Page 421 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Rick

"Are you avoiding me, you—" I wince because Tiny plants his paws on my chest. He’s a well-behaved dog, but the excitement of seeing me has made him forget his training.

Is it crazy to think he's punishing me for what I did?

That he's putting his weight on me to send me a message? He presses down on the parts of me that haven’t yet fully mended.

Then, rising up to his full height, he unfurls his tongue and licks my face.

"Ugh, Tiny." He pants, and doggy breath swirls over me like a cloud of exhaust. I cough, then tug on his leash. He manages to lick my face with his dinner-plate-like tongue before I step back and urge his front legs down. He pants and looks at me with that smiling face of his. Too bad my woman doesn’t feel the same.

Goldie scowls at me. She doesn’t come closer, either.

As if sensing the tension between us, Tiny woofs.

Then he strains at his leash. It’s either let him go or follow him…

I choose the latter. He closes the distance to Goldie, and when he reaches her, he rubs his big head against her side.

Her features soften. She rubs him behind his ear, and he makes that purring sound that's so incongruous, considering it’s coming from a two-hundred-pound dog.

Mira chuckles. "Jeez ,Tiny, you need to be more dog."

"And you need to be gone," Goldie says without looking at me, derision evident in her tone.

"You need to give me a chance."

"I don't need to do anything. Anyway, I gave you a chance. See how that turned out?" she says in a low voice.

I wince. A stabbing sensation pierces my chest. "I’m sorry for what I did, Goldie. Truly. Haven’t you punished me enough?"

"All you’ve paid for it with is your money, so far." She tosses her hair over her shoulder. "And that means nothing."

"Especially not when you haven’t spent it on yourself."

"I told you, I can do without your money." She fastens her fingers around Tiny’s collar. The skin around her knuckles stretches. She seems to be using him for support. I’m glad she has him during this time, but I’d rather she depend on me.

"What else can I do to make it up to you? Tell me, Goldie. Please? Do you want me on my knees? Because—" I bend one knee then the other.

She gasps.

"—here I am, on my knees, asking you to forgive me."

An older couple jogs by. The woman makes an 'awww' sound, and the man nods in my direction. "Looking good, mate." He flashes me a thumbs-up sign.

Tiny takes it as a signal that we are playing, for he barks and dances closer to me, brushing against my shoulder with enough force that I have to grab him and hold on for support.

“I’ll take Tiny for a walk." Mira grabs his leash and tugs at him. "Come on, Tiny, I’ll buy you a doggy breakfast."

His ears perk up. I swear the dog is half human. He barks at me, then at Goldie, as if to say, "Catch ya later," then allows Mira to lead him away. In the silence that ensues, a soft breeze blows her hair across her features.

"You wore your hair down," I murmur.

"I was in a hurry to leave the house." She searches in the pockets of her yoga pants, which cling to every curve of her thighs and outline her shapely calves. "Damn, I forgot my hair-tie."

I love it when she wears her hair down, but I know she prefers to put it up. And I want her to be comfortable. "Here." I pull one from my pocket and hold it out.

"You carry hair-ties?" She takes the band, and squints at it. "Is this mine?" She scoffs, glances up to see the look on my face and says, "Have you been carrying it around with you?"

I ignore the question and take in her left hand.

"You’re not wearing your wedding ring." My voice comes out harsh, and I struggle to keep the anger off my face. I didn’t plan to be here, but after a night of missing her and being unable to sleep, I grabbed the pillow from her side of the bed and buried my nose in it to drag in any remnants of her scent.

I finally managed to fall asleep, and woke up with an aching heart, and balls so heavy with need for her, I knew I had to see her.

I told the team I’d meet them at the arena, then driven here.

"Neither are you.”

"You’re my wife. It’s important you wear my ring, so everyone knows you’re taken," I snap.

"Wow." She gapes. "You didn’t say that. Of all the chauvinistic, sexist sentiments—"

"I’m on my knees, aren’t I?" I shift my weight, ignoring the stones digging into my skin.

"Please get up. You’re making a spectacle of yourself." A female jogger runs by, then does a double take. She stumbles, rights herself, then keeps going, casting looks at us over her shoulder.

"Please, Rick, get up."

"Only if you forgive me."

"This is blackmail."

"I haven’t even started."

She firms her lips. "I’m not sure if you came here to apologize or to make things worse."

"Clearly, this is not one of my talents," I concede. "Also, I refused a wedding ring because I had something more permanent in mind." I hold up my left hand, with the back toward her.

She stares at my left ring finger, and her gaze widens. "What… What is that?"

I spread my fingers out for her perusal.

She takes a step forward, and another, until she’s finally, finally standing in front of me.

The wind changes direction, and a whiff of her honeysuckle scent wafts over me.

I inhale deeply, and my muscles unwind. I missed her more than I realized.

I missed the feel of her skin against mine, the swell of her hips as I spoon her at night, the sound of her voice, the spark in her eyes when she's animated, the curve of her lips—my favorite kind of curve about her—when she smiles.

She stares at my ring finger, and a stunned expression flits across her features. "That’s— That’s—" She swallows. "You have a wedding band—"

"Tattooed around my ring-finger."

She draws in a sharp breath. Then, as if unable to help herself, she bends and peers at the design. "Is that—?" She shakes her head. "No, it can’t be."

"It is."

"It can’t be my name," she says.

"It is," I repeat.

She shakes her head. "You tattooed my name around your ring finger?"

I allow myself a small smile. "It’s the least I could do. I wanted something more permanent than metal."

"Did it hurt?" Her forehead creases. "Will it impede your ability to play hockey?"

"It didn’t hurt enough, and if it does, it'll be worth it."

"Rick…" She raises her gaze to mine. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Why are you trying so hard?" She reaches out and touches the still-new tattoo. A whisper of pain flickers over my nerve-endings. It adds to the agony of having her so close, yet not being able to touch her. I will not touch her; not until she’s forgiven me. It’s the least I can do after what I put her through.

"I haven’t even started."

She traces her name etched into my skin between the honeysuckle flowers.

"My favorite flower," she whispers.

"It’s what you smell of. Honeysuckle and hope and the spaces between things that matter most, the light between the stars, the heat in the circle of a fire that burns brighter with each day.

You’re my dream, my desire, the one thing I will always want, the one thing I will never forget, the one thing that occupies my mind day and night and in the time between.

I want to wake up with you and fall asleep with my body curled around yours.

I want to hear you laugh, make you smile, see the tears of joy shine in your eyes.

I want your everything. I want to be your everything.

Keep you safe from the world. Keep you happy.

Make your desires come true. I want you in my life. "

Her lips quiver, and her chin wobbles. Her breath comes out in little gusts of emotion. She feels the intensity of my words, knows I’m serious, understands what I’m trying to convey. She does. She must. She has to forgive me, even though I’ll never forgive myself.

Her features soften. She seems to melt in my direction, and I open my arms to gather her close, when… She straightens. A tear runs down her cheek. "You had me, Rick."