Chapter 20

20

The sound of laughter echoed in the hallway as he opened the door. He shouldn’t have worried—after all, his family were top quality. They would treat Georgia with respect because she belonged to Banks.

Okay, belonged wasn’t the right word. She was connected to Banks. Legally.

He preferred his instinctual take on it.

He had planned to sit Georgia down tonight and give her the lay of the land. Essentially, he was setting her up for a clash with a gaggle of highly opinionated women who would go to the ends of the earth to protect him. They were usually able to spot trouble of the female variety a mile off and could size up any woman in his orbit in seconds.

One of their strategies was plying their victim with alcohol.

“Day drinking’s begun, I see.”

His mom jumped to her feet, a half-full martini glass in hand, which meant she could manage that and the tight hug for her son with no damage to either.

“My boy! My married, full-of-secrets boy!” Post-hug, she rubbed his arm, squinted, and gave him a hammy wink. “You got yourself a wife without telling me? And then kept it a secret for two months? And you think the fact she’s gorgeous and knows how to make a French martini is going to win me over?”

Laying it on a bit thick, Mom.

“We wanted to settle in first.”

“Right. And how’s that going?”

He cast a quick glance at Georgia, who had skipped the adult beverage in favor of raspberry tea. She offered an almost imperceptible eyebrow raise and a sly grin that immediately relaxed him.

“It’s … going.”

His mother narrowed her eyes, looking for a chink in his armor. Was he in control here or was he laboring under the delusion that his wife might like him? Banks had made a mistake with a woman before. Thought it was the real thing and learned quickly that not everyone is as enamored of a big-muscled guy with the personality of Sequoia. That money and fame and talent can only get you so far.

So when his mom took that deep-dive into the depths of his soul, he tried to put her at ease as he held her gaze, beat for beat.

Finally, she let him off the hook. “Georgia’s been keeping us entertained.”

“Oh yeah?” He wouldn’t mind hearing this, but first he needed to hug his grandmother. Stuffed into the cushions of the giant sectional, she was trying to get up. Both Banks and Georgia jumped to her aid. The little sprite that was his wife got there a second before him, but instead of helping his gran up, she placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Stay right there, Connie. Let your grandson come to you.”

She looked up and smiled at him, while he sank into the spot beside his grandmother.

“Babcia,” he murmured as he put his arms around her frail body. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Where else would I be? You think I’m missing this series?”

“I know you wouldn’t miss it, but this visit is sooner than I expected.”

“It’s what she wanted,” his mom said. Connie was her mother-in-law, but from the moment she married his dad, they were as good as mom and daughter. Mom came from money and her own parents disowned her when she hitched her wagon to an Army private. The two women were alike in temperament, neither of them willing to back down.

He set his grandmother back to look at her. She’d lost weight, though his mom was always trying to make her eat more. He’d do what he could while she was here. Other than that, she looked spry for a woman of eighty-three.

“How are you?”

“Just fine. Don’t you be worrying about me. You have games to win.”

“I can do both.”

You wouldn’t believe how much my focus is fragmented—did you hear I have a hot young wife who’s completely upended my life?—yet I’m still here, winning games and taking names.

“Well, you shouldn’t have to worry. We’re here to spend time with Georgia and induct her into the family.”

He met Georgia’s gaze over his grandmother’s head. She should be afraid—he wouldn’t have blamed her if she was—but that wasn’t fear he was seeing. More like glee.

“You ready to be inducted?” he asked her.

“Are there jackets?”

Mom’s eyes lit up, and he pointed at her. “No.” A couple of his teammates had granny fan clubs who went nuts at the games, complete with specially designed merch. “No jackets. Just be normal. If that’s possible.”

His mom and Georgia shared a playful look that should have put the fear of God into him, but instead gave him a little thrill. They liked each other.

“While we figure out which photo of Banks to use on the jackets,” Georgia said, “I can top everyone up.”

His mom jumped to her feet. “I’ll do it. Dylan, could you get your gran’s room ready?” In other words, a nap was in her future.

“Will do.” He kissed Gran on the forehead. “Relax while I figure out the guest room situation.” When he stood, Georgia did as well, and the sight of them side by side sent his grandmother into a frenzy.

“Hold that pose! I need a pic to send to the girls. Trish, do the honors.”

A slender arm snaked around his waist and she—meaning his soft, supple, sexy wife—leaned in, laying her head on his pec.

“Gotta give your public what they want, Big Guy.”

On hearing that nickname, his mother’s eyes practically popped out of her head.

“Take the damn photo.”

She did, though she took an age with it, to the point that Banks’s body was not his own. He was on the verge of losing control and throwing his woman caveman-style down on the hearth rug and nailing her until she screamed his name.

He’d already mauled her a couple of nights ago, and as for what happened in Vegas … He assumed that was part of the reason for running out of the hotel room instead of sticking around to discuss what had happened. She’d awoken trap-wrapped in his aging bulk and had quickly figured out her escape route.

“Absolutely perfect!” Mom was grinning, and he wondered what she really thought of all this. She knew it was just for his gran, so why was she acting so weird?

He pulled away, a little too fast. Georgia wasn’t quite ready, and she stumbled back into his arms.

“Sorry,” she murmured, sounding embarrassed. That was the last thing he wanted.

“Stay here.” He didn’t want her hauling luggage.

“No, I want to make sure everyone gets settled in right.” She moved ahead of him and grabbed the largest suitcase in the foyer. Then dropped it.

“Jesus, what’s in here? A dead body?”

“Shoes, I’m guessing. Mom likes to have her boot collection wherever she goes.” He took the case along with two others. “You grab that smaller one—that’s Gran’s.”

He followed her upstairs, careful to keep his eyes north of her shoulder blades. But that didn’t help because she’d put her hair up into a messy bun, and small tendrils of hair were stuck to her neck.

Thoughts invaded, wicked ones about placing his nose along the curve of her neck. His lips. Maybe even his tongue. He bet she tasted sweet with a touch of salt because that would be Georgia. A mass of contradictions.

“You okay?”

He jerked to attention to find her looking at him curiously with those blue lights. Could she not see how much her wispy, rebellious hair was affecting him?

“Sorry about before,” he muttered with a glance downstairs.

“About what?”

“My gran demanding photographic evidence to share with the rest of them. Making us?—”

“Get physical?” The corner of her mouth hooked up. “But you dropped me like I burned! We’ll have to figure out how to handle those kinds of interactions if we’re to keep the fiction alive.” She brought his gran’s case into the room where she’d been sleeping. “Now I think maybe your gran should go in here after I change the sheets. The lake views are especially lovely, and it gets a lot of sun in the morning.”

He knew that. It was why he’d chosen this room for Georgia.

“I’ll move my undies into yours.” She took a quick look over her shoulder. “Maybe now before Connie gets nosy. I’ll leave my clothes as if this is my closet space.”

Quickly she grabbed stuff from drawers and threw it into an empty case while he stood at the door, gawping and trying to parse her words about how he’d dropped her like she burned. Anxious to distract himself, he focused on her quick movements and the things she was packing away. Frilly bits. Lacy and silky scraps of material that would barely cover her curves and would not hold up under scrutiny or his ravenous grasp.

Shuttering the suitcase, she looked up and frowned as if to ask, why are you here again, perv?

I can’t stay away from you.

She pulled the suitcase by him and headed to his room where she popped it on the bed and unzipped again.

“Now for your mom, maybe put her in the blue room? It’s got that extra closet space, and she could lay out her boots in those cute little cubbies.”

Good, back to the task at hand. After lugging and stashing the remaining cases, he sought out Georgia, who was unpacking in his room.

Their room.

He closed the door behind him. “Could I have a word?”

She looked up, her eyes wide and curious.

“About what happened downstairs, you’ve got it all wrong.”

“I do?”

He inhaled a breath. “I separated from you quickly because I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage.”

“Advantage? How would I think a fake hug was taking advantage?”

Did he have to spell it out? “Because it didn’t feel fake. It felt … good. And that’s not what you signed on for.”

She took a couple of steps toward him, then placed a hand on his chest. “What did I sign on for? Is it about Connie?”

“Yes.” Liar, liar, cup on fire. The hand on his chest started to make tight, comforting circles.

“Is she ill?”

“No, nothing more than typical old age. But she worries she could go at any minute, and she won’t have seen me with a wife and a family of my own.”

“I see.” She reached up to his jaw and cupped it. “Making your grandmother happy is a great reason to do this. I’m guessing she’s harbored the dream for you for a while.”

She really should leave off, but now she was stroking his jaw with her thumb—and he was the fool letting her.

“She’s always wanted to see me settled, like my sisters.”

“An old lady’s wish. Beats my mercenary motives, for sure.”

This wasn’t a competition for self-sacrifice. As if living with Georgia, even with all the pretense, was a hardship. Sure, it was “hard” in a different way, but not unpleasurable in the slightest.

“We both have our reasons, and one isn’t better than the other.”

“Hmm.” She wanted to disagree. “I had a chat with Trish. She mentioned that she and your sisters are in on the caper, so that’s good.”

“They’re hard to fool. But my gran sees what she wants to see.”

Maybe we all do. With Georgia standing close, stroking his jaw, the situation was feeling more real with each successive heartbeat. And with her next question, he felt himself sinking deeper.

“So you dropped me like a hot coal because it felt good. What about it felt good, Banks?”

Jesus, her hands, her touch, the way she smelled, how tiny and precious she was standing next to him, before him, in his arms … he could make lists for days.

“All of it.”

Her breath hitched. “Then you’ll have no problems faking it.”

Faking it. Excellent. He needed the reminder. Her hand was still on his jaw, showing tenderness because of his ailing gran. Not for any other reason that his starry-eyed imagination might conjure.

He cupped her hand, because she seemed loathe to leave his jaw be, and while he had no objections, he didn’t want her to feel obligated out of some sort of pity. But now her hand was clasped in his and something occurred to him, something that had been bothering him since the moment she moved in.

“This isn’t right.”

She looked startled and pulled her hand away.

He held on. Rubbed a thumb over the fourth finger. “You’re not wearing my ring.”

Color tagged her cheeks. “I left it behind in the hotel room. It didn’t seem fair to hold onto it.” She peered up at him, almost shy. “Do you still have it?”

He nodded, and not letting go, guided her to the dresser. He pulled open the top drawer and removed the small box beneath his underwear. That night, she’d chosen it from a selection at the chapel and he vaguely recalled some discussion about choosing what was effectively a traditional engagement ring over a wedding band. He hadn’t cared. She could have whatever the fuck she wanted as long as she wore it forever.

Less than six hours later, it was on the nightstand, and Cinderella was gone.

Making a big deal of opening it and slipping it onto her finger would assign this too much significance. He put the box on the dresser and pushed it a couple of inches toward her.

No hesitation, she flipped the lid and sucked in a breath.

“I wasn’t sure if I imagined it.”

A pale pink solitaire, all the more beautiful for its rarity. Pricey for a quickie Vegas wedding, but it was her choice. He was her choice.

Until he wasn’t.

“Could you put it on?”

Could he …?

“Because you’re holding my hand and …”

Right. He still had her hand clasped in his, limiting her mobility. Hauling air into his lungs, he let go of her long enough to pull the ring out of its snug, velvet bed. It caught a shard of sunlight, though maybe that was the reflection of her bright, shining eyes.

She offered her hand. “I feel like we should say something.”

“Repeat our vows?” He slipped the ring onto her finger, slowly, wanting the moment to last. With this ring, I thee wed . I promise to cherish, defend, and fight for you … He looked into her eyes and said with his gaze what he couldn’t with his voice.

“What about yours?”

He extracted the platinum band from the drawer. It would have been easier to just put it on, get it done, but he wanted her to do it.

He would examine the why of that later.

She took it from him and slid it onto his finger. “With this ring, I promise … to cheer like hell at my husband’s hockey match.”

“Game.”

“And not embarrass him with my lack of hockey knowledge.”

He laughed, relieved she’d pricked the balloon of tension. At least one of them was thinking straight.