Page 364 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Gio

"Of course not." My butt hits the bench with a thump, but I don’t look at him. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of thinking he’s driven me away. Doesn’t mean I have to listen to what he has to say.

He must sense my conflicting emotions, for he raises his hands.

"I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot—"

"You have a funny way of showing it.” I tip up my chin.

He raises a shoulder. "I’m good at keeping my emotions to myself."

"Is that due to your military stint or because you’re British?"

His lips twitch, before he schools his features into that expressionless, yet gorgeous, granite-like-facade he calls his face.

"Is that a personal question?" he rumbles.

"Of course not." I swerve my head in his direction. Bastard has a smug look on his face. He’s having way too much fun at my expense. I curl my fingers around my handbag. "You know what? I’m leaving." I begin to rise to my feet, and he touches my arm.

Shockwaves course under my skin. My belly tightens. My heart collides with my ribcage. My pulse rate shoots up, and fuck-fuck-fuck, what the hell is this response to his mere touch?

He must feel it, too, for he freezes. His green eyes flash for a second. He stares at me with something like shock, then pulls back his hand.

I instantly jump to my feet. "I do need to get back."

"So, you don’t want to hear about the proposition I have for you?"

"Proposition?" I blink.

"Something that will help us both make the most of a bad situation?"

I scowl at him. "Why are you being so conciliatory?"

"Because, contrary to your preconceived notions about me, I’m not all unreasonable."

"Preconceived notions?" I snort, and against my better judgment, sit down on the bench again. It’s more prudent if I leave. Nothing he has to tell me can be that important.

Also, I must have been imagining the response my body had to his touch.

Those kinds of things only happen in the movies or in my smutty novels.

I didn’t feel every imprint of his fingers on my skin as if he’d branded me forever.

I tuck my elbows into my sides and square my shoulders.

If I knew what was good for me I’d leave but, I’m not going to run away. I’m not.

"My notions are based on how disagreeable you’ve been so far." I jut out my chin. "How obnoxious you’ve been, not to mention, bad-tempered, ill-humored, crabby, irritable, grumpy, peevish—"

"Do you carry around a dictionary in your head?"

I snort. "Just love words, is all."

"Hence the books?" He tilts his head. "What’s your fave?"

I glance away then back at him. "War and Peace."

"War and Peace, huh?" He looks at me with something like respect in his eyes. "Isn’t that Tolstoy’s longest work?"

It’s my turn to look at him with surprise. "Not many men would know that."

"I’m not many men; my grandmother loves to read."

"She does?" I know I’m engaging in conversation with the enemy, but getting an insight into him, however brief, is more fascinating than I expected.

"Only—" He glances around then crooks his finger in my direction. I lean in; so does he. He looks into my eyes. "She loves to read smut."

"Your grandma reads smut?" I know I’m gaping, and who am I to judge? I love my smutty books, and Rick’s grandmother has a right to read them, too, right?

"She loves spicy romance novels. In fact, she started a book club so she and her friends could exchange notes on their favorite spicy scenes."

"Oh?" I blink slowly.

"It’s wonderful she’s a reader; makes it easy to buy her gifts. For Mother’s Day this year, guess what I got her?"

"What?" I murmur. I’m not sure I want to know. Except, I do want to know. "What did you get her?"

"A Kindle."

"A Kindle?" I know I’m parroting what he’s saying, but I’m finding this entire conversation so otherworldly.

This big, rough, grumphole has a grandma who reads spicy books, and he bought her a Kindle.

Have I been kidnapped by aliens and now I’m living in an alternative world?

As long as they're aliens with two penises, I don’t mind.

Also, ugh, what’s this fascination with DP? Where the hell did it come from?

"Her old Kindle was on the verge of dying, so I bought her a top-of-the-line, Kindle Paperwhite, the kind you can read—"

"In the sun and which is also waterproof, I know. I have one, too."

"You do?"

"I prefer paperbacks because I can annotate them, though. I often end up carrying my fave ones around so I can read them over and over again. Comfort reads, you know?"

He looks at me with a strange expression on his face.

"What?" I snap.

"You find War and Peace a comfort read?"

Oh, that? I blush a little. "I have many comfort reads," I evade the question.

"If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay." He raises his hands.

"Reading tastes are personal, you know? It’s the one time I can escape my daily worries and not worry about being judged.

When I’m between the pages of a book, I can be anyone I want.

" And, I can have as many orgasms as I want, with the help of smutty words and my trusted Dan. It’s one of my favorite parts of the day—when I can relax in a bathtub and read with a glass of wine and my toys.

More than once, my Kindle has fallen into the bath water, which is why I got a waterproof one.

Not that I’m going to share all of these details with him.

"It’s not often I find someone who not only loves to read, but who also knows what they like to read, ya know?"

I nod. No way am I ever admitting to you the kinds of books I prefer to read.

Not that I have a hankering for a hot man in a mask chasing after me, only to catch me and fuck me until I can’t see straight.

No, no way, am I telling this grumphole what my secret fantasy is.

I pull up my phone and exclaim. "Omigod, look at the time, don’t you need to be back for practice? "

He rises to his feet. "Are you going to watch?"

"Gio, right?"

I glance sideways at the lanky man who’s come up to stand next to me. Like everyone else on the team he’s tall, over six feet for sure but unlike the players he’s lean and lanky, like he went through a growth spurt and never put on weight.

"And you are?"

"Nathan Pitt." He holds out her arm.

"The physical therapist?" I place my hand in his much bigger one. He squeezes gently, his touch careful.

"C’est moi." He dips his head.

"French?"

"Canadian.” He nods toward the game in progress on the rink. "Spectacular, isn’t it?"

I turn back to watch the men zip around the ice. They’re on skates but, whoa, they might as well have wings on their feet. Two of them—Jagger and Enzo, collide. Enzo falls on his back and lays stunned for a few seconds. I gasp, pressing my palm into the plexiglass.

Next to me, Nathan tenses. The next second, though, Enzo is up and off on the ice.

He manages to grab the puck and swing it into the goal.

His team cheers. And all of that took seconds.

Literally, seconds. "Jesus." I shake my head.

"I always forget how spectacular it is to watch a game in real life. "

Probably because I stayed away from ice hockey games after what my ex-boyfriend did to me.

I also stopped myself from following the game online.

I thought it would hurt to watch the players again on the ice, but strangely, it hadn’t upset me too much.

Maybe I'm getting over my heartbreak. Or perhaps, it has to do with being fascinated by a certain athlete and his mastery over the puck?

Rick is breathtaking. Clad in jersey, pants, gloves and helmet, he’s spectacular.

No, more than that, he’s breathtaking. There’s something about the way his jersey stretches over his shoulder pads and chest protector, and how his elbow pads and protective gloves, padded shorts, shin pads and neck guard, he resembles a beast. Only Jagger, aka Shrek, is taller than him.

And then, there’s the way he owns the ice, and how he charges.

The way he manages to snatch up the puck and swing it toward the goal is poetry in motion.

He’s more fluid than my asshole ex ever was.

"It’s not for nothing, it’s known as one of the fastest games in the world," Nathan murmurs.

The coach calls time, and the players glide off the ice. Rick skates up to Enzo, and the two engage in a conversation. Rick does most of the talking, Enzo nods. He seems to be making sure Enzo is okay. Then Rick slaps him on the back and Enzo steps off.

"I’m going to make sure he’s okay." Nathan grabs his equipment bag and races off in his direction. The other players head for the locker room, but Rick stays behind to talk with the coach.

Despite the helmet, I sensed the concern on his face as he spoke to Enzo.

The man took a solid hit, I was sure he’d been knocked out.

But then, he recovered so quickly, I couldn’t believe it.

My respect for what the players put themselves through just increased a hundred times.

And as much as I hate to admit it, Rick was right.

Watching them in action has given me ideas for the kinds of content I need for my calendar for the social media and PR to amplify the team’s reputation.

I head toward the exit of the rink when Rick falls in beside me.

He’s taken off his helmet and his dark hair is plastered to his forehead.

"What do you think?"

"Of what?"

"Of having dinner tonight with me?"