Page 372 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Gio

I press my lips to his, and I must take him by surprise, for he allows me to brush my mouth over his. His breath smells of mint, and the heat of his body is scorching hot, but the kiss itself is soft. Unremarkable, even.

A part of me is happy that the chemistry I imagined between us, clearly, doesn’t translate to anything. But the emptiness in my stomach, and the hollow feeling in my chest say otherwise. And I was so sure there was something between us, that it would be explosive when we finally kissed.

I begin to pull away when he flattens his big palm over my hip.

He holds me in place, tilts his head, and his mouth firms. He licks my lower lip, and I gasp.

Instantly, he slides his tongue over mine, and I melt into him.

He pulls me close, deepens the kiss, and drinks from me.

He sucks on my tongue, and my head spins.

My knees wobble. I grab at his shoulders to hold on as he kisses me and kisses me.

My nipples tighten, my breasts hurt, my pussy clenches, a thousand little flares fan to life under my skin…

And then I’m free. I sway, and he holds me until I regain my footing.

I stare into those arctic blue eyes, now dotted with silver sparks.

As they fade away, his usual noncommittal mask falls into place.

Behind us, Finn clears his throat, and I jump back. I spin around, pop my hip out, and plant my palm on it. "See?" I clear my throat. "The engagement is not fake."

"Well, it’s clear the two of you can’t keep your hands off each other, but if you want to convince the media, you need to get a ring."

"The media?" The blood drains from my face.

"Don’t tell me the two of you didn't think about the media attention this is going to generate when it gets out that the captain of the London Ice Kings is engaged… And to the PR manager of the team?"

I stiffen. To be honest, I hadn’t thought this through.

And I’m in charge of publicity for the team.

It should have been the first thing I thought of when he announced to the team we're engaged. But I was so taken aback, all thoughts of PR slipped out of my head. The only images I held were those of Rick's hot body and the things I wanted him to do to mine. There was this nagging sensation that I was missing something when I agreed to pose as his fake fiancée, but I allowed my lust for him to blind me. I mean, sure, it’ll help me show my asshole ex I’ve moved on, but it’s also going to fuel a paparazzi frenzy.

It’s a miracle the word hasn’t leaked to the press already.

It’s only a matter of time before someone outside the team gets wind of it.

"I should have realized this.” I wring my fingers together. "I should have thought this through. I should have—"

"It’s okay; we’ll handle it." Rick places his palm on the small of my back.

The gesture is comforting—more than it should be.

It also feels like the heat from his touch is branding me.

Despite the turmoil in my mind, those tiny flares fan into flames.

I manage to push aside the lust that licks at the corners of my senses.

“This is my job. I should have foreseen this. I should have had a plan. I—"

"You do have a plan."

I frown, then glance at him over my shoulder. "I do?"

"Sure, we’re going tomorrow to pick out a ring for you, remember?"

"Oh, r-right…." I stammer.

He nods. "Also, you decided to give the scoop to one of your most trusted journalist friends. And I’ve arranged for us to have a meeting with her, over lunch."

"Uhhh…" I gape at him.

"In fact”—he pulls out his phone and taps on the screen— “I’ve messaged James Hamilton to book out his restaurant so we can speak to the reporter without anyone bothering us."

“James Hamilton?” I frown. “You’re talking about the leading Michelin-starred chef on the continent?”

He nods.

“And he’s going to book out his restaurant and swallow the losses for you?” I fix him with a disbelieving look.

His phone vibrates. He looks at the screen, then holds it out to me.

JH: Done. Anything for you, buddy.

O-k-a-y. “Why would he do that for you?”

“He owes me,” Rick says simply.

I narrow my gaze. I shouldn’t be interested in his past. I don’t care to know why James Hamilton would owe him.

Anyway, I have bigger issues here to worry about.

Namely, the fact he said we're going to pick out a ring and that I’m supposedly engaged to him.

Also, did we plan all this and now I don’t remember it?

Nah, that’s not possible. I’m too careful, too much of an organizer to have decided all of this and forgotten about it.

No, the only explanation is that he’s come up with this on the fly.

The toaster pops, and I snap out of my reverie. Before I can open my mouth to ask another question, he bends and presses a kiss to my forehead. "We’ll talk about this later,” he says in a firm voice.

I’m so shocked by the tenderness in his kiss that all I can do is gape. It’s the only reason I don’t protest or pull away. Yep, that’s why I stay silent. It doesn’t explain why I lean into the warmth of his body.

"You guys going to keep kissing or are you going to eat?" Finn says from behind us.

I stiffen. Rick pulls back and searches my features, then nods as if satisfied by what he sees. "I made you an omelet."

"I can’t walk into a jewelry store and pick out a ring." I pace the floor in front of the bed in our room.

Gah, I called it our room. It is our room, but calling it our room makes this arrangement all too formal.

It was only yesterday I ran into my ex, and today I’m pretending to be engaged again.

And now, the entire world is going to find out I am engaged.

How did this happen? Everything is moving too fast, and that’s a first for me.

I’m used to being in control. I’m used to planning my day down to the last minute, and now, it’s as if everything I’ve worked for is slipping through my fingers.

"I can’t go through with this."

He looks at me from where he’s sprawled on the bed. He takes up so much space, the massive mattress seems to shrink in size, so it might as well be a single.

"Can’t go through with what?"

"This… stupid fake engagement you’ve gotten both of us into."

"I thought you said it was a great way to solve both of our problems." He flings his arm behind his back. His biceps bulge. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, which has seen better days. It stretches across his shoulders, outlining his pecs, as well as his nipples. Since when do I find a man’s nipples erotic?

The T-Shirt rides up, and a strip of tanned skin shows over his waistband.

My mouth waters, and my thighs clench. Jesus, this walking sex god is my roomie.

As if that weren't enough, he’s a brave man who faced real enemies on the front line.

He won the Victoria’s Cross, the highest military honor in this country, and he can make a mean omelet.

Also, he cares enough about his grandmother to want me to pose as his fiancée.

Jesus, could he be more perfect? Also, did I mention he kisses with his entire body?

Like he's completely present—heart and mind and body and tongue and lips and mouth and sculpted chest and powerful thighs.

The man almost made me orgasm with the meeting of our mouths.

How would it feel to have that tongue on other parts of me? A blush sweeps my face.

He looks at me with interest. "Care to share what you were thinking?"

"I was thinking it was you who said it was the answer to our problems, not me."

"And it’s late. I need to be up at five a.m. for practice."

"That’s all you’re going to say?" I plant my palms on my hips. "This is my future at stake."

"And mine."

"You’ve already proven yourself with your military career. In fact, I still don’t understand why you needed to accept this role as captain. It’s not going to be easy to lead this team," I warn.

"I’m aware." He rises to his feet and keeps rising so I have to tilt my head right back to meet his gaze. "And I had to do this."

"But why?"

"It’s almost one a.m. Let’s talk about this tomorrow after practice, okay?"

He closes the distance between us, and his scent, his nearness, his presence—all of it instantly overwhelms me. It’s not fair he can distract me so easily.

"Good night, Goldie." He presses a chaste kiss to my forehead, then walks toward the closet. He emerges with a pillow and a duvet, which he throws down on the floor next to the bed.

He lays down, throws his arm over his eyes, and just like that, his body is still. I’m standing there, while Mr. Jerkosauraus falls asleep.

I glance toward the living area. I could take the couch to put a little more distance between us, but even though I’d be able to stretch out lengthwise on it, the bed is so much more inviting.

I march over to the bed, and throw myself under the covers, then switch off the lamp.

I turn my back on him and close my eyes.

All the ups and downs of the day must take their toll, for I fall asleep at once.

Something infiltrates my layers of sleep, some sound, a cry, maybe? I hear it again and my eyes snap open. I sit up in bed, turn on the lamp, and turn to find Rick thrashing around.

He digs his fingers into his hair and tugs.

His eyes are shut, but his features are scrunched up.

Sweat beads his forehead, and as I watch he cries out, "Stop, don’t do it.

" The sound of his voice is filled with so much helplessness, my heart stutters. Before I can stop myself, I’ve slid off the bed and knelt next to him.

His chest rises and falls; the tendons of his throat stand out in relief.

He shakes his head again, then flinches—and to see this big man flinch, this confident, dominant male who’s the most self-possessed man I’ve ever met, so vulnerable and in pain, makes my insides twist.

A surge of protectiveness fills my blood.

I need to console him. To somehow make him feel better.

His chest rises and falls. Sweat beads his forehead, and when a shudder grips him, I can’t stop myself.

I lean in and touch his shoulder. "Rick, wake up, you’re dreaming, you—" The next moment, I’m flat on my back and he’s on top of me with his fingers around my neck.