Page 101 of Gloves Off

“So that’s how you weed out the assholes, huh?” I clear my throat. “The shoes?”

I don’t realize what I’ve said until it’s too late.

She stares at me dead-on. “Yes. That’s how I weed out the assholes. Especially the ones who call me dumb, or incompetent.”

Deep in my chest, regret yanks hard. I hate that I’m in that group.

“I never thought you were dumb.” I hate myself for how wrong I was. How quickly I believed the worst in her. “I know how hard it is to get into medical school in Canada.”

The hurt is still in her eyes, though. “Just incompetent?”

This is where I should tell her the truth—that I was attracted to her, but she reminded me of my ex. That she thought I was a lost cause and I hate when people can see my weak points.

“I’m sorry,” I say instead, hauling in a tight breath, holding her eyes. “I shouldn’t have been such a dick.”

She looks down, studying her nails. I wish I knew what she was thinking.

“It’s okay, Volkov. It keeps things interesting. Besides, I graduated top of my class.” Her mouth curves. “Probably out of spite, honestly.”

I huff an amused sound. “Good girl.”

Something flares in her eyes, and I remember when I said that in the library at the benefit.

Our eyes hold, and my heart rate picks up. “Thinking about the benefit, Hellfire?”

She lifts her chin, a defiant move that only gets my blood racing harder. “Nope. Not even once.”

The air around us thickens. Sharp, crackling desire courses through me. Trying not to be attracted to her isn’t working.

“My bed smells like you,” I say, because I can’t help but provoke her.

I thought I was delusional at first, but no, it’s not just that I can’t get that intoxicating violet scent out of my nose. My sheets actually smell like her.

Her throat works, confidence faltering. “Weird. I don’t know why.”

I’m a sick bastard, because I find her discomfort amusing. “You don’t know why?”

“Maybe Svetta used different soap.”

“You’re a known sleepwalker, and you’re blaming my housekeeper?”

“I’m not aknownsleepwalker. Only you know. And Jordan.”

I shouldn’t like that I know something so personal about her, but I do. “Why do you sleepwalk, Hellfire?”

“I don’t know,” she says tightly, before she’s gone, walking back to her own room.

“Liar,” I mutter to myself.

She knows, but she won’t tell me. My determination snags like a jagged edge. I’m going to find out.

Learning more about my wife is a dangerous game that I can’t seem to stop playing.

In the middle of the night, I wake to my bedroom door opening.

“Hellfire?” I murmur, squinting in the dark.

The bed dips and I get another wash of that pretty violet scent. She snuggles in beside me, her warm curves tucked against my front, her hair on my arm.

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