Page 402 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Rick

He has his hands on her. He. Has. His. Hands.

On. What’s. Mine. My feet don’t seem to touch the floor as I close the distance to where he’s standing behind her.

He has his fingers in her hair. Adrenaline laces my blood.

My vision tunnels. I strike at his forearm, and he cries out.

He releases his hold on her and staggers back.

And I step between them. I sense her shudder, feel the terror coming off her in waves, and the last hold on my control dissolves.

With a roar, I smash my fist into the side of his head.

He stumbles back, and I’m sure he’s going to keel over, but to my surprise, he shoots out his fist. I block, land another punch in his stomach.

He wheezes, and I continue to punch him.

One-two-three. I’m aware of her clutching at my shoulder, but I shake her off, and continue to bury my fist in his side, his chest—he cries out—his throat. He makes a choking sound.

The next second, arms grip me and pull me away, and someone does the same to him. I manage to get in another punch, this time, to his nose. Blood blooms and drips down his chin.

"Stop this." Edward steps between us. "Stop it, right fucking now."

"Get the fuck out of my way, Priest." I raise my fist, but Edward grips my wrist and squeezes.

"Get a hold of yourself."

"He touched her," I growl. "He fucking touched what belongs to me."

"Hey…" She steps around from behind me. "I-I-I'm not a possession."

"You’re mine. And I don’t share."

"I’m n-n-n… not yours." She sets her jaw.

"Oh?" I lower my hand, then grab her hand with Gram’s ring on her finger. I raise it, so she has no choice but to look down at it, then at me.

"This says otherwise," I snap.

"Th-that… is not"—she glances at Edward, who’s looking between us with narrowed eyes—"what it seems," she whispers.

"Knew it." Her bastard ex crows—or tries to, for his voice comes out muffled, thanks to the towel he’s holding against his nose.

"You’re right," I snap.

"I-I am?" She blinks.

Edward lowers his chin.

Sensing the tension in my muscles, and no doubt, noticing how my shoulders bunch, they tighten their holds on me.

Even her douche of an ex falls silent. The security guys from the restaurant who’d shouldered their way in on Edward’s heels hold him back.

I take advantage of the silence to slide my jacket off and place it around her shoulders. "It’s not what it seems because things have changed."

She frowns and opens her mouth, but I bend and scoop her up in my arms, bridal style. "We’re getting married."

"What?" Edward gapes.

"What?" she cries.

"What the fuck?" Arsemonger—yep, this is the right name for him—Dennis takes a step forward. "You can’t do this; you fucking can’t."

She wriggles in my arms, but I tighten them about her and flash a grin in her ex’s direction. "We are."

He makes a strangled sound, then leans forward on the balls of his feet.

"You can have her. She’s a fucking bitch who—" His eyes roll back in his face because Edward releases me and moves so fast, he almost blurs. His fist connects with fuckhead’s face, and the Arsemonger would be on the floor were it not for the security team holding him up.

That’s when a flashbulb goes off from the doorway.

"Are you okay?" I glance down at where she’s huddled in my arms. We’re in an office in the restaurant, not far from where the photographer snapped our photo.

He managed to evade the security posted around and in the restaurant and get to us.

These paps will do anything for a scoop.

And captains of the two hottest hockey teams in the country, who are also bitter rivals, fighting each other over a woman, is bound to fetch him thousands when he hawks the pictures to the tabloids.

I left Edward to deal with Dennis and the journalist and carried Gio out of the restroom. Turns out, he was here in the same restaurant for a meeting and spotted first, Dennis, then me. He saw me leave the table in a hurry and decided to follow me out. He also alerted the security team.

The restaurant staff directed me to this space, and not a second too late.

If I’d stayed, I was liable to kill her bastard of an ex with my bare hands, and I promise, that’s not a euphemism.

Gio was right, I killed men when I was on the front line, and sure, that’s because it was my duty to do so, but it lowered the barrier in my mind to taking a life.

And his, I gladly would—he touched her, threatened her, and made her tremble so much that when I hauled her up in my arms and walked out, she didn’t try to push me away.

And that bothered me. It’s not like Gio to be this passive.

I’d rather she be her usual, sassy self, and the fact that she isn’t is testament to how disturbed she is. "Gio?" I cup her cheek.

She shudders, then seems to come out of wherever she’d gone to in her head.

"I’m fine," she says in a listless voice.

"You’re not fine." I reach for the pitcher of water the staff left us, fill a glass, and offer it to her. She takes it without comment, takes a sip, then begins to put it aside.

"Drink some more."

She obediently raises the bottle to her lips and takes a few sips, and that only makes me more anxious. I take the glass from her, set it aside, then bring her closer. "Tell me what you’re thinking."

"Nothing."

"It’s something."

She swallows. "How could I have misjudged him like that? I thought I was in love with him. I thought he loved me. I was so wrong."

"It’s his fault. He’s the one who couldn’t be loyal to you."

"He didn’t want to sleep with me. He wanted to wait until we were married, and I thought that was a sweet, loving gesture. Little did I know it was because he was fetishizing it and wanted to sleep with other women, and—"

"Stop." I place my palm over her mouth. "I will not let you do this to yourself."

Her gaze widens; she looks at me over the top of my hand.

"You’re a gorgeous, beautiful, smart, ambitious woman who’s going to be my wife, and I will not let you beat yourself up over some man who had no idea how lucky he was for you to even be in his proximity."

Tears gleam in her eyes.

I shake my head. "No, don’t. He doesn’t deserve you to cry for him."

When a drop squeezes out of the corner of her eye, I bend and lick it up.

I move my palm down to her throat and curl my fingers around the slim column.

When I press down, her breath catches. Her pulse rate speeds up.

I whisper tiny kisses down her cheek until I reach her mouth.

I hover my lips over hers and stare into her golden eyes.

There’s a plea in them, a silent ask. One I know I want to give her…

Just not yet. "You’ve been through an emotional encounter; you need to recuperate. "

"I need"—she clears her throat—"you to fuck me right now."

"Not when you’re vulnerable."

"Now, when I’m vulnerable. So I can feel you inside me, and on me, and all around me.

So I can use you to wipe out the feel of his hands on me, the sliminess of his touch, the heat from his body that made me sick to my stomach.

I need it now, so I can imprint you in all of my senses.

So I can purge every last memory of him from my mind, my body, every part of me that only you have the right to. "

My heart smashes into my ribcage, and my blood pulses at my temples. I lean back into the chair, taking her with me, and when I lift her by her waist, she throws her leg over my lap and straddles me. "Please, Rick. Please." She peers between my eyes. "I’m begging you to fuck me."

"I cannot… will not fuck you," I murmur.

Her features crumple.

"But I will make love to you."