d lived in. Not only that, the
Vipers really did need me.

After delving into the books following Dad’s heart attack, I
knew that money was tight. Dad splashing out on Dustin Reed as the new
goaltender last season had tipped the balance over the edge. Well over the edge
and right down to the bottom of the canyon.

What was the saying? Last in, first out.

Yep, Dustin “Speed” Reed had better tread carefully. Because
when I started swinging contract renewals around, his would be the first to hit
the trash bin and I too could aim with a perfect shot.