Page 395 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Rick

"Check." I glance down at my cards. This has to be the worst hand I’ve ever been dealt.

Only consolation? The scent of her arousal is imbedded in my nostrils.

After I commanded her not to come, I pulled out the pair of panties in my pocket—I wasn't joking when I said I've taken to carrying them around—and ensured she stepped into them.

Then, I straightened her clothes, walked her out of the arena, and dropped her home before I joined the guys for our weekly poker session.

We’re in the den in the basement of Sinclair’s townhouse in Primrose Hill.

Next to me, Edward raises the bet and slides a few chips across the table.

No one reacts. Talk about playing poker with a tough audience.

With Sinclair, JJ, Michael, Knight, and Edward, it’s safe to say I may have met my match when it comes to not letting any emotions show on my face. And I’m called Stone.

A chuckle wells up, and I tamp down on it.

In front of these guys, I might as well be called "too emotional.

" These guys are as tough as they come. 'Course each of them has been through their journeys, professional and personal, and they’ve come out of it stronger and with the women of their dreams next to them.

Except Edward. I don’t know the exact story, but I heard he walked away from his calling as a priest and then lost his woman to his best friend.

He’s been traveling around the world ever since, returning to London when Knight asked him to take on the role of General Manager of the London Ice Kings.

You’d have thought he’d struggle to adjust to this position, but it turns out the challenges he’s faced in his life, combined with his ability to listen, which he honed when he was a priest, means he’s perfect in this role.

He even has a flair for navigating the politics of trading players, as evidenced by the stellar line-up he’s put together.

Not that it helps me here at the poker table. When he suggested I join him and the others at the newly instituted weekly poker night at Sinclair’s place, I agreed—only so I could put some space between me and Gio.

After almost making her come, then refusing to let her come and enjoying the shock followed by rage on her face, I took advantage of her temporary surprise to straighten her clothes, then haul her to my car.

On the way home, she turned her face away and focused on the passing scenery, which suited me fine.

It gave me time to work through my actions and reactions toward her.

I certainly hadn’t meant to blurt out that I'm coming to care for her. She noticed it, but she didn’t ask me anything further about it, thank fuck.

It's something that was in the height of passion and doesn’t mean anything—except it does.

And I can’t get that damn confession out of my mind.

Catching feelings for her? That was never part of the plan.

This was only meant to convince Grams to agree to her operation, which she has, so there's no reason for us to be together.

Except, Grams texted me twice today asking me when we're getting married so she can ensure she's recovered from her operation in time to attend. Something I didn’t tell Gio, and no doubt, what messed with my composure enough for me to trip up and allow those words through my lips. And then, I couldn’t wait to dump her at the doorstep to the house and get the fuck out of there. Coward that I am.

"Your turn," Hunter murmurs from next to me.

I glance down at my cards, then slap them down. "I fold."

"And I thought you were a fighter." JJ smirks.

"Fuck off," I say without heat.

"Something bothering you?" he asks with interest.

"Nope, nah, not being pulled into this discussion with you."

"Pulled into what?" Hunter frowns.

"You’ve been too busy governing the country to keep track of how these three here"—I nod toward JJ, Sinclair and Michael—"have been conducting interventions which have resulted in many of our mutual friends biting the dust."

Hunter moves the cigar to the other side of his mouth. "It’d be remiss of me not to admit that they had a hand in my coming to my senses and marrying the woman of my dreams, too. It’s what makes everything worth it."

I narrow my gaze. "Makes what worth it?"

"Everything. Winning the vote, becoming the Prime Minister, working twelve hours a day, as long as I can return home and see Zara and Enzo every evening." His features soften, and his eyes shine with what I can only assume is love. For a few seconds, he’s not the leader of the country whose every decision will impact the future of generations to come. He’s a man in love—head over heels in love—and someone who cares deeply about his family.

"Huh?" I blink.

"And what about you?" Sinclair drawls.

"Me?" I lean back in my chair. "What about me?"

"A-n-d there it is. The very fact that you’d think we were talking about you is a sign of guilt." JJ guffaws.

"Guilt? The fuck you talking about, old man?"

JJ smiles wider. "Don’t deflect. I’m comfortable with my age, unlike you."

"Now you’re going too far." I cross my arms across my chest, knowing my posture is belligerent, but what-fucking-ever.

"I’m not the one who signed up to captain a team of whippersnappers decades younger than me."

"And I’d think you’d respect me for it," I snap.

"Not that I don’t, but—"

"But?"

"But"—he raises a shoulder—"I don’t have a point to prove."

"And I do?" I frown.

"Do you?" JJ lowers his chin to his chest. "What ghosts from your past are you running away from, hmm?"

"Maybe they’re not ghosts. Maybe they’re here and alive, and I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be."

JJ meets my gaze, then nods slowly. “Your engagement is going as you intended?"

"Of course it is." I look between him and the rest of the men, all of whom are looking at me with skepticism.

"What? If any of you wankers have something to say—"

"What they mean is that this entire pretending to be engaged situation you have going on isn’t fooling anyone," Edward offers.

I shoot him a sideways glance. "Think they can speak for themselves. Anyway, it’s not pretend."

JJ snorts.

Sinclair smirks.

Michael looks at me with an are-you-fucking-with-me look in his eyes.

Hunter has a half-smile on his face. He looks like he’s about to say something, then shakes his head. "You might as well spit it out."

He removes his cigar from between his lips and gestures toward me. "We understand how it is," he says gently.

"You do?"

"Of course, we do, you arsewipe. This is how their respective relationships with their wives began. Not mine, of course." JJ reaches for a fresh cigar and lights up.

"No, you stole your son’s girlfriend."

"Ex-girlfriend."

"Who is your son’s age."

"True love knows no boundaries," he says in a serene voice. "Also, I didn’t steal her. One look at each other, and we knew."

I blink. When I came here, I didn’t expect a candid conversation.

Hell, I wasn’t expecting to talk at all.

A poker night with the lads is meant to be strong silences, the shuffle of cards, the clack of poker chips sliding across the table, the hiss of a cigar being lit, the gulp of beer being swigged…

All of which is there, in addition to the grilling these guys are subjecting me to.

I’ve faced cross-examinations by war-veterans, and grappled with hockey players faster than me, but being at the receiving end of the knowing looks from these five guys has me straightening my spine in defense.

"Just like I’m sure you and your fiancée knew," Sinclair offers.

"Which is, of course, why the two of you announced your engagement so quickly," Michael drawls through a puff of cigar smoke.

"Of course." I run my finger under the collar of my sweatshirt. "Is it hot in here?" I glance around the space.

"The air-conditioning is on, so the answer would be a no," Edward murmurs.

"You nervous ol’ chap?" Hunter asks in an interested tone.

I laugh, and the sound does come out nervous.

I reach for a cigar, then stop myself. Nope, not going there.

Truth is, I am struggling to keep up with the younger players.

And after a day of heavy practice, the number of aches and pains that riddle my body has made me reconsider Edward’s offer of using one of the massage therapists the team employs to limber up. So far, I’ve resisted it.

In all my years of playing professionally and then with the military, I’ve always bounced back from the hardest of schedules with a spring in my step.

But since I’ve started the drills with the team, I wake up feeling every ache and pain.

My body is not bouncing back the way it used to. And I’m never going to admit it aloud.

Just like I’m never going to confess that the relationship with Goldie is a sham.

Nope. Nah. We’re going to break up soon enough.

They’ll know when it’s over. No need to pre-empt the upcoming severance of the connection between us.

My heart thuds in my ribcage, and my pulse rate falters. Splitting up…

I’ll be splitting up with her soon. And then she can go back to her loser of an ex, for all I care.

No, not her ex, she can do better than that wanker.

Like you? Not me. Someone else. Someone who didn't start the relationship with a lie. Goddamn it, why did I have to start our alliance with a lie? Only good thing is, she doesn’t know about it yet.

And she never will. It would only hurt her, and while I can’t stop the impending cutting of ties, I can spare her the ignominy of finding out the real reason I asked her to pose as my fiancée.

Yes, yes. Of course, it was to help persuade Grams to agree to the procedure, but there was more than that.

My phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket, and stare at the photograph attached to the message. The fuck—? I jump up so quickly, my chair overturns.

JJ’s eyebrows shoot up. "Emergency?"