The Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey) by Gina Azzi (little red riding hood read aloud .TXT) 📕

Husband. It’s the one word I focus on and I like the way it sounds coming from her mouth. A hell of a lot more than I’m supposed to.

I grin and close the space between us. She’s obviously tipsy. “How much did you drink?”

“More than I meant to.” She wrinkles her nose and it’s adorable.

“You know we were supposed to look over papers tonight, right?”

She nods, her mouth pushing into a pout. “I know. And I swear I didn’t set out for this.”

“Trouble just finds you?” I tease.

She winces. “It’s a byproduct of being best friends with Claire.”

I laugh and sit down on the couch. Even though I shouldn’t, I pull her into my lap. She doesn’t shift to move away so I wrap my arms around her casually. “How did Claire take the news?”

“Not very well,” she whispers, her expression serious.

Shit. My heart sinks a little at her words.

“Hence the drinks,” she adds.

I nod, frowning.

“But once I told her the full story about Stu, she came around.”

“I still want the full story about Stu.”

She blushes and dips her head. “After we talked, she insisted on an impromptu bachelorette. Indy was our DD.”

Of course she did. Claire Merrick is the life of any and every party. But she’s also a loyal friend, protective and caring of those she loves. And I know she adores Rielle. Some of my worry recedes knowing Claire is supporting Ri in this decision.

Rielle’s hand trails down my bare torso, her touch light.

“You definitely don’t look thirty-seven,” she murmurs.

I chuckle, fighting the urge to flex for her like a twenty-year-old punk. “That’s cause I’m practically thirty-eight.”

She snorts.

“We can look at the papers and sign tomorrow morning. I have to be at the arena at two for a team meeting and to get ready for our game tomorrow night. If all looks good, we’ll be getting hitched in two days. Right before I leave for Tampa.”

Her eyes snap up to mine, wide and brimming with more emotion than she usually shows.

“You really want to be my husband, Torst?”

She asks the question softly, as if she’s unsure of the answer. As if she wants the answer to mean more than just some contract we both sign. And God, I want it to mean more than that too.

I nod, not trusting my voice. I clear my throat. “I like the way that sounds more than I should.” My fingers swipe over her hip, my hand palming her thigh.

She shifts her weight so she can wrap her arms around my neck. “I shouldn’t like that you like it as much as I do.”

My eyebrows lift and I smile. Her hands slide down the back of my neck and palm my shoulders. I sit perfectly still as her fingers explore my arms, my upper back, before wrapping back around my neck.

The space between us hums with awareness that wasn’t there earlier. It’s potent and intense and could be goddamn electrifying if we gave into its pull.

“How much have you had to drink?”

She shakes her head, the ends of her hair tickling my hand. “Not nearly enough. I can hold my liquor.”

“I’m learning that, sweetheart.”

I watch as her eyelids drop to half-mast. My breathing ticks up a notch. My fingers slide up from her thigh, over her hip, until I can touch the exposed skin of her lower back. I flirt with the waistband of her leggings, dipping the edges beneath the leather until I graze the lace of her thong.

I need to stop touching her. Right now. Five seconds ago. My hand stills.

We’re making an agreement. We’re signing a contract.

Nowhere in it does it include this. An attraction that is gripping in its intensity, desperate in its need.

Rielle leans forward, her chest colliding with mine. “Rielle.” Her name is a plea on my lips. It comes out protective and concerned, tender and caring, and all the things in between.

“Are you going to kiss me at the altar?” she asks, her voice so throaty I feel it everywhere.

“Do you want me to?” My hand slides lower, until my palm molds to her ass. I squeeze and she gasps. “Tell me.”

Slowly, she nods. And fuck, I want to kiss her at the altar. Right now, I want it to already be our wedding day. So I can meet her at the altar, kiss her senseless, carry her over the goddamn threshold, and give her a proper wedding night. But that’s the kind of dangerous thinking that will set us up for trouble down the road.

“Then we should practice,” she murmurs.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re making this hard.” My hand not currently down her pants cups the side of her neck and slides up to her cheek. I angle her head with one hand to stare into her eyes. Hunger and need spark with desire and I groan, already hard and thick and pressing into her.

She shifts closer and reaches for me, her eyes boring into mine, holding me captive.

I swear and lose my restraint. My mouth arcs down and she closes her eyes just as my lips touch hers. I kiss her hard, with purpose. With intent. Once, twice, and then, my tongue slips inside her mouth and I kiss her with unbridled want.

Her arms wrap all the way around my neck and she pulls herself up my body, our chests pressed together. My hand resting against her ass grips hard until she twists in my lap and straddles me. Our exchange morphs, turning needy and borderline desperate. My mouth drags from her lips to her neck. My hand slides lower, my fingertips slipping under the material of her thong to tease her core.

I swear. She’s so fucking wet for me. She wants this as much as I do and yet… “Tell me you want this, Ri.”

She digs her nails into my back. “I want you, Torsten.” As soon as she says the words, I’m moving us through the kitchen and into my bedroom.

I drop her in the center of my bed and step back,