Page 73 of Hockey Wife

Tonight, he would hover on the edge at risk of falling off, anything to ensure he did not touch Georgia.

She was sitting up under the covers, e-reader propped on her knees, the soft light of the bedside lamp suffusing her creamy skin with a lovely glow. A couple of thin silky straps bisected her perfectly-rounded shoulders. He looked away quickly.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just wondering what took you so long. Did you need to check all the doors and windows?”

“Doesn’t hurt to do a walk-through.”

A slight smirk. “So I chose this side. But if you have a preference?—”

“No preference.” His gaze slid to the bedside table on the opposite side, taking note of the couple of millimeters the drawer was extended.

“I saw you had condoms, so I assumed that was your side.”

He nodded, feeling his color rising. “Fine. Just going to …” He gestured to the bathroom then headed there quickly and shut the door.

Fuck. He should have thought of that. Not that condoms were embarrassing, but it meant now he was thinking about sex. (Sure, blame the condoms.) Maybe she was thinking about sex or the fact that he had protection, which they could use if?—

Nope. They were just there, little coils of rubber that would get no use for a while.

He had agreed to play out this charade for months, at least until Georgia’s parents put her back on the payroll. All that time, he’d have to be celibate because he was married.

Since Vegas, he hadn’t been interested in any other woman. Even when he thought he was divorced, he’d kept it in his pants. He’d known she didn’t want to give him the time of day, had figured out how to eighty-six him from her life within a week of marriage, yet he’d still placed her on some sort of pedestal. A woman worthy of his fidelity.

His psyche knew he was taken.

Mighty fucked up, that. He had signed the annulment papers—which weren’t worth the tree pulp they were printed on, apparently—and had still craved a woman who clearly didn’t want him. At least, not until she had a monetary reason.

This was good. Remember why she’s here. Remember she doesn’t want you that way.

A couple of minutes later, he was out of the bathroom after splashing his face with cold water to wake himself the fuck up.

She’d turned out the lamp on her side; now only the pale glow of her e-reader cast about the room. At least he could undress in the shadows, which he did down to his boxer briefs. He pulled back the covers, slid under them, and steeled his body for the night ahead.

23

Mere inches separated them. All she had to do was stretch her arm and she could touch him.

This bed had looked huge when she came into the room earlier and quickly undressed. But now, with her giant of a husband in it, it had taken on a smaller footprint. No bigger than a postage stamp, really.

He’d stood at the side as he stripped, giving her that perfect vista of taut muscle and chest hair. She couldn’t help sneaking a peek while he unpeeled his sweater off over his head. Then he’d stood at the edge of the bed, his back to her, like he was waiting for something.

She couldn’t decide if it was better for him to be outside, showcasing the body of a bruised and battered warrior, or under the covers, a few, tempting inches away from her. An impossible choice.

She’d made it clear she already snooped and found the condoms. They had protection. Yay! A different type of protection might be more optimal, though, a forcefield or hex that would keep her on this side of the bed and ensure her hands did not wander. Because they wanted to. They wanted to explore those broad shoulders and apply her lips to steely flesh and solid warmth.

But she had to resist those thoughts, and one way to do that was to talk.

“Tell me about Connie.”

“Connie?”

After switching off her e-reader and setting it aside, she turned over to face him, just about able to make out his face in the half-dark. “You’re so close. Closer than I think a lot of people are to their grandparents.” How else to explain why he was maintaining this fakery?

“You’re not close to yours?”

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