Ravishing Rebounds: A Slapshot Novella (Slapshot Series Book 10) Read online

  Ravishing Rebounds

  A Slapshot Novella

  Heather C. Myers

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

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  Did You Like Ravishing Rebounds?

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Heather C. Myers

  Also by Heather C. Myers

  Also by Heather C. Myers

  Also by Heather C. Myers

  Also by Heather C. Myers

  Also by Heather C. Myers

  Also by Heather C. Myers

  1

  The leather chair in the conference room at Hoffman & Parker was more comfortable than Dimitri Petrov would have assumed. The smooth oak table felt like a bridge he wanted to burn, but this was important. He looked across it, where his wife—ex-wife—sat with her own attorney, a smug smirk painted pink across her lips.

  Dimitri knew that smirk. She thought she was winning.

  "I think that wraps everything up," his attorney, Martin Saltzman, said, glancing down at the thick, cream paper with a list of everything Dimitri wrote out that he refused to compromise on when it came to deciding what he wanted to keep for himself, what he would buy her out of, and what they would split. "The only thing we need to decide on is the house."

  "Since I have custody of the kids—"

  "For now." Dimitri did not care that his thick accent sometimes ate his words and it was difficult to understand what he said. One thing he refused to compromise on was his kids. "I agreed to letting you have custody of the kids—without a court order—during the hockey season. That's over in two months."

  Rita snorted and shared an amused look with her attorney. Her fingers were laced, palms resting flat on the surface of the desk. "Honey," she said, and he could detect the condescending tone immediately, "it's cute that you think your team is going to make it to the playoffs, let alone win a Cup, even though you've never won anything of the sort in your life except the Lady Bing Trophy and that was just because you're too nice on the ice." She snapped open her Gucci purse and pulled out lipstick and a small mirror. "Let's be honest, Dimitri. The season will end for you guys in a few weeks. Yes, I think you've managed to hit a playoff spot—"

  "We've locked in the Western Conference last week," Dimitri snapped.

  Rita snapped closed the compact mirror and locked eyes with Dimitri. Her amused smile was now gone, replaced by a tight line.

  "Once we win the Cup, and we will," Dimitri put in, "we will be back here, trying to work something out with our kids and what's best for them."

  "Being with their mother is what's best for them," Rita said. She slid her makeup back in her purse.

  "A mother who caused this divorce?" Dimitri asked. He shifted in his seat, feeling his temper flare. He always tried to be patient, but not when it came to his kids. Not when someone was lying about him. "You can paint yourself as the victim all you want, Rita, but just because you are the mother does not mean court will automatically grant you the children. You know this, yes?"

  "And just because you are a successful hockey player doesn't mean you're going to get custody, either." Rita leaned forward, the smug smirk back on her lips. "Hockey is always coming back, Dimitri. And that means that you're going to be gone for half that time. Who's going to take care of the children then? Why would a court grant you any custody when you won't grant your children time? Which means I'll get custody. Which means I'll need a decent monthly check from you—both spousal and child support. Get your checkbook ready, sweetheart."

  Dimitri opened his mouth, ready to say something, when his lawyer gently placed his hand on Dimitri's forearm.

  "Actually, Mrs. Petrov," he began but she cut him off.

  "Collins," she corrected, glancing down at her cuticles. Judging by the red painted on them, Dimitri assumed she had just gotten them done. "Ms. Collins. I'm not keeping his name."

  "Right, of course." Bert Hoffman cleared his throat, adjusting his spectacles on his nose. "This mediation is a formality. Dimitri didn't actually have to partake in it, what with your infidelity."

  Dimitri watched as Rita dropped her hands under the table. She was probably adjusting the hem of her skirt, something she tended to do when she was nervous about something.

  "You signed a pre-nup with Mr. Petrov before you got married," Hoffman reminded her. He reached to the side of the table and grabbed a manila envelope, opening it and grabbing a stapled stack of papers.

  "I'd like to see that," Rita's attorney said, putting on his own glasses. Hoffman handed him the stack.

  "As you can see," Hoffman said. "The highlighted section of section three, page sixteen, clearly states that any infidelity on either part automatically forfeits any rights over shared property. Both parties retain monies they make individually and spousal support is forfeited as well."

  Rita ripped the pre-nup away from her attorney and looked at the highlighted section. Dimitri leaned back against his chair, playing with his cufflinks before looking up. He could not keep his own grin from spreading across his face if he’d tried.

  "What?" she snapped. Her eyes darted back and forth. Slowly, she handed the document back to her lawyer. "Oh. Well, that isn't a problem."

  Dimitri tilted his head to the side. "I'm sorry?" he asked.

  "Must be indiscriminate proof infidelity occurred," Rita recited without needing the document to know the words. "Where's your proof?"

  "I saw you," Dimitri said. He placed his hands on his thighs underneath the table and curled his long fingers into tight balls of fists. "I walked in on you—"

  "You're just saying that," Rita said. "It's your word against mine, and since you have a vested interest in this, you need actual proof. You don't have it. As far as you're concerned, I never cheated at all."

  "If you never cheated, we wouldn't be in this mess, looking at each other, ready to sign divorce papers," Dimitri snapped. It was harder to control his anger at her inconsideration.

  "I doubt that." Rita stood and adjusted her blazer jacket. "I think we're done here, aren't we? I look forward to our next mediation, but let me tell you, Dimitri, I'm going after full custody, and the court will give them to me. You might want to keep that in mind at our next mediation."

  Her heels clacked all the way to the glass door before she left.

  "She's right, unfortunately," Hoffman said, gripping the handles to his own chair. Dimitri felt the leather stiffen under him. "Unless we can prove she cheated on you, the court will probably grant her at least shared custody and force you to pay both child and spousal support."

  "I don't care about the child support," Dimitri said. "If the money goes for my kids, fine. The kids deserve to be taken care of. But I won't pay spousal support. I'll find the proof. Somehow."

  2

  The minute Amanda Brown could hear the low rumble coming from the garage, she rubbed her hands together and glanced over at the dining table. Dimitri's kids wouldn't be here until tomorrow, which meant they had the house to themselves the whole night.

  Thank God.

  Amanda was barely twenty-four, and while she kne
w what she was getting into when she started to date Dimitri Petrov, it wasn't easy being an authority figure to two kids—an eight and a ten-year-old—going through a divorce. Especially when they regarded her as the woman who came between their parents and caused the divorce even though their mother was the reason for this. It didn't help that Rita Petrov encouraged the thought.

  "Bitch," she whispered, glancing around the kitchen. She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for Dimitri to walk through the garage door and into the luxurious backyard, through the recently-mowed grass, around the hot tub, and into the kitchen.

  It had been a struggle to keep her opinion regarding Rita Petrov to herself when all she wanted to do was talk about what a bitch Rita was. However, Amanda learned quickly that the children were willing to forgive their mother for pretty much anything. She tried not to talk to Dimitri about this because, for one, it wasn't like he didn't already know this about his ex-wife, but also because he seemed to feel guilty. Like Amanda's frustration with this awful woman was his fault.

  Amanda strolled over to the stove and checked the boiling water. The noodles would be done in a minute or two. She picked up the ladle and began to stir it, just to give herself something to do in order to keep those thoughts away.

  Because to Amanda, this was his fault. At least, partly. Because he picked such a terrible choice in partner and mother of his children, and the vindictive bitch—who still knew nothing about Amanda—was giving Dimitri an issue and probably would for the rest of his life because she was a miserable hag who had nothing better to do than to make the nicest, most genuine person on the planet as miserable as she possibly could.

  Amanda slammed the ladle on the marble kitchen countertop and sucked in a deep breath. Besides the boiling water, the house was silent. She didn't remember the first time it was this quiet in a long time. In fact, she almost wished Dimitri's meeting went long just so she could experience it more and really appreciate it. Before this, before Dimitri and his kids, she completely took something like silence for granted. Now, she wished she hadn't.

  "No, no," she muttered to herself, turning off the stove. She curled a strand of red hair behind her ear before draining the pasta. "I would never wish that on him."

  "Talking to yourself?"

  Amanda jumped, nearly spilling the pasta from the drainer. She had been so consumed by her thoughts that she hadn't heard him slide the backdoor open and step inside.

  "Are you all right?"

  His Russian accent made everything sound better and she felt her face start to heat up. From the corner of her eye, Amanda noticed him step forward to help her, but Amanda held up and hand and shook her head.

  "I'm okay," she insisted. "Sorry." She turned back to the stove as she heard Dimitri pad across the kitchen and down the hall, probably to hang up his coat. She brought the drainer to the countertop once she was certain all the water had been forced into the sink and began to heat up a different pan—this one, for the spaghetti sauce.

  "You're jumpy," he pointed out, stepping back into the kitchen. "I think I have a bottle of wine for that."

  Amanda felt herself smile. He always seemed to know what to say to diffuse a tense situation.

  "As long as it goes with spaghetti," she told him over her shoulder. She poured the sauce into the warm pan and stirred the sauce every now and then before grabbing tongs and placing some of the noodles in the pan. "How was it?"

  "Awful," he said. Amanda was so focused on cooking that she didn't notice Dimitri slide his hands around her waist and nuzzle her shoulder until he did it. She jumped again. "You're awful jumpy today."

  "I guess I'm just nervous," Amanda said. "I don't like when you have to see her."

  "I don't either." His lips vibrated against Amanda's skin and she sighed in contentment. The feeling of Dimitri's arms wrapped around her made her remember that she was safe with him, that this complicated relationship was worth it. "It makes coming home to you all the more worthwhile. Especially considering you don't cook. Ever." He picked up his head. "Is there a special occasion I don't know about or can't remember? I know we've been together for eleven weeks and three days, but I don't think that requires a celebration..."

  "Can't I just want to cook for my boyfriend?" Amanda teased, moving the noodles, now coated in sauce, out of the pan and into a bowl.

  "Say it again," Dimitri murmured, his voice low. Goose bumps sprang up and down Amanda's bare arms. "The word."

  "What word?" Amanda asked.

  "Boyfriend," he replied. "Tell me again that I'm your boyfriend."

  Amanda set the bowl down and turned around in Dimitri's arms. She locked her wrists around his neck and stared into his hazel eyes. The man aged like wine and she wanted very much to indulge tonight with him.

  "You, Dimitri Petrov," she murmured, "are my boyfriend. And I am very, very lucky to have you."

  He smiled and leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. His lips probed hers until she opened her mouth willingly. His hands ran up and down her back and she pulled him even closer to her. Her stomach tumbled with butterflies and her pelvis twitched with sparks. He had this uncanny ability to make her want him at the most inappropriate times.

  Her growling stomach interrupted them and Dimitri chuckled through their kiss before pulling away.

  "Let's eat, my darling," he told her. He wiped stray sauce from her face and stuck his thumb in his mouth. "Delicious."

  Amanda shook her head and started to get wine glasses for the two of them. Indulge they would.

  3

  Once they finished eating, Dimitri poured them both another glass of wine and they made their way to the couch. He had yet to introduce Amanda to his kids as his new girlfriend but he intended to do it as soon as the paperwork was signed and things were settled between him and Rita. The last thing he wanted was for them to be confronted with such a significant change so soon after accepting the fact that he and their mother were no longer together.

  He took a long sip of the wine before resting the glass on the surface of the coffee table and leaning his head back against the black leather couches. He had learned the hard way about having light-colored couches and children. It never worked.

  "How are you?" Amanda asked, setting her glass down next to him and placing her head on his shoulder. "I'm sure today wasn't easy for you."

  It wasn't. Not because he was confronted with the fact that his ex-wife was his ex-wife. He didn't even care that she had cheated on him. At least, not anymore. He would be in a very different place if he didn't have Amanda. He coiled an arm around her and pulled her closer to him. He wasn't big on words but he tried to have his actions express his feelings for him. While he didn't always tell her what he was feeling, he tried to physically show her, whether it was holding her hand or kissing her neck or simply playing with her hair. He learned early into their relationship that she liked when he did that.

  "Tired," he murmured. "Who knew mediation could be so draining?"

  "Well, you have practice tomorrow, so it's important that we take it easy tonight," she told him. "No ragers for you, okay?"

  "I'll have to cancel our plans, then."

  Amanda chuckled and he reveled in the sound of her laughter. He didn't like to admit the fact that there were times he felt old, as though maybe it wasn't right being with her. Not because he cared about her age, more because he cared about her. Was it fair that a twenty-three-year-old wanted to be with someone as old as he was? Was it fair to keep her with him when she should be out there with guys her age? Had she seen and done everything she wanted to do?

  He had never been with someone who already had kids, but he knew that whoever he chose to be with—before Amanda—was coming into a relationship where the honeymoon phase was nearly gone before it began. He had children, and his children were the most important people in his life, no matter who came and went. Whoever he got with would need to understand that, and he wasn't sure a twenty-three-year-old would.

>   But Amanda wasn't like most people her age.

  "How are things with the Ice Princesses?" he asked, turning his head so his lips grazed her shoulder. He could feel her tense underneath him, not because she was uncomfortable but because the action elicited pleasure in her.

  "Good," she said, her voice tight as his lips ghosted kisses across her skin. She sighed, a deep sound that caused her body to relax only a fraction. "Scraping ice and looking cute. You know how it is."

  "I know how it is, indeed." He smiled through the kisses now, his fingers caressing patterns into the side of her hip. "I happen to remember you nearly crashing into me during a commercial break."

  "The way they Zambonied the ice during intermission sucked," Amanda said. "It was one of those superhot days, which already messes with the ice—"

  Amanda stopped talking as Dimitri placed more kisses up and down her neck. "Why can't you admit that you did it on purpose to get my attention?" he asked. "I work with professional hockey players and you are one of the best skaters I know. I watch you. You think I don't, but I do. The minute you touch the ice, everyone's eyes are looking at you, and I can't help but think, ‘That's my girl.’ I also think, ‘If anyone touches her, I'll beat them to a pulp,’ but it's hard to get possessive when you're so beautiful. They can't help themselves as they stare at you."

  He picked his head up to watch as her cheeks turned a smooth, pink shade.

  "I love when you blush," he told her, his voice low. "It is so...cute."

  Amanda giggled, shaking her head as he resumed kissing her. "Your accent," she said. She couldn't continue to talk when Dimitri placed a kiss in a sensitive spot where her shoulder and neck met. She sucked in a tight breath and he could feel her entire body shake. "God, I love your accent."