Page 43 of Faking it with the Billionaire
What else has she been trained to do?
I lean in close, stealing a whiff of her perfect vanilla and hazelnut scent. I try not to swoon from the smell as she has the uncanny ability to make me rock hard. “Have you ever killed a man?” I ask.
“What?” She laughs, her eyes widening. “Where is that question coming from?”
Emerson shifts slightly, sizing me up. There’s a wry grin on her face, and I can’t tell if she’s nervous or appalled by my question.
When I don’t answer her, she smiles and shifts back into my embrace, letting me hold her for the world to see that she belongs to me. My arms instantly wrap around her waist, my fingers at her hips. Possessively, I hold her, touch her, and press her against me to hide the growing bulge in my pants.
“I’ve never been in the position while working for the FBI that I’ve had to kill anyone before,” she says with a soft sigh.
There’s a sense of dread, of discomfort in her tone. Anyone else might miss the disconnect, but I hear it a mile away. “And before you were an agent?”
“I protected my sister when we were younger. I don’t want to talk about it,” she says and spins around in my embrace. She wraps her arms around my neck and leans in on her tiptoes, trying to meet my lips. I’m still several inches taller than she is.
I know this routine, trying to silence me with a kiss. I’m not an idiot. I’m a hot-blooded male who would gladly take her distraction and use it to my benefit. I let her kiss me and pull her closer as our lips brush against each other.
It’s chaste at first, but that doesn’t last for long. I press my tongue at the entrance of her lips, and my fingers tug at her hips. Her lips open, granting me entrance, deepening the kiss. Her body is like a flow of hot, molten lava, burning and exciting me. There’s no denying she makes me hard, and while I don’t need the entire gala witnessing my erection, I don’t mind Emerson feeling my secret pushed up against her belly.
Someone clears his throat beside us, and I feel a rough pat on the back. I hate breaking apart from Em, but I don’t feel like there’s much of a choice.
“Jasper,” I grumble, not the least bit surprised to see my brother interrupting us. “What?” I bark.
“Don’t bite off my head,” Jasper says, a wide smirk on his face. He’s not the least bit afraid of me. The guys probably sent him over to disrupt us. “Fitzgerald just arrived.”
“Of course, he did,” I mutter. “Who’s head has he chewed off thus far?”
“No one. He’s saving his coyote teeth for you, big brother.”
“Jackass.”
“Save it for Fitzy.” Jasper grins and smacks me on the back.
I’m no longer hard, which is both good, it won’t embarrass me, and bad, I no longer have the distraction of Em’s body pressed tightly against me.
“Do you want me to stay with you or disappear for your meeting with the owner?” Em asks. Her hand falls into mine, and she gives it a prominent squeeze.
While Fitzgerald is a huge douche, I refuse to let Em out of my sight. After what she confided in me about Brad, I need to protect her. “You’re coming with me,” I say, dragging her with me. “We’ll make this quick.”
Em forces a smile, and I’ll do everything I can to protect her, but I also need this contract, which puts me in a tight spot. Not that I’m willing to pimp Em out to get it. On the contrary, I need Fitzgerald to believe I’ve got a girlfriend who’s serious and who will take care of my daughter.
He expects every man with a kid to have a wife. Someone to stay home with the kids while his men are on the ice.
Fitzy is an old man with caveman ideals. That is, if cavemen were running around playing hockey all day. Even so, he’s an asshole with the contract that I need signed in his hands. So, I pretend to play the part that he so eloquently wants to keep me in the game.
It’s not as though any other team won’t have me. They probably would, but I like where I live, I want stability for Bristol, and my brother is on the same freaking team. How much luckier could I get? Finally, I have everything I could ever want. And I don’t want to chance it all disappearing.
Right?
“Greyson,” Fitzgerald says, his gaze cross, and he sneers up at me. He shoves his hands into his designer pants, an ensemble that shows his worth with his crisp suitcoat tailored with perfection. It’s the only thing perfect about him.
He’s got a hell of a crooked nose, and I can’t help but wonder who did that to him and when? Another player? Someone in his younger days? Perhaps it was more than just one man who beat the shit out of him. He certainly deserves it.
“Sir,” I say, forcing the words out past my dry lips. “This is my girlfriend, Ms. Ryan.”
“Ryan,” he says, glancing her up and down, slowly and methodically, like he’s undressing her with his gaze. His jaw is slack, hung agape as he takes every inch of her in with his mind.
I feel like he’s fucking her with that disgusting glare, and I step forward, chest held out, ready to shout at him to avert his stare, when Emerson squeezes my hand and forces a smile. “I’ve heard so much about you, Mr. Fitzgerald. It must be such an honor to have one of the most talented players on your team.”
