Page 368 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Gio

"Motherfucking, twat-busting, rat’s ass of a manhole," I fume.

He steps aside and my Louboutin crashes to the floor.

"That’s a very expensive pump, you douche-hat." I hop around on my bare foot, then slide off the other stiletto and pitch it at him. He catches it. Of course, he does, asshole athlete that he is. Then he brings it up to his face and licks up the inside of the sole.

I gape at him. "Did you just—"

"Lick your shoe?" He lowers the heel to his side, then picks up the other one. Without taking his gaze off of me, he brings it to his face and inhales it.

"Umm…" I hesitate. "I’m not sure that smells very good."

His lips curl. "Everything about you smells like you, and that’s all that matters."

A ripple of heat licks up my spine. If I look down at my chest, I know my nipples will be outlined through my blouse and my jacket. The lust that slices through me is not a surprise. It’s been there, bubbling and rising inside me, increasing in size every day, slowly, slowly.

He’s a master of seduction, that’s for sure, with his words—when he speaks —and his actions, and his every move intended to make an impression on me, until I can’t help but be aware of him when we're in the same room. And when we’re not, I’m searching for his ugly mug—okay, his devilishly handsome mug—and the sight of his broad shoulders, that wide chest, the tapered waist, those powerful thighs, which could hold up my weight without a second thought.

Only, I’m not going to let myself be taken in by his gorgeousness, his beauty, the sheer masculinity of his presence that has already imprinted itself on me.

"Everything about you makes me want to turn my back on you and walk away," I shoot back.

"Oh?" He prowls over until he’s standing so close the heat from his body surrounds me like a welcome embrace.

That fresh snow and cut grass scent of his envelops me. I draw it in, and my head spins. My blood begins to pump harder; a pulse throbs at my wrists, my ankles, behind my eyes, all of it coalescing into a molten beat that thuds between my legs.

"You want to leave?" he asks in a silky-smooth voice that does weird things to my belly. Gah, why is everything about this man designed to turn me on? He’s one big sex-machine, and Tom Jones has nothing on him.

"Do you, Goldilocks?"

I huff out a choked breath. "And which one of the three bears are you?"

"How about all three combined into one?" He bends and drags his nose up the side of my cheek. "I certainly have the appetite to rival it."

He draws in a breath, followed by a growl of approval.

The sound grates over my nerve-endings, and my pussy clenches. Moisture trickles out from between my legs, and I squeeze my thighs together to clamp down on that growing emptiness between them.

"I do want to leave," I burst out.

He freezes at once, his azure eyes flashing. He takes a step back, then another. He nods in the direction of the bedroom. "Run along before I change my mind."

Something like disappointment squeezes my chest. Damn, I didn’t want him to kiss me, did I?

I don’t even like him. I’m attracted to him, but I have nothing in common with him.

I have a career to focus on, and he needs to get his team to the finals of the League and win it.

We have our jobs cut out for us, and a liaison of any kind would only make things more difficult.

Not to mention, after my bastard of an ex, I’ve sworn off men in general, and hockey players in particular.

"Not before you tell me why you said we're engaged? And it’s not only about managing the gossip, is it?"

The lust in his eyes recedes enough for a shrewd look to come into them.

A cunning expression settles on his features.

That’s when I realize I’ve misjudged this man.

I underestimated him. I mistook him for being laid-back.

Now, I realize it was all a front. Is this how he lulls his enemies into a sense of complacency, only to finish them off?

Just like he’s killing me with the desire that laces his expression.

"You’re right, there’s more to it,” he drawls.

"So tell me"—I look between his eyes—"why did you tell them that?"

"You want revenge on your ex—"

"And you concluded that how?" I snap.

"I saw the look on your face. He hurt you, and you want to hurt him back."

"And you figured that out in a few minutes?"

He peers into my eyes. "I'd wager you’re still in love with him."

Fire lights up my face. I squeeze my eyes shut.

I should deny it. But the fact is, I am not a person who takes relationships lightly.

When I was with Dennis, it was because I was ready to commit.

Because he ticked all the boxes and seemed like the man I’d like to spend the rest of my life with…

on paper, at least. And look how that turned out.

"I didn’t mean to upset you," he murmurs in a soft voice.

I manage to compose myself and open my eyes. "You may be right. I was in love with him. At least, I thought I was. And I’m not the kind who gets over feelings quickly, you know? So yeah, maybe a part of me is still in love with him, much to my chagrin."

Something flickers in his eyes. Surprise? No, he's the one who said it. Disappointment? Nah, why should he be disappointed?

"I know. What does it say about me that I might still be in love with him after he cheated on me? But I’m realizing I’m not the kind who can turn my feelings on and off, you know?

" I hunch my shoulders. "He hurt me; he broke my heart, so I don’t want to get back together with him.

I need time to mourn the loss of my dream.

I had everything planned out—my career, my life, my future—and then it all went to pieces.

" My nose tickles, and the backs of my eyes burn.

I refuse to cry over that asshole. He doesn't deserve my tears.

"He doesn’t deserve you. He should be whipped for what he did to you."

The violence in his voice sends a jolt of shock through me.

In all the time I was with Dennis, not once, did he ever use that tone of voice with me.

I never sensed that kind of passion in him.

I was the arm candy girlfriend. The one he loved to take to official events, to be seen in the media with, to share pics with me on social media.

The ideal girlfriend, couple goals… That’s what we were.

Rick, though? In all the interactions I’ve had with him, it’s clear he doesn’t give a damn about his social standing or his image in the media.

And that anger on my behalf in his tone?

It…it sends a pulse of longing shooting through my veins.

I take in the set of his jaw, the nerve that tics at his temple, the steely flint in his eyes.

He’s not just angry, he’s enraged. On my behalf.

For some reason, that thickens the ball of emotion in my throat.

I manage to swallow around it and tip up my chin.

"You’re right, he doesn’t deserve me. I can do better than him.

I know that. And I can’t believe I’m still thinking of him.

I need to get over him and move on, I know that. I haven’t managed to do it… yet."

He scans my features and slowly nods. "He’s a goddamn fool to not have held onto you."

Warmth pools in my chest.

"He doesn’t know what he’s lost. If you were mine, I’d treat you like a queen. I'd make sure nothing ever hurts you. That you're always taken care of, that all of your needs are met. That you're"—he lowers his voice—"satisfied in every way."

My heart descends to the space between my legs. A dull throb flares to life in my core.

"When I saw you with him, it was clear you were pissed off. I couldn’t hear the argument you two had, but your body language screamed you didn’t want to be anywhere near him. He wasn’t man enough to respect your wishes."

I swallow. "And you’d respect my wishes?"

One side of his lips twist. "For now."

The promise in those words shoots a pulse of longing through my soul.

Jesus, how can he make me feel these emotions at such a deep level?

Then he steps back, and I draw in a breath.

He spins around and, still holding my Louboutins, walks over to stand by the window.

"Also, I need a fiancée to take home to my Grams.”

"Eh?” Of all the things he could have said, that was not what I expected.

"My grandmother refuses to have a heart operation that would save her life, unless I show her I’m serious about settling down. Hence…" He raises a shoulder and continues to look out the window.

"So you’re going to lie to her?"

"If it means convincing her to get the surgery, then yes.” He uses his free hand to rub the back of his neck. "When you meet Grams, you’ll understand. She’s as feisty as you."

"I’m not feisty."

"And stubborn," he goes on, completely ignoring my reaction. "You can’t make that woman do anything she doesn’t want to do. She’s been morose since her diagnosis. It’s why, on my last trip home, I left Tiny with her."

"That mutt has a way of lightening up things around him. But wouldn’t he be too much for her to take care of?"

"She has a companion who spends the day with her and helps her around the house. Part of her duties include walking Tiny every day and making sure he gets his exercise. And before you worry, she was thrilled to have Tiny there. She knows how to handle him, and there’s no additional demand on Grams’ energy.

And Tiny is wonderful with her. He’s a gentle soul, and he livens up things and makes her laugh. "

"It’s true; the only time I’ve seen you crack a smile is at his antics."

He turns to look at me over his shoulder. "I smile," he says with a frown on his face.

"Ha, ha, did you crack a joke?" I chuckle.

His lips twitch, drawing attention to that puffy lower lip, and that thin upper lip that promises there’s a streak of meanness running through him.

A spark of anticipation fires up my nerve-endings.

I can’t ignore the clenching in my belly, either.

Gah, why can’t I go a few seconds without reacting to his lethal good looks?

"Also, why ask me to do this? Why not someone you know?"

"Like who?"

"An ex-girlfriend, maybe?"

His frown deepens, then he turns and leans back against the windowsill, my Louboutins dangling from his fingertips. It should look incongruous, but the delicate stilettos only serve to heighten his masculinity in comparison. "I don’t have an ex."

I mentally fist-pump. Outwardly, I narrow my gaze on him. "You never dated? Or had a girlfriend?"

"Never had time. I had lots of sex, of course."

"Of course," I huff.

His eyes gleam. "Lots and lots of sex, in all positions, and once with triplets, all of whom I satisfied—"

I swallow.

"—and at the same time."

Heat flushes my cheeks. "I don’t need the details."

"Isn’t that why you’re asking me questions, so you can find out more about me?"

"Don’t flatter yourself."

“You should be flattered I asked you to pose as my fiancé,” he drawls.

My eyeballs almost pop out of my head. “I hope you have the equipment to back up your massive ego,” I burst out.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” He drawls.

I survey his features for some sign that he’s joking, but nope. Those features are unruffled. No sign of emotions or some crack in his facade. Except for his narrowed gaze, I may as well be talking to a stone.

"So, what do you say?” He bends his knees and peers into my eyes. You pose as my fiancée on a trip home. In return, I help you show that asshole that you’ve moved on from him for good."