Chapter 17: The Warning

Gianna’s POV

The applause for the athletic director died down, but Ryker’s hand immediately found mine again. He held my fingers in a firm grip, anchoring me to his side as the waiters began serving champagne.

But before we could take a step toward our table, a shadow fell over us.

"Barrett," a sharp, gravelly voice barked.

Ryker froze. The relaxed, intense look in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, professional look. He turned around smoothly.

"Coach Vance. Good evening."

Coach Vance was a short, thick-necked man with graying hair and an icy stare. He was the head coach of the university hockey team, and he ran the program like a military camp. He didn't look at me. His eyes were locked completely on Ryker.

"I saw what happened on the dance floor with Reed," Coach Vance said, his voice low so the nearby donors couldn't hear. "You're the captain of this team, Barrett. You are already on thin ice with the athletic board because of that locker room incident. The scouts are in the balcony tonight, and the last thing you need is a public brawl over a girl."

Ryker's jaw clenched so tight that the muscle in his cheek twitched. "Reed stepped over the line, Coach. He was being disrespectful to Gianna."

Coach Vance finally glanced at me, his eyes narrowing slightly as if calculating my worth. "I don't care if he was reciting poetry, Barrett. On the ice, you protect your teammates. Off the ice, you protect your future. If I see you lose your temper like that again before Friday's game against Reed's team, I will strip the captain's 'C' off your jersey myself. Do you understand me?"

The threat hung heavily in the air. For a star hockey player like Ryker, losing the captaincy right before the NHL draft would be absolute suicide.

"I understand, Coach," Ryker said, his voice flat and controlled. "It won't happen again."

"Good," Coach Vance muttered. He gave me a stiff nod. "Miss Cole. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

He turned and walked away into the crowd.

I could feel the anger radiating off Ryker’s body.

He had risked everything—his captaincy, his draft score, his entire career—just because another guy had brushed his fingers against my arm.

"We're leaving," Ryker snapped suddenly.

He didn't look at me, he just wrapped his large fingers around my wrist and led me straight toward the exit, ignoring the photographers flashing their lights at our backs.

*****

The heavy glass doors of the ballroom slammed shut behind us as the cool night air hit my bare back, making me shiver instantly in the green dress.

Ryker didn't say a word. He led me straight down the concrete steps to the garage, his fingers tight around my wrist.

He unlocked the car, opened the passenger door, and waited until I climbed inside.

The moment he got into the driver's seat, he slammed his door too hard and I shuddered. The silence inside the cab was deafening, as Ryker started the engine, and sped out into the street.

He gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. The muscles in his broad shoulders bunched beneath his tuxedo jacket.

"Ryker," I said softly, turning my body toward him. "Your coach is right. You shouldn't have done that. You can't risk your future for this deal."

"Drop it, Cole," he frowned. His voice was lower and rougher than I had ever heard it. He kept his eyes locked on the dark road ahead.

"I'm serious," I pushed, my heart racing. "If you lose your captaincy, the NHL scouts will drop you. This arrangement is supposed to help your image, not ruin it. You can't let Jaxson Reed get to you."

Suddenly, Ryker cursed under his breath. He jerked the wheel to the right, steering the truck into a dark, empty space off the main campus road.

He slammed on the brakes and turned to face me, before ripping off his bowtie and unbuttoned his collar, breathing heavily.

His eyes were dark and completely fixed on me.

"You think this is about Reed?" he asked, leaning across the center console. His chest was only inches away from mine now. The scent of cedar wood and heat filled the small space. "You think I care about his stupid trash talk?"

"Then why did you almost snap his wrist?" I whispered, my voice catching in my throat.

"Because he was touching you," Ryker snapped, his hand slamming down on the leather seat right next to my head. He was so close—I could feel his breath against my skin. "The second his fingers touched your arm, I wanted to punch him badly. And it had nothing to do with the athletic board, or my image, or the team."

The green silk of my dress rustled as I pressed myself hard against the passenger door. "Ryker... our agreement—"

"I don't give a damn about the rules right now," he growled.

He reached out, his large fingers grabbed my chin as he tilted my face up, forcing my eyes to meet his.

His touch sent a sharp jolt straight through me.

"You're hiding something from me, Gianna," he murmured, his thumb brushing slowly across my lower lip. "You appear out of nowhere. You look at me like you're terrified I'll see right through you. But every time I look at you in this dress, or feel you against my chest, I seem to forget every single boundary I set."

The tension in the truck was suffocating. His eyes dropped to my lips, and for a terrifying, beautiful second, I thought he was going to lean in and kiss me.