Page 150 of Gloves Off

“I do want to fool around in the morning.” His mouth curves against my skin. “But I’d also feel better with you here.”

“You’re actually asking? What happened to the big bad enforcer? You said you were going to get rid of my bed. I’m surprised it’s still even there.”

He hesitates. “I’m trying not to make decisions about my wife without her input.”

A warm flush moves through me and I suck in a deep breath.He’s just doing this because... I don’t know. I’m having a hard time thinking of reasons, after that orgasm. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he says, like I’m doing him a favor.

He pulls the duvet over us, tucks me against his warm torso, and in seconds, I’m out.

CHAPTER 70

GEORGIA

A small pottedplant sits on my desk when I get to work a few mornings later. The flowers are a pretty pale pink with dainty petals.

Hibiscus—delicate beauty. A frisson of electricity runs through me, making it hard to breathe as I smile at the plant.

I’m no gardener, and this plant will die in a week, but I don’t care. I love it.

I’m not getting feelings; I just love presents and being spoiled. I haven’t seen him since the night we messed around, after he brought soccer practice to the rink. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone.

I had to leave for training and didn’t want to wake you,he texted.It was too early to incur Satan’s wrath.

Good boy,I texted back, ignoring the disappointment.

That night, I got home late from soccer. His bedroom light was on, and against the headboard, he was fast asleep. I slept in my own bed like a scaredy little chicken.

Between my fingertips, I stroke the soft pink petals. “I’ll water it,” Alexei says from my doorway, leaning on the glass.

I school my dopey smile into something neutral. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

My dumb little heart hopes he’ll say something likeyou’re lovelybut he just continues to give me that affectionate look.

“And thank you again for soccer practice?—”

He sighs.

“—which you absolutely didn’t have to?—”

He strides over and kisses me. His stubble brushes my face, his scent whooshes up my nose, and his warm hand wraps around the back of my neck. I forget what I was saying. My hands are on his chest, though. His T-shirt is the softest thing I’ve ever felt. It’s the same one he wore months ago, at Darcy and Hayden’s engagement party.

He pulls away to study my eyes. “Stop thanking me.”

I don’t even remember what I was thanking him for. He holds my eyes, and my stomach dips at the intensity in his gaze. He lowers to a crouch so we’re at eye level with me sitting. His hands come to my upper arms, firm but gentle.

“If you get home and I’m asleep,” he says in a low voice that makes the back of my neck prickle, “wake me up.”

I swallow. “You need your rest. You’re very old.”

His gaze sharpens. He looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it, exhaling. “Don’t wake me up, then. But don’t go to your bed. Not anymore.”

My stomach does a funny flip.

“I’m getting rid of it today.”

I should protest. I should tell him to get fucked. That’s what I would have done before.

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