Billionaire Captain: Claiming My Rival's Ex

ham

adult life learning ho

inute major, you put your team on the penalty kill, or you get suspended b

h of Eleanora's right arm, the cage inside my c

edges of the burn. And yet, she wasn't screaming. She wasn't throwing a tantrum. She was sitting in the front seat of my G-Wagon, shiveri

ing open the tactical trauma kit

f medical officer used when an errant skate blade sliced

le, and gently hooked the blunt tip under the hem of her ruin

flinch. "

d green threads away from her charred wrist. Every time the cloth pulled at a burst blis

ye

s I had kept tra

ook full of tactical sketches. She had handed me a sterile wrap after I got my lip split in an unpenalized scrimmage behind the bleachers. She

N.H., tattooed over my ribs the day I

stablish myself enough to pull her out of that viper's nest, Jared Ll

e saline and poured it di

my bicep. Her small fingers dug through my heavy

al-grade silver sulfadiazine burn cream across the wound. The pale blue ointment imme

ually carried, which terrified me a hell of a lot more than her anger ever could. "He told the whole room... i

red. Pure, unad

n the clean, uninjured skin o

own at the white cream covering her blisters. "

ive tape. My hands were perfectly steady while I bandaged her, but the second the metal clips snapped in

igned his own dea

then there are hits that end careers. Friday night was the first

hrough the glass. Legally,

and accelerating smoothly into the storm. "Full medical staff on call. Gated parking

e said i

r, my jaw ticki

e cold, brilliant steel I knew was in her blood. "I have the Lions' minority shareholder credentials. Tomorrow morning at eight, the executive board meets to

d. "You can't go to a board meeting smelling li

e air right out of my lungs. "My father died protecting that locker room from corporate leeches. I spent two years lettin

dashboard light. "You promised me a weapon

her for five

tion-she was taking all of it and f

rept onto my lips. G

throttle and redirecting the GPS toward the West Lo

e th

six a.m. sharp. Two: when you walk into that boardroo

pace beside her bandage, then

ensuring the perimeter security was locked, and watching her swallow

as already

ime linemate, best friend, and

d ring, his voice groggy. "It's midn

missioner's office. Tell them I'm taking the ceremonial face-off against L

ck, what

ched my wi

he sound of Andrew sitting up in bed, his tone turni

ensic accountants. Find every shell corporation tied to Christy Hill's art

back at the close

morrow, we burn t