Page 380 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Gio

I flounce out of the car and up the steps of the arena.

There’s no one around, thank god. The team must have left after practice, and my footsteps echo in the empty corridor as I head for the stairs.

I take the steps as fast as I can and reach the second floor, then march down the short hallway.

I nod toward my assistant and enter my office.

It’s a quarter of the size of the one I had in L.A.

And I don’t have a team, only an assistant.

But the position pays well and given how I left my last agency in L.A.

, I was lucky to get this job. As I must keep reminding myself.

As for this stupid fake engagement thing?

It’ll blow over. It’s only temporary. It's only until we convince his grandmother we're for real. To be honest, the look on Dennis’ face when Rick told him we were engaged already makes this move worthwhile. Now, I only need a few more opportunities to rub it in. To make him feel as wretched as I felt when I walked in on him with that skank, Tiffany. Of course, she’d have to be called Tiffany. How typical.

I head for my desk, drop into my chair and open up my laptop. The screen comes to life and the first thing that pops ups is that grainy picture the paparazzi shot of Rick and me making out in his car. The headline declares:

Can This Ice Kiss Melt Stone?

Ugh! Trust a hack to come up with that headline. I click out of the website as Rick prowls into the office.

He shuts the door, locks it, then leans against it with his hands crossed over his chest.

"What do you want?" I scowl.

"You didn’t answer my question."

"What question?"

"You know which one."

I lean back in my seat and fold my arms over my chest, mirroring his stance. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"Sure you do. It’s why you flounced off without bothering to reply."

"If I remember correctly, I told you to go to hell," I scoff.

"Only if you follow me there. Come with me, and I promise you, I’ll turn it into the kind of heaven you read about only in your books."

I frown. "You have no idea about the kinds of books I read."

"You mean like The Seven Habits of Men Who Know How to Give Highly Effective Orgasms?”

My jaw drops. I manage to scoop it off the floor and begin to laugh but turn it into a cough. "Did you play on The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen Covey?"

"Or it might have been a play on the spicy novels you love to read and hide."

This time, I jump up and plant my palms on either side of my laptop. "Get out."

"Or what?" He takes a step forward, and another.

I swallow. A frisson of fear runs up my spine.

I can’t let him touch me. I can’t. If I do, I won't be able to stop myself from enjoying it. From giving in to the pleasure it evokes in me. I won’t be able to stop myself from begging him to throw me down on this desk and fuck me.

And if I do that, I’ll lose all respect for myself.

He moves toward me; I straighten. He pauses halfway across the floor, then crooks his finger. "Come ’ere."

I toss my head. "You haven’t got a hope in hell of me obeying you."

"I have high hopes of cramming my dick into your pussy and making you come all around my shaft—and with your consent."

A thousand butterflies flutter in my belly.

Moisture squeezes out between my lower lips.

I do not find his dirty talking a turn on.

I do not. I draw in a breath. My chest rises and falls.

But he doesn’t glance away from my face.

Doesn’t break that contact between us, which is like a laser beam that binds me to him every time our eyes meet.

"You want this, baby. You’re always so in control, and it must be exhausting.

This is a safe space. Here, it’s you and me.

I’m not the captain of the London Ice Kings.

You’re not the PR manager. We’re not pretending to be engaged.

Here, with me, you’re simply Goldie, the woman who wants me to do to her as I wish.

The woman who wants to feel how it is to let go and feel every inch of my cock inside her.

The woman who"—he leans forward on the balls of his feet—"wants to give into her desire and orgasm without constraints. "

The butterflies in my belly take wing, a cloud of sensations rising to my chest, ripples of awareness spreading to my extremities.

"I… I don’t want that."

"Yes, you do." He widens his stance, and my gaze is drawn to his powerful thighs that stretch the material of his jeans. And then there’s the tent between them. Ohmigod, is he already aroused? Although, considering the size of his shaft, that might be his resting dick phase.

A giggle boils up my throat and I quell it.

It’s not like me to make stupid jokes that make me crack up when I’m nervous.

I’m normally in control. I like to keep track of exactly how I spend my time.

I plan my day so I can fit as much as possible into it and work toward climbing my career ladder…

All of which has been shot to hell since I met this man.

"I. Don’t. Want. That. I don’t want you," I announce.

One side of his lips twists in that half smirk he’s taken to wearing whenever he knows I’m saying something I don’t mean. He prowls forward, reaches my desk and pats the surface.

I scowl back. If he thinks I’m going to obey him, he can keep dreaming.

"You know, you do," he murmurs.

I shake my head.

He narrows his gaze, then he holds out his hand. "Trust me."

Do I trust him? Do I want to trust him? Do I want to do as he says?

I don’t dare look inside myself because I know what the answer is going to be, and I don’t want to acknowledge that.

I don’t want to give in to this need inside of me that insists I obey him.

I want to tear my gaze away from his so he can’t influence me further, but it’s as if I’m locked into it with no escape.

The heat builds under my skin. A bead of sweat runs down my neck, and his eyes follow it down to the valley between my breasts. He licks his lips, and it’s as if he’s touched me with his tongue. A shiver grips me. I lock my fingers together and feel the metal that encases my left ring-finger.

I can’t stop myself from tracing the tiny diamonds on it. An infinity ring, something that says forever, and an antique one that belongs in his family. I already love the weight of it on my hand. I already want to wear it all the time. He rakes his gaze down to where I’m toying with it, and I stop.

I don’t want him to know how much this gesture of his moved me.

He didn’t have to get me a ring— certainly not one so symbolic—but he did it.

He didn’t have to be so in sync with me during the interview with the journalist, but he was.

It was as if we’d rehearsed our answers before going in, which we hadn’t.

We were attuned to each other—so much so, we correctly guessed the right answers for the other.

It was as if we knew each other intimately—which we don’t—yet.

Eh? No, no, no I don’t intend for that to happen.

I don’t intend to get to know him better, not beyond what is needed to do my job well.

And that’s all the interview was about. A job well done.

And maybe, he used the fact that we were so on the same wavelength as an opportunity to further his plan, but in the end, it worked out.

The journalist was satisfied, and the ensuing publicity is going to help the team. It’s going to help me grow their reputation and meet my PR goals, even though, this time, I’m the story.

Everything that has happened in the last few days has turned my emotions upside down, and that’s a first. I’m not used to feeling so out of sorts.

As if events in my life are overtaking me and I can only watch.

I glance at his outstretched hand, and my heart begins to pound.

My pulse points go into overdrive. My blood begins to pump with such speed, I feel breathless and dizzy and…

Don’t do it. Don’t give in. Don’t give up control to this man.

"It’s your choice. You have the power to say no at any time. You’re in the driver’s seat here, baby," he says in a soft voice.

Something knotted inside of me dissolves. Would it be so bad to find out if what he’s saying is right? I glance down at his palm, then back at his face. He must read the struggle going on inside of me.

He jerks his chin. "Give me your hand, Goldie, you won’t regret it."

I’m going to regret it. But I’m going to do it anyway. I slide out from behind my desk, then walk around to stand in front of him.

I place my hand in his, and his shoulders relax. Strange. Was he worried I wouldn’t comply with his request? Was there ever a chance that I wouldn’t? "What if I had said no?" I ask.

"Then I’d have let you go." He sets his jaw, then shakes his head. "Not."

I begin to pull away, but he tightens his grip in my hand.

"Stay, Goldie, I promise to make it worth your while."

"Oh?