Page 75 of Hockey Wife

“Liar.”

She sat up. “Hey! You can’t say that.”

“Can and did. Do you really need your trust fund badly enough that you’d stay married to a stranger?”

“I told you I did.”

A scoffing noise. “Yeah, you did.”

She saw what was happening here. He had a noble reason and he wanted to think she had one, too. He didn’t like thinking so poorly of his wife, probably because it reflected badly on him and his judgment of character.

She could give him something. A little piece of herself for being such a good sport.

She lay back down. “All those stories I told at dinner—well, my parents are disappointed with me. I don’t ever manage to live up to their expectations, and when I found out we were still married, I thought that maybe they might look at me differently.”

He turned to her, leaning on his elbow. “You thought the label ‘wife’ would make them see you as all grown up?”

“Separate, independent.” She hauled in a shaky breath. “I need the money to create my own charity, something that isn’t an extension of my parents’ business interests or what they think is appropriate.”

That shut him up.

“I know, just looking for another way to put off working for a living,” she joked.

Say something, please.

Finally he spoke. “What kind of charity?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m currently researching options, meeting with Chicagoland foundations, looking for gaps in the philanthropic space.” She wasn’t ready to share just how hands-on she was in her research. Meeting the people who needed help was her favorite part. “My family would prefer I do something to honor Dani, and while that would be great?—”

“You want something of your own.”

Relief that he understood washed over her.

“But you need seed money to make it happen and that’s where your parents come in?”

She nodded. “I need to show them that I’m not the wild child they think I am. That I can run a business and not just be the face of it. What we did in Vegas was reckless and not exactly the behavior of a budding foundation CEO. I’m sorry all this has happened and that the timing sucks and?—”

He pressed a thumb to her lips. “Peaches, it’s okay. You didn’t act alone. I’ve got your back and we’re gonna make sure this works out.”

His thumb dipped to her lower lip, the action pressing enough to part them. The urge to flick her tongue over that pillowy-pad of flesh was overwhelming. He was staring at her mouth, and that craving inside her was building, building, and please, Banks, kiss me again.

Her silent plea went unheard.

He pulled back, and if it took him a little longer to remove his thumb from her lip, then that was purely in the realm of her imagination.

“We should sleep,” he muttered gruffly.

She swallowed back her emotion and nodded yes, but he was already turning away, giving her his strong, unyielding back. Mr. Stoic in all things.

24

Banks knew something was wrong because it felt so right.

That’s how low his thinking had sunk. Up was down. Black was white. Nothing made sense anymore.

Morning had finally come, not that he’d slept much. But he managed a couple of fitful hours after the last time he checked his phone, about 4 a.m.

Now she was wrapped around him, her tiny, fuckable body finding countless ways to creep into any space available. One slender arm around his torso. A dainty hand gripping his shoulder. Her knee slotted between his thighs.

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