Page 407 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Gio

"We’re getting married," Rick announces.

He spent the entire journey from the hospital brooding.

I wanted to console him, but after the way he pulled away from me earlier, I wasn't sure if I should.

He had a car with a driver waiting for us outside.

I assumed he'd ordered one earlier. But when we slid into the backseat, he greeted the chauffeur. He didn’t introduce the other man, who frowned at him, then introduced himself as Charles.

He's Grams’ driver and has been the Mitchell family’s driver for more than thirty years. It's another piece of information I added to the 'Rick’s space' area in my heart. Somehow, he's never volunteered information about his family. He only took me to see Grams because that was part of our deal.

Fact is, I might know Rick in the carnal sense, but emotionally, it’s another matter altogether.

The man has never been open to sharing information about himself.

He’s never bothered to ask me about myself, either.

If it hadn't been for that journalist’s interview where she tested us about our knowledge of each other, I wouldn't have realized how much he knows about me. Things he’s learned by observing, and no doubt, asking the friends we have in common.

Still, I’d have preferred he ask me face-to-face, like going on an old-fashioned date.

But when you’re roomies and the chemistry between the two of you is always a third presence…

It’s difficult to keep your mind on anything else except jumping him, and licking him up, and coaxing him to sink that big, fat cock of his inside you.

Heat flushes my skin. Why am I thinking of sex, when his grandmother is in the hospital?

I’m a horrible, horrible person. I reined in my thoughts and ended up falling asleep in the car.

When I opened my eyes, it was to find he was carrying me into the house.

I protested, but he ignored me and that had pissed me off.

But I was too tired, so I decided to close my eyes, snuggle into his chest, and enjoy the ride up the stairs.

Then, he prowled into the room, lowered me to the bed, and loomed over me until I opened my eyes. That’s when he made his intention known, and all sleep vanished.

I spring up in bed. "What?"

"It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. I already told you this was inevitable."

"But Grams already had her operation," I protest.

"And if we had gotten married earlier, she wouldn’t have waited until she’d collapsed to be rushed into surgery. She almost died." His jaw hardens. A nerve twitches at his temple, a sure sign that he’s pissed.

I recognize this man’s little tells. I know that he likes to fuck rough, that he enjoys primal play, even as his touch is so tender it brings tear to my eyes.

That he’d do anything for his family and for his team, that he has feelings for me, even though he hasn’t outright confessed to it, but a woman’s instinct knows when a man is affected by her.

He hasn’t said ‘I love you,’ but he’s told me he cares for me, and more importantly, he’s shown me how much he wants me.

And Rick ’Stone’ Mitchell, captain of the hottest ice hockey team on the continent, is drawn to me, and not just physically, even though he’s loathe to admit it.

"I’m sorry Grams didn’t have her operation earlier, but she’s fine now."

"And if she finds out we’re not getting married, all the progress she’s made will be reversed."

I rub at my forehead. Every part of me hurts after spending the night on the unforgiving hospital chairs, even though Rick and I had been ushered to a comfortable waiting room on what seemed to be a private floor of the hospital, the kind I didn’t think existed in the country.

And while the coffee from the machine was terrible, the corridors were carpeted.

There were a few other waiting rooms on the floor, and a reception with someone at the desk all night, and there were nurses coming in to keep us updated, something I didn’t think would normally happen.

The entire process gave off the feeling that there was a lot of money cushioning the process.

And his grandmother’s home was beautiful, with that gorgeous private garden behind it…

but it wasn’t ostentatious… But add the car and uniformed driver who had picked us up, and the dots join in my head. "You’re rich," I exclaim.

He stares at me, a question in his eyes.

"I mean, you’re rich. The kind of rich where you don’t have to make your bed every day or cook your own food or lift a finger to do anything. It’s why you have a chauffeur who’s worked for your family for decades."

He tilts his head. "Your point being?"

"Don’t you want me to sign a prenup?"

"So you are going to marry me?" Something flashes in his eyes, but he banks it.

"If we don’t, Grams is not going to be happy. It’ll upset her and put more strain on her heart, so you've said."

"Is that a yes?"

I bring up my knees and hug them to my chest. "It's not like I have a choice."

"Marrying me is the ultimate way to piss off your douche-ex."

"I suppose."

"Don’t you want to get revenge for what he did to you?"

"Oh, I do." But somewhere along the way, this had become less about Dennis and more about me and Rick.

"So what’s the problem?"

"It’s just"—fatigue knocks at the back of my eyes—"every time I think I know you, something happens, and I’m sure I don’t."

He seems about to say something, then shakes his head.

He tosses his jacket aside, reaches behind him to pull off his T-shirt, then shoves his jeans down.

OMG that expanse of his ripped chest, with the tattoo over his heart, the concave stomach, those powerful thighs—my mouth waters.

My nipples tighten, and I squeeze my thighs together to control that gnawing in my core.

He rakes his gaze over me, and I’m sure he knows the effect his striptease had on me, then he mutters, "Scoot over. "

"Wha—"

He slides onto the bed, so I have no choice but to follow his direction.

He pulls the covers over both of us, then adjusts me so I’m on my side and his arm is under my neck.

He adjusts his body to mine so he’s spooning me, and oh my god, heaven is the feel of his hard thighs against mine, the wall of his chest pressed into my back, my head tucked under his chin, with his heavy arm pinning me to him, and that thick length of his cock nestled into the curve of my butt.

"Rick," I begin, but he tightens his hold on me. "Sleep, we’ll talk later."

"You’re too hot," I protest.

When he doesn’t answer, I sigh. "I mean, your body is like a furnace, I’m sweating, I need to take off my clothes."

"Not stopping you," his voice is slurred, like he’s half asleep already.

I manage to shuck off my slacks, then my jacket and my blouse, as well as my bra. Clad in my panties, I burrow back into his chest. He pulls me close.

“Rick, I haven’t brushed my teeth, and neither have you,” I protest.

He makes a noise at the back of his throat which I interpret as ‘fuck that.’

I sigh again, “Rick, I do need to brush my teeth.”

No answer.

“Rick,”—I dig my elbow in his side, but his granite-like body absorbs it—“did you hear me? I have to brush my teeth.”

This time, he’s the one who sighs. “We’ll brush each other’s teeth tomorrow morning with our tongues.” he mumbles under his breath.

What the--! That’s gross, so why does warmth bloom between my legs? Why are my nipples peaked? I ignore the reaction of my body, try to turn and tell him off, but his hold around me tightens, holding me immobile. His breathing deepens, his body twitches, and I know he’s asleep.

It’s annoying how easily men seem to switch off that thinking part of their brains and get their body to obey. Except for that thickness that continues to stab me between my ass cheeks, that is. Not that it’s stopped him from falling asleep. I close my eyes and drift off.

When I awaken, we’re both in the same position.

Only, that thickness that’s poking my behind seems to have gotten bigger, harder and more insistent.

I turn and stare into the face of my fiancé, my husband to-be, my lover, the man to whom I gave my virginity.

The man who I know better than my own family.

And yet, in so many ways, he’s still a mystery. What are you hiding from me, Stone?

I slide my palm down and squeeze the column outlined against the crotch of his boxers.

A muscle jumps in his chest. I massage him from base to crown, and again.

His erection grows even bigger. Even through his boxers, I can sense the throbbing of the blood, the intensity of heat which sears my palm.

My mouth waters. Sweat pools under my arms, and my breathing grows ragged. A trembling runs up my spine, and whoa! I might come from how aroused I am with feeling how rigid and solid and unyielding he feels. I raise my gaze and gasp.