Page 119 of Hockey Wife

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me you do this.” He waved back behind him toward the reception room where his wife just made a dying man’s wish come true.

“I didn’t want to …” She trailed off.

“Toot your own horn? Look like you were self-serving? Show me your beautiful heart?”

She peeked up at him with the gaze of a puckish sprite. “Now you know.”

But there was so much more. “I want to learn you, Georgia.”

Her eyes flashed, all that blue turning to gaslight. She remained silent, so he leaned in close, his lips close to hers.

“I want to learn everything about you. Not just Georgia, the flash-card version.”

Her lips trembled. “What if you don’t like what you find?”

“What if I like it even more?”

She snatched a quick breath. “No one can be completely known. People need secrets for self-preservation.”

He understood that. His secrets—injuries, dreams, deep, dark desires—were the things that kept him focused on his goals. The Cup. Ending his career on a high.

But he had other secrets. Wishes for something of his own, a family that belonged to him instead of the other way around. A woman at the center of his world.

Georgia was not that woman. She couldn’t be. Yet she’d thrown herself into the role of wife with gusto.

The role. An acting gig. But every second with her helped him separate it out. Showed him a different Georgia. A woman who wanted to step out of the long shadow of her sister.

Step into the light. Maybe with him.

“Self-preservation is important, but so’s letting go of some of the burdens that come with that weight. Because it’s heavy, Georgia, keeping it all in.”

She stroked gentle fingers through his beard. “And how are you doing, Big Guy?”

His wife understood him so well.

“My shoulder’s aching. But you touch me, and I feel …” He let it go, the tension in his gut that kept everything coiled tight. “You take my mind off it. Off all of it.”

He had just won Game 7 of Round 1 and lived to fight another day. Even better, he had this beautiful woman in his bed, his home. His life.

The coven was right. Consider him obsessed.

“Look at us. Com-mun-i-cat-ing.” She dragged the word out, making him laugh.

“Like we’re married or something.” The thought of hitting a bar no longer appealed. He would much rather celebrate between Georgia’s lovely thighs. “Well, wife, let’s go home and communicate.”

37

Georgia was sitting at the vanity, trying to decide if demure drop diamond earrings went better with her scar than platinum hoops, when Banks appeared at the door to the room they’d labeled “Georgia’s Closet, Part II.”

She’d returned late from one of her birthday party gigs and Banks had been in the shower. Tempted to join him, she decided that would be better left until later. She would need the stress relief after a visit with her parents, and she suspected Banks would, too.

Tonight, her knockout husband wore a burgundy shirt, open to one button, with black dress pants. She doubted her mother would approve of that beard, but his wife thought he was on fire.

She opened her mouth to say hi to his reflection in the mirror, but bit off a greeting at the sight of him approaching. More like stalking.

Heart beating like a hammer …

Every damn time.

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