So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(51)

“What? Oh, yeah.” He walked by her, back to his seat, his mind clearly elsewhere. Phew. It seemed everyone was in a mood tonight.



Swish, swish.

Vadim raced to the end of the rink, took the shot in the empty net, and raced back. Then he did it nine more times. He glanced over at Isobel, who lifted her eyes from her iPad.

“Two seconds faster than yesterday.”

His knee was better. The urge to favor his other leg was gone, but the urge to win was as strong as ever. Other urges, too.

Three days since New York, and they were never alone. Even during these sessions, there was usually someone in the stands. Another trainer. Another coach. Yesterday, Dante sat through the entire hour, his thumbs working his phone feverishly. As soon as regular team practice started, he left, which meant he was taking a special interest in Vadim’s progress.

In five minutes, the rest of the team would be on the ice. Removing his helmet, Vadim skated over to Isobel, who was making notations in his iPad chart like a doctor.

“I was worried game play might take it out of you,” she said, not looking up, “but it’s made you hungry. There’s no question about you being back on the roster full-time.”

As she continued to talk about gait speeds and skating motions, he assessed whether there was tension between them because he had shut her down when pressed on the subject of his mother.

His relationship with that woman was not Isobel’s concern. True, she had her own parental issues, but she’d had their support through her formative years. Vadim’s father, on the other hand, had not been the warmest of individuals, and had become even frostier after his wife left him.

Left them.

Weeks would go by without Vadim seeing Sergei Petrov. Instead, he left Alexei as his proxy, ordering him to pick up a young Vadim from hockey practice, attend his first competitive games, even teach him chess. Alexei, the faithful retainer, had always been there.

Vadim’d had plenty of time to come to terms with Victoria’s heartless decision, and he certainly did not need Isobel to play at therapist. Lost in a gloom, he realized that he’d missed much of what she was saying.

“. . . these sessions should stop.”

His neck snapped back. “Repeat, Isobel.”

“If you’re playing games and attending regular team practice, then we have to be careful about overdoing it. The gym conditioning has to continue, so something else has to give. It should be this.”

Nyet. Something about Isobel’s tutelage brought out the best in him, and he wanted that to continue—in all the areas. Between the inability to touch her when others were around and the temptation of her beautiful ass at every turn, the last three days had been hell.

He weighed these competing needs.

“Fine.”

Her green eyes widened. “Fine?”

“You will not be my coach anymore. That is fine.”

A flicker of discomfort crossed her face. He hated to cause it, but his next words would dull any hurt. “If you’re not my coach, then we can continue with what we have started. Properly.”

“Oh, we can, can we?”

“Da, Bella. I have tasted you, drunk you down, yet my thirst has not been quenched. Any scruples you have about us will be wiped away now that this conflict of interest is a thing of the past.” He looked at his watch. “As of three minutes ago, we should be in bed.”

She laughed, and his balls took the hit. “One night only, Russian. That’s what I said.”

“Seven orgasms do not equal a one-shot deal. My throat is dry, and I think you’re still thirsty, too.”

Her breathing had picked up, her eyes flared with want.

He continued with his campaign to break her shallow resistance. No woman could withstand the Czar of Pleasure. “You’re under my skin, Bella. I wake each morning, my cock hard and seeking your wet heat. The lessons will continue off the ice.”

“I’m a team owner, Vad—”

His eyebrow reminded her of her sister’s relationship with a player.

She countered by going in an unexpected direction. “Might be time to call Kelly off the bench.”

“Yes, I’m sure he would love to hear he was your second choice.”

She thumped him on the shoulder, a pointless exercise due to his pads. “You and I aren’t about choices! It’s just letting off steam because we rub each other the wrong way.”

“Yes, Coach. Whatever you say, Coach.”

She looked flustered and beautiful. Time to press home his advantage. “We’ll start with nights in my bed and work to dinners. This is happening, Bella.”

Not wanting to hear any further rebuttals, he skated away. Other team members were starting to come out on the ice, so it was a good time to cut the conversation short. He was confident he could steer her to his way of thinking. Her stubbornness was no match for that of a born-and-raised Russian.

Thirty minutes into morning skate and confidence was flowing through him like a torrent. Many reasons could be given: his goal-scoring performance in the last game, maybe, or the renewed strength in his body. But really, he attributed it to his mood. He had always been a player affected by the goings-on in his personal life. With sound mind came sound body and play. With Isobel came an improved Vadim—in every way.

In previous practices, he’d been aware of his knee, and somehow that hesitation had spread like a contagion to the team. They were too careful around him, too conscious of his injury. This affected their own play, and while practice was not supposed to be overly rough, it was at least supposed to test a player’s limits.