Page 396 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Rick

"What’s the emergency?" Caspian side-eyes me from the couch in the living room where he’s sprawled out, fingers on the controller; on the massive TV screen in front of him, a zombie is blown to bits.

"Gotcha!" Jagger crows next to him.

"Fuck!" Caspian jerks his head forward. The split-second of inattention caused him to lose the game.

I charge past the morons, and up the short hallway toward the kitchen.

If they’re still there… I’m going to kill that mofo.

I burst into the kitchen and come to a stop.

She’s standing in front of the island. Her back is toward me and she’s wearing her blonde hair in that messy bun on top of her head.

Tendrils of hair cling to her neck from where they’ve escaped.

She’s wearing yoga pants that cling to her thighs, and which I know must cup her butt, the shape of which I can’t see…

Because she’s wearing a jersey. The number on the jersey is eight, and the name above it is Kilmer.

She’s wearing Finn’s fucking jersey. She stirs something on the pot in front of her, then turns and holds up the spatula to the man standing next to her. "Taste it," she offers.

Finn, that motherfucking twatface, bends and licks the broad end. "Yum." He straightens, then uses his finger to scoop up some of the mixture from the spoon and offer it to her. "Taste it."

Anger pulses through my veins. My vision tunnels. My feet don’t seem to touch the ground as I close the distance to them. Before she can lick the concoction from his finger, I’ve stepped between them. "Get the fuck away from her," I snap.

Finn’s gaze widens, then a big smile splits his face. "You got my message, hmm?"

"What message?" Gio tries to peek out from around me, but I slap my arms on my hips so she’s blocked from his sight.

Finn messaged me a photograph of her wearing his jersey, knowing full-well it would piss me off. "The fuck you playing at, Hand?" I growl.

"Moi? I’m not playing at anything."

"Get out of my way, you neanderthal." Gio punches me in the side, and my cock twitches. This woman… If she only knew her anger turns me on more, she probably wouldn't be very happy.

"You know what I mean." I lean forward on the balls of my feet.

"I have no idea." Finn brings this finger to his mouth and sucks on it.

"Hey, we were trying to cook, and you’re in the way," Gio huffs from behind me.

"Good," I say without looking back. Going by the waves of anger emanating from her, I know she’s working herself up into a good ol’ temper tantrum.

"You’re pissing me off," she snaps.

"And you’re pissing me off." I stab a finger into Finn’s chest.

"Hey, I’m talking to you," she yells.

"I’ll talk to you later!" With a final glare at Finn, who smirks back at me, I pivot on my feet.

"What’s wrong with you? I’m trying to cook dinner and you barge in and upset everything."

"Oh, I’m upset all right, and you have no idea how much."

She throws up her hands, including the one holding the spatula and some of the sauce splatters across my face.

"Oops." Her eyes round before she covers a smirk.

Without taking my gaze off of her, I lean into her, then rub my sauce-stained cheek against hers.

"Oh," she gasps.

"Indeed." I straighten and take in her cheek, now stained with the mixture.

"You’re crazy." She swallows. The pulse at the base of her neck speeds up.

"And you’re wearing his jersey."

"Eh?" She looks down at her chest, then up at me. "I spilled water on my T-shirt and didn’t want to go all the way up to the room to change it. Finn loaned me his sweatshirt, and—"

I reach behind me and pull mine off. "Take it off."

"Oh please, you’re pissed off because I wore his jersey—"

"I’m not pissed off."

"No?" She blinks.

"I’m freakin’ enraged, fuming, seething, on the verge of killing him right now. Take your pick."

Finn whistles from behind me. "This is where I leave you two." He reaches over and turns off the burner on the stove—“Good thing the sauce is done”—then turns and stalks off.

"Shut the kitchen door and stay on guard," I call after him.

He glances over his shoulder, and whatever he sees on my face makes him realize how serious I am, for he nods. The door to the kitchen snicks shut behind him.

"What are you doing?" She looks from me to the door, then back at me.

"You don’t ask the questions," I snap.

"Oh?" She scowls.

"Oh, yes, is the right answer here."

She firms her lips. "You’re acting weird."

"And you haven’t taken off his jersey."

She places the spatula on the island top, then folds her arms across her chest.

"Take. It. Off." I lower my voice to a hush. The color drains from her face. She swallows, then reaches down, grips the hem and pulls off the jersey. I snatch it from her, throw it over my shoulder, then pull my sweatshirt over her head. She threads her arms through the sleeves and smooths the fabric down her thighs. She’s swallowed up in it, and I roll the sleeves up to her wrists.

She looks down at herself, then up at me. "This is bullshit.”

"What’s bullshit is you dared wear someone else’s jersey."

"It was temporary,” she protests.

"Like our engagement?"

She pales further. "It is temporary, whatever this is between us, isn’t it?"

Of course it is. But right now, the way I’m feeling, I don’t care.

"Right now, we’re engaged. We’re both playing a role which the media has bought into.

A role which has convinced your ex you’re out of his reach, which is making him want you even more.

A role which my grandmother believes is real.

Which my teammates are convinced is authentic.

A role which, if it gets out that this is fake will result in a media shitstorm, not to mention, break my Grams’ heart and show your ex the extent you’d go to take revenge for what he did.

" I frown. "Or perhaps, that’s your plan.

You want him to know our relationship is fake, so the next time he asks you for forgiveness, you can go back to him. "

She shakes her head. "You're the one who came up with this cockamamie idea!."

"And? Are you telling me you don't want to go back to him?"

"Of course not."

I frown. "Wait. You don’t?"

"I admit, I was confused, at first. Coming out of a relationship and meeting you and having all these strong feelings for you, it made my head spin. So, I told you I wasn’t sure about how I felt toward Denn—

"Don’t speak his fucking name in front of me."

She swallows. "I mean… him. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him, but now I know."

"You do?"

She looks away, then back at me. "I realize now, he was nowhere as caring as you. I know he didn’t respect people the way you do. I know he didn’t feel as passionately about things as you do."

"You must have me mistaken for someone else. I’m not a passionate person."

She laughs, then stares at me. "You pretend not to be a passionate person, but you are."

"Oh?"

"If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have marched into this kitchen and gotten all hot under the collar because I was wearing someone else’s jersey."

Heat flushes my neck. "That’s different."

"Oh, and how about the time you saw me speaking with Denn— I mean, my ex, and you marched up to us and punched him. And that time the pap took a photo of—"

"Alright. I admit those are all times I lost my temper. A rarity."

"Except when it comes to me."

I blink.

"You seem to suffer from bouts of extreme emotion when it has anything to do with me."

"Because I know it turns you on when I do."

She opens and shuts her mouth. "Wow, so you’re blaming your inability to keep your composure on me?”

"Obviously."

She scowls. "And you're saying all this to rile me up?"

"I’m saying all this to let you know I haven’t forgotten what you did, and that you need to take your punishment."

"P-punishment?"