Page 21 of My Orc Package Deal

And because I wasn’t quite ready yet for the two of them to go swimming without supervision. I knew Milo could swim, but I didn’t know how good Jay was yet.

Besides, if I could talk Korrad into a Saturday afternoon at the beach, he might wear swim trunks. Which meant I’d get to see him shirtless. In the times we’d hugged, I’d felt his hard chest and stomach, and my fingers positively itched to touch him.

At least I’d be able to admire him.

And, I’ll admit, I wouldn’t mind seeing the way he responded to my cute silver one-piece again. The first time we’d gone to the beach, he’d stared hard enough to make me think he was either impressed, or I had forgotten to shave something important.

When we hatched this plan—a marriage of convenience to benefit our sons—it had honestly never occurred to me that I would find my future husband attractive. Much less tossing and turning all night level of sexy.

I knew orcs were hot—of course I did—but I hadn’t considered Korrad might make me desperate for something we hadn’t agreed to.

In the few weeks since our marriage, I’d seriously spent more time than was good for me contemplating how to convince him to change the rules. Just slightly. Just enough to include me moving into his room and that big bed…just enough to include some touching.

Well, okay. A lot of touching.

I realized that I’d slowed to a stop, my gaze sort of absently tracking Jay as he skated around the cul-de-sac backwards, then stopped abruptly, turned, and skated backward in the opposite direction.

When I realized what he was doing, my brows rose.

The kid knew enough to recognize that he was getting comfortable only turning in one direction, and he’d compensated.

Forcing myself to push thoughts of Korrad’s naked chest—and that kiss—from my mind, I called out, “Hey, you’re pretty good at that.”

The noise from Jay’s lips made it clear that he thought such a compliment was below him. “I should be,” he called out. “Uncle Kardok taught me to skate when I was two.”

Impressed, I nodded as I began to unsnap my helmet, desperate to feel even the tiniest bit of breeze on my scalp—but my hands froze. “Kardok?” I blurted, higher-pitched than normal as my mind skipped through several connections. “Your uncle skates?”

Jay was grinning as he came to a stop in front of me. “Yeah, he skates for the team out in Colorado. The Teal⁠—”

“Terrors,” I breathed, finishing his words. “Your uncle is Kardok the Wicked from the Teal Terrors?”

The kid didn’t bother hiding his laughter this time, and as he skated for the garage to get out of his gear, I followed him, desperate for answers.

“Jay! Your uncle⁠—”

“Yep! Kardok is Dad’s younger brother. Uncle Brak is the one who helped Dad raise me, because Uncle Kardok has always been busy traveling for games. But he taught me to skate, and he’d always scrimmage with me. I used to play for the youth league at the Bramblebluff Ice Complex where the Terrors play.”

Wide-eyed, I numbly pulled off my helmet, the blessed relief barely registering. “Holy sh…” I remembered myself in time and finished with a whispered, “schmoly. You know the Terrors?”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you do too.” Jay’s grin was cheeky, and I realized how much fun I was having.

Not just skating, not just talking hockey. But actually hanging out with him. When I’d agreed to marry Korrad to keep Milo safe, I’d never expected to enjoy his son so much. On paper, my son’s bestie had just been another benefit to marrying Jay’s dad.

Now, I was beginning to see how cool the kid was.

How much fun I was going to have being his mom.

Wow.

“Let’s go get some ice water.” I dropped the bike helmet into the storage bin on top of the skates he’d already pulled off. “I’ll ask your father and Milo about the beach. And you can tell me everything about having a famous hockey star for an uncle!”

Chapter Five

Korrad

The main beach on Eastshore always had the same chaotic energy on a Saturday afternoon in mid-summer.

The air was a thick cocktail of salt, sunblock, and the distant, tempting smell of something frying at The Waterfront or The Salty Squid. We’d parked by the library, carting our gear past the little row of shops where tourists bought sweatshirts on eighty-degree days, and down the wide wooden ramp to the sand.