So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(32)

“No, you reacted correctly. It’s better to punch first, beg forgiveness later.”

She grabbed another towel and wrapped it around her head. “What are you doing here, Vadim?”

“I could ask you the same thing. In fact, I’m fairly certain I have more reason to be here than you.”

“It’s after eleven at night, and we’re both here. Anyone would think that’s pretty fishy.”

He rubbed his chin, feeling Machiavellian. “Yes, they would.”

Evidently annoyed with his evasiveness, she skirted him, a twitch to her hips, while he took a long, hard look at how her ass moved with the terry fabric. An ass he had already acknowledged to be sublime, but really it was her legs he had always enjoyed the most. Long, tanned, and toned. Legs that had carried her to glory. He would enjoy nothing more than seeing them wrapped around his hips.

This line of thinking was ridiculous, considering the warning bells he had rung in her ear about dating Kelly. But he did not wish to date her. He merely wished to fuck his sexy coach.

That’s when something struck him. Too busy losing himself in the glorious thought of burying himself between Isobel’s thighs, he had failed to see that the twitch in her hips was not readily attributed to a sexy swivel, but . . . for the love of God, she was hurting.

“Isobel, why are you walking that way?”

She stopped and threw a glance over her shoulder. “What way?”

“Like you have been injured.”

“It’s nothing.” She continued to the outer locker room.

He followed and found her standing with hands on hips staring at his gym bag and the skates lying beside it.

Her lips thinned. “You’re here to skate?”

“I need to get back to my full speed.” With the team on the road for a few away games, now was the perfect time to improve his strength and skills absent prying eyes.

“You shouldn’t be skating without supervision. You’ll push yourself too hard. Kelly won’t be happy when he finds out.”

“Kelly? Why are you so concerned with what Kelly thinks?”

She squinted at him. “We’re a team here. We’re all concerned as a team when one of our assets is engaging in behavior that could curtail his recovery.”

Yes, an asset. That’s all he was to her. He let that go for now, as any further inquiry would make him more furious. “You are trying to change the subject. I asked why you’re walking like a wizened old grandmother.”

“Just a long day. But thanks for the lovely comparison.”

He knew she’d had a hip injury in her quest to return to professional-level play. He didn’t need to have gone through that himself to understand how devastating it must have been for her. Isobel had always been a fierce competitor. To lose what defines you must be tough, and he resolved to be gentler with her.

“Bella, I—”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

“Okay, Is-o-bel.” He said it low and rough so she understood that it did not matter which name he used, his intentions when saying it were the same. “Can I not be concerned when I see you hurting? If anyone understands that, it’s me.”

She looked like she wanted to disagree, but the words wouldn’t come, likely because she knew he was right. Only athletes understood other athletes.

“I was out on the rink, putting in my time,” she said quietly. “And I know you’re going to wonder why a coach would do that.”

“You want to be able to keep up during our practices. You’re worried I will surpass you and think you have nothing left to teach me.”

“Not exactly. I need to feel I’m at this top level, even if I can’t compete on that stage anymore.” She looked away in the direction of the rink.

The only stage that mattered.

There was more to this, but he didn’t press. “We understand each other, Isobel. But skating to the point of pain will not help. When we meet for practice tomorrow, what use will you be to me?”

Her lips curved. “I could say the same about you. No skating without me or another coach present, Vadim. I—we can’t risk you overdoing it, not when you’re so close to making the roster.”

“I am?”

“Of course you are. We’re so close”—as she spoke he moved in, gratified at the slight bulge in her graceful neck when she swallowed—“to making the play-offs, but we need that extra push. You’re what we need.”

But was he what she needed?

“No skating tonight, Russian. Come in thirty minutes early tomorrow, and we’ll get to work.”

“Da.”

“Now, I need to get dressed, so if you don’t mind . . .”

“I will wait outside.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

That was the other thing that niggled at him. She was here solo. Naked. Wet. Anything could have happened to her, including seduction by a hard-as-a-puck Russian.

“I will walk you to your car. It is not safe for you to be here alone.”

That made her smile. “Ask your Adam’s apple how safe I am.”

“Yes, you are tough, Isobel, the toughest woman in all of Chicago. I will still be waiting outside.”



Five minutes later, she emerged, carrying her coat and a gym bag, her hair still damp and down around her shoulders. A slight curl was starting in it, a kink he remembered wrapping around his fist as he had plunged inside her.