Chapter 15

15

Georgia turned to Cheddar, who had just curled up on her bed.

“What the hell happened there?”

Banks had asked if that was what Vegas was about. What they were about.

Her parents were the last people on her mind when she tripped down that aisle. No, she was thinking purely of herself. Of this one, precious thing that would be for her. Not for Dani. Not in service to the Goodwin family-industrial complex.

For me.

So it was a mistake. As soon as she woke up, her hangover and her trip-hammering heart told her she needed to backspace the hell out of it. She might not have done it for Dani, but grief had certainly factored into it. Two years without her sister, and Georgia was still trying to figure out how to stand on her own. Marrying a stranger was not the way. It wasn’t fair on Banks, either, using him like that.

His accusation stung, but there was more to it. Since reconnecting with him, she’d picked up on a vibe. He was angry, not so much about the incomplete annulment, but the cowardly way she handled it. Neither did he approve of her mercenary motivation for staying married. And here he was again, testy about her supposed reasons for marrying him in the first place.

It was as if he … liked her ?

She squirmed on the bed. That could not be right. But at the mention of Oliver and their joke wedding pact, his huge shoulders had tensed.

Her heart beat wildly at the thought. Don’t get ahead of yourself. He just wants you to be an adult about it instead of a scaredy cat.

She wasn’t one to let a fight linger. Time to fix this. On her way downstairs, she passed by his bedroom with its open door, just as he exited the en suite bathroom in a towel.

But it wasn’t the rippling muscles, broad shoulders, and perfect sprinkling of chest hair that got her attention. Neither was it the taut abs, thick thighs, or the lazy way he pushed his hand through his wet hair.

She would have thought all those things wonderful if her gaze wasn’t instantly drawn to the bruise over his ribs.

“Oh my God, what happened to you?”

His eyes flashed, but he remained silent, so she pressed further.

“Did that happen in a game?”

“It’s nothing.” He rolled his shoulder, like that Henry Cavill move in Mission Impossible , which is when she noticed a bump at the top of it and even more bruising.

“And your shoulder?”

“It popped out a week back, but it’s fine now.”

Popped out? That sounded like something that should not happen to shoulders. And a week? That was the night he came to see her at her apartment—and she gave him a measly aspirin. Good job, Georgia!

She rushed in, not caring that she was invading his sanctum. “But it must really hurt.”

“Sure, but athletes play hurt all the time. And the older you get the longer it takes to come back from a hit.”

“Shouldn’t you be on the injured list?” She’d read about that. Injured Reserve they called it, now on one of her flash cards. “Surely they don’t expect you to play like this.”

Her hand fluttered near his chest, not wanting to touch the bruise but needing to touch him . Her hovering fingertips, the ones that had yet to make chestfall, must have annoyed him. He grasped them and held her hand away from his skin.

“I have a few weeks, a couple months maximum left to the season, assuming we do well, and I can’t miss it. This kind of thing is something I deal with. We all deal with.”

This big, brave dummy. “You haven’t told the team medics, have you?”

His thumb was on her wrist, rubbing back and forth. Soothing her when he was the one who needed comfort. “You worried about me?”

“Yes, I am! I need you intact so I can divorce you without guilt and people won’t accuse me of abandoning my invalid husband.”

Huffing what sounded like a laugh, he pulled her a little closer. “I like that you’re worried about me.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. Because when I worry about people, I am all up in their business.”

“And what form does this caretaking take? Gloopy pasta?”

“You said it was good!”

“I was trying to instill confidence in your housewifely duties.” He squinted. “Listen, about what I said back there?—”

She cut him off. “I’ve figured out why you got all crotchety.”

“Oh yeah?”

Their joined hands were still suspended between them in no-man’s land. She pressed back until they touched his chest, careful not to glance against his bruised flesh. God, the heat of him.

“I think you got all irritable, throwing your silly accusations around, because … you like me.”

“I do, huh?” More amusement. Oh, laugh, Big Guy, laugh away.

“Yep. You didn’t enjoy the notion that I might have gone into our Vegas adventure with an agenda. Just like you were annoyed because I panicked and sent you those annulment papers without any discussion. You’re the kind of man who doesn’t like to be dismissed, and I haven’t done a good job of giving you the attention you crave.”

His lips almost curved. “I don’t crave attention, Georgia. I just thought we could be adults about the divorce, that’s all. I shouldn’t have said that about your parents. That was below the belt.”

“Is there a reason why you went there?”

He sighed and took a moment to consider her question. “We’re not the most obvious pair, are we? I’m a good deal older, don’t enjoy the limelight, and am at a different place in my life. You’re fresh and young and light up every room you’re in.” He shook his head. “Just stating the facts as I see them.”

Her heart was all aflutter. They came from vastly different worlds, that was for sure. But that night, they had created a world purely for them.

“I’m sorry for being a jerk. Forgive me, Georgia.”

Look at us being all mature. “I accept your apology, and I apologize if you ever felt unimportant, then or now. I know what that’s like. I should have been more respectful, especially about the annulment. It just seemed like another one of my fuckups and I thought the faster I fix it, the less likely someone would find out. It wasn’t a judgment on you or what happened. It was all about me. You get that, don’t you?”

He stared at her, those gorgeous brown eyes changing to a warm whiskey hue.

“I get it.”

The words were spoken gruffly, barely concealing a subtext she didn’t quite understand. She would have questioned it, but she’d overstayed her welcome.

She drew back. Released his hand. Hated how it felt to not be wrapped in that heat and safety.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” She gestured at his body, then cringed on realizing how that sounded.

“Might be best if I got some sleep.” His deep inhale drew her attention to his chest. Only this time she was focused on the sheer perfection of his physique rather than the darkened skin, badges of his pain.

Funnily enough, he was also caught up in the staring contest.

“That shirt …” His gaze raked over her. “Is mine .”

Her Vegas souvenir. She might have worn it a couple of times since, another layer to keep the Chicago winter and grief at bay. It still carried his scent, something like cedar and citrus, though it was fading.

Now the way he was looking at her and how he uttered the word “mine” sent a bolt of lust through her.

“You gave it to me that night because I was cold.” She pulled it off one shoulder. “You can have it back.”

He shook his head, his gaze skimming her bare shoulder before he dragged it away. “You keep it as long as you need it.”

“Thanks,” she whispered with a shaky step back.

She didn’t dare dip her gaze, so instead she backed out, doing her best eyes-up-here , conscious that one look at that barely knotted towel draped over those slim hips would have her drooling.

Or casting a spell to make it drop.

“Sleep well, Banks.”

“Later, Georgia.”