Page 393 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Gio

I step back, and he lowers his hand to his side.

"Don’t what?" he murmurs.

"Don’t go all soft on me now."

His brow knits. "If you mean taking care of you last night—"

"That’s exactly what I mean." I run my hands down my skirt. Yeah, I managed to shower and change into my work clothes before I came down. It wasn’t easy to ignore the man-chest of the alphahole sprawled on the bed, but I managed to keep my gaze averted as I dressed.

Okay, I lie, I snuck quick peeks. He threw off the sheet while I was in the shower, and while he was still fully dressed, his T-shirt clung to every ridge and valley of his sculpted abs, not to mention the tent at his crotch.

An erection from last night compounded by morning wood.

As far as I know, he didn’t come. I'm pretty sure he didn’t leave the bed to go off to the bathroom and jerk off.

At least the one time I woke up, he was wrapped around me, and I could feel the thickness of his length between my asscheeks.

I fell back to sleep before I could do anything about it, either.

That’s how relaxed I was after his ministrations.

And he didn’t have to do that last night. He didn’t have to be so sweet.

"I can’t reconcile this side of you with the grumpyass you normally are."

He searches my features, then nods. "I can understand why it must seem so confusing. This is a charade, and here I am, doing things a real-life fiancé would do for you."

I tilt my head. "I can’t understand how you are so reasonable sometimes."

"I'm always reasonable," he murmurs.

"You’re joking, right?"

His lips kick up on one side, so he has that one-sided smile on his face that’s so freakin’ sexy. My heart stutters a little.

"Maybe I am… a little," he agrees. "But I’m not unnecessarily unreasonable."

I stare at him.

"I don’t go out of my way to be cheery, but I also don’t make things difficult for other people."

"And what do you call asking me to move into your room, knowing full-well there was only one bed, and then asking me to pose as your fiancée, and making it impossible for me to refuse?"

"I call that a transaction." He raises a shoulder.

"It didn’t make my life easier, necessarily."

"It helped you get back at your wankhole of an ex."

"It did." I look away, then back at him. "I guess I’m confused because you said you wanted to re-instate boundaries and then you were—"

"Massaging away your pain?" His forehead furrows. "It’s a little confusing to me, too. I hadn’t meant it to turn into a seduction routine or make you come— Okay, maybe I did want to make you come, but only because I knew it would relax you further. But I’m all for the boundaries."

I rub at my temple. "This entire discussion is giving me a headache. Also…" I lower my hand and scowl up at him. "You told me you’ll tell me about your family."

"If you tell me about yours?"

I fold my arms about my waist. "I don’t talk about my family with anyone."

"Neither do I."

I jerk my head in his direction. "You introduced me to your Grams."

"But you don’t know about my past."

I have a sense of it from the pictures I saw on the walls of his grandmother’s house, but I also noticed they stopped when he was a teenager. After that, there are no pictures of them together as a family, and I have to admit, I’m curious.

"The only reason I want to know about your past is so I can do a better job as the PR manager of the team." I tip up my chin.

He widens his stance. "And the only reason I want to know about your past is so when I’m interviewed about you by the media, I know enough to keep this charade alive."

"O-kay." I nod slowly.

"Okay." He holds out his hand. "Shall we do it over dinner tonight?"

"So, he’s taking you out to dinner?" Mira squeals over the phone.

I increase the distance between the phone and my face. "Jeez, pipe down, will ya?"

"He’s taking you out to dinner; that’s a big deal."

"He’s taken me out to dinner before," I remind her.

"That was to his grandmother’s place which, if you ask me, is already a big deal."

"And one of the main reasons we embarked on this farce of an engagement." My emotions have been on such a roller-coaster, I had to confide in her about the reality of the situation and make her swear to secrecy. Which is unusual. I’m not used to confiding in others. I’m used to relying only on myself.

But being in a different country and in a new job has made me more vulnerable than usual.

That’s the only reason I confided in Mira—I only know her through Solene, but she’s been so warm and friendly, and I get the impression she’s not judgmental, so I couldn’t help but share the true situation with her.

"You don’t sound happy about it," she murmurs.

"I’m not." I train my gaze down at the men gliding along the ice. I’m standing in one of the VIP boxes that overlooks the rink and gives me a bird's-eye view of the practice session. I’ve positioned myself sufficiently to the side so if any of the players look up, they won’t spot me at once.

From my vantage point, I can make out the #13 jersey, and even if he didn’t have a number on the back, I’d know it was him from his size and the breadth of his shoulders.

All kitted out in his protective equipment, the man looks like a beast, and damn, but I’m even more attracted to him now.

As I watch, Rick bends low with a controlled motion, then lifts the puck off the ice and over the defender’s skates.

Caspian picks up the puck and throws it at the goal.

Finn, the goalie, drops down on his knees in a butterfly stance but is unable to stop it.

Yeah, I’m learning about ice hockey and my vocabulary is improving.

I can even tell you that was a saucer pass Rick used with the puck.

The men break into cheers; Rick and Caspian high-five each other.

Apparently, their enmity is forgotten on the ice.

And that’s how good professionals are. And Rick is a professional, no matter that he’s going to face that ass Dennis in a real-life brawl.

If the press gets wind of it, it’s going to be ugly. It’s a PR professional’s nightmare, to be honest. Especially if they find out that the woman at the center of the brawl is me.

Below me, the whistle blows, and the players slow to a stop. Rick and Finn bump glove-covered fists, then pat each other on their backs before they follow the others off the ice.

"Gio, you there?" Mira’s voice reaches me.

I shake out of my reverie and give her my full attention. "Sorry, was watching the practice match."

"Ooh, so did the two of you drive there together, like a real engaged couple?"

"No, we didn’t, because we’re not a real engaged couple."

"Hmm," she scowls.

I roll my eyes. "Okay, enough with your hmms. What are you thinking? Out with it, woman."

"Just that the chemistry between the two of you in the pictures I’ve seen online seems real. If you hadn’t told me it was all pretend, I wouldn’t have guessed it."

"So you thought I moved to London, fell in love with the captain of the hockey team, and got engaged to him in the space of weeks?"

"When you know, you know."

"Oh boy, you’re such a romantic."

"And you could do with being more of one." She half smiles.

"I read enough spicy books to know romance only belongs between the page flips of a Kindle and not in real life."

"Oh my god, that’s so cynical."

"That’s me."

"And yet, you read romance novels?"

"That’s why I read romance novels," I correct her. "There’s something reassuring about reading about all that groveling and all those declarations of love and grand gestures, not to mention the spicy scenes which—" I pause.

"Which?" She tilts her head.

"Doesn’t matter."

"No, go on. You can’t leave me hanging like that. What were you going to say?"

I flush. "Nothing."

She surveys my features, then that smile on her face broadens. "You were going to say that you thought the spicy scenes only belonged in the smutty romance novels you read, but now that you’ve slept with that sex on-a-hockey-stick, you realize it’s not the case anymore."

My flush rises to my scalp. "We may have slept together, but we haven’t had sex.”

She blinks slowly. “So, you two did sleep together?”

“Only we didn’t sleep ‘sleep’ together.” I make air-quotes with my fingers.

“Well, maybe you need to sleep ‘sleep’ together.” She mirrors my air-quotes. “Maybe you should give him a chance. He might live up your book boyfriends on all other fronts."

"You haven’t been listening to me. There is nothing between us. Nothing except—"

"Intense, panty-melting, chemistry which will likely lead to hot, sweaty sex?” She smirks.

I shake my head, then sober. "I’m not convinced it’s just sex, either."

"Eh?" She blinks.

"He took care of me last night."

"What do you mean?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. "I had bad cramps from my period, and he massaged lavender oil into my stomach and—"

"He massaged lavender oil into your stomach because you were on your period?" she cries out.

"—and then he spooned me all night." I’m not going to tell her he made me come without touching my clit which—oh my god, Dennis hadn’t even managed to do with his penis.

Yeah, it’s a penis. I can’t call it a dick.

It would be a disgrace to dicks everywhere to call that pale, less-than-average-sized, utility tool my ex sported in his pants a dick.

The one I saw when he’d fucked my "friend" in our bed. That’s when I realized I wasn’t missing anything.

Ricks’ cock, though... It's a cock’s cock.

A master-of-all-he-surveys cock. A cock that would give an anaconda a run for its money. I squeeze my eyes shut.

What is wrong with me? It's like my mind has a mind of its own—ha-ha—traveling down paths of thought I don't want it to. This has got to stop.

"That’s not all, is it?" Mira chuckles. " I’m not going to force you to tell me if you don’t want to. The very fact that he spooned you, woman? That’s like hot and sweet and seriously sexy."

What is it about a man curving his body to fit the contours of your own that makes it more erotic than having his dick, and his fingers, and tongue inside you, all at the same time?

"Spooning releases 'cuddle hormones.' It’s why it’s so awesome. Of course, I have to admit, I love savage sex and make-up sex, as well as spooning after sex,” she says with a huge grin.

He’s already delivered on the third—without the sex—and I’m sure he’d be good at the first and the second, as well. Not that we’re going to have a lover’s quarrel, because we’re not lovers. Which makes us almost-sex buddies. More like puck buddies, and—my phone buzzes with an incoming call.

I groan, "I have to take this. I’m sorry, Mira."

"I’m seeing you at Abby’s house tomorrow for a girl’s night, right?"

"Okay." I nod, though I’m not going for the girl’s night. That’s not my scene.

"If I don’t see you, I’m coming to your place to drag you there,” she warns.

"Fine, okay. I gotta go." I disconnect and answer the other call.

"Hello, Dennis."