Page 108 of Hockey Wife

He closed the distance between them faster than any move he’d made on the ice last night. She pulled away from Oliver’s grip.

“What did you do to her?” His move toward the asshole who had just laid hands on his wife was blocked by five feet and change of gale-force blonde.

That petite hand on his chest was supposed to pacify. Instead, it agitated him even more.

“What happened?”

“It’s okay, Big Guy. I’ve got this.”

Got what? He shot a glare over her head at Oliver, all while his pulse rate ratcheted higher and higher. This guy had taken advantage of his wife’s hospitality and Banks would love nothing more than to tear the silver spoon from his aristocratic mouth.

Georgia’s hand rubbed circles on his pec. Calm down. It’s okay.

Banks placed a possessive hand on her hip, then moved it around to the rise of her ass, where he let it linger. This fucker needed to recognize what he could never, ever have, in this lifetime or the next.

“Party’s over, asshole.”

Oliver blinked and turned an ugly shade of red. Walking by, he tried to look at Georgia, but she wasn’t having it. She kept her focus on Banks until her friend reached the stairs and descended. He was tempted to help him along, the over-the-rail route.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Just a misunderstanding.” She still looked upset. “I’m sorry about all this. I invited a couple of people over to watch your game and word got out about an after-party. I’ve been trying to shut it down for hours.”

“They don’t look like hockey fans.”

She sighed, probably relieved that he wasn’t making a fuss. “No, they’re not. I’m so glad to see you, but I didn’t want it to be in a crowd. I don’t want this.” She waved in the general direction of the party.

“Let me handle it.”

Easy enough to do once Banks had cut the music and glared at people long enough for them to get the message. Years in the hotel bar trenches chaperoning his teammates had prepared him well for quick sobriety testing and the summoning of taxis for anyone who didn’t pass muster. Not enjoying the idea that any of the revelers might be a danger to themselves or others, he called the local cops to ask them to keep an eye out for anyone he might have missed.

If Oliver got pulled over, he wouldn’t be sorry.

Alone at last, they surveyed the post-party rubble. Georgia started picking up bottles, but he took them from her and set them down.

“Tomorrow.”

She inhaled a breath. “None of this appeals to me anymore.”

She might be saying that to put him at ease. He wouldn’t expect her to change her personality to make him feel better.

“What happened with Oliver?”

“He was under the misapprehension that I owed him for his friendship.” She frowned. “That I owed him … me.”

The fucking nerve. In his house! He should have hit him.

“I handled it, Banks.” She splayed her fingers over his chest again, and this time it worked better to placate him. His heart steadied.

“How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore. Not that it would stop me.”

She peered at him from beneath hooded eyes. “From playing?”

“From this.” He palmed her ass and cleaved her to his body and all the parts that ached. The motion lifted her a couple of inches off the ground, bringing her lips close to his. If she wanted this, she’d have to close the gap herself.

She did.

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