Page 30 of Gloves Off

“Yes?” I act like I don’t recognize her.

She gives me a flat look. “Is this how you act when company comes over? No wonder you’re still single.”

My gaze drops to her feet. “Didn’t know you owned a pair of sensible shoes.”

“Go jerk off to my shoes in private, Volkov.”

The back of my neck heats, and I let my gaze trail over her again. As much as I can’t stand this woman, those leggings on her are something else.

My gaze lands on the giant thing on the step behind her.

“Uh.” My lip curls as she hoists it up. “No. That’s not coming inside.”

The crystal is at least four feet tall. A soft pink with jagged edges, tiny particles on its surface sparkling in the morning sunlight.

It looks like a giant dick.

I stare at it in horror, stepping back as she carries it into the foyer.

“I’m not leaving my crystal outside.”

She can’t be serious. “Why do you have it?”

“Because I love it.” She lowers it to the floor beside the entranceway table where I keep my keys and wallet. Jesus Christ, those leggings fit her ass like a dream. “And it’s pretty. Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s heavier than you are. How are you going to get it up the stairs?”

She dusts her hands off, and admires it. “I’m not. It’s going right here.”

“No, it’s fucking not. This is a man’s home. Men don’t have crystals.”

I can’t have a crystal in my foyer that looks like an erect cock.

“What’s the matter, Volkov?” She rests a hand on the tip. Thetop,I mean. “Does it... intimidate you?”

She trails a hand over it suggestively and I look away in alarm. I don’t like this game.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those quacks who think crystals gives you powers, Doctor? Maybe it can help you fly.” I give her a condescending, indulgent look that makes her eyes flash with anger. “Or maybe it’ll attract some poor sucker who wants to give you all his money.”

Her gaze sparks with fury, and a thrill runs through me.

“I don’t need any help with that,” she says with a tight smile before walking past me into the front room, gaze moving over the high windows, vaulted ceilings with warm wood beams, and stone fireplace.

Is that admiration in her gaze? If it is, I don’t care. Light filters in through the windows, catching on gold strands in her auburn hair, and my frown deepens. Her scent wafts over to me—violets, again.

My teeth grit. Dr. Georgia Greene has the personality of a fire demon but smells like pretty flowers, and I don’t like it. My florist mother has a book with flower meanings.Purple violets—my thoughts are occupied with love.

Unfuckinglikely.

She looks at the mid-century modern furnishings a decorator chose. “It’ll do.”

“So fucking spoiled,” I mutter under my breath. This home is nicer than any place I ever lived growing up, but the doctor and I had very, very different upbringings. She probably has a trust fund, had everything she ever wanted, and never heard the wordno,whereas my family had to work their way up from nothing.

The corner of her mouth curves up at my disdain and her eyes linger on the built-in bookshelves around the fireplace.

“No family photos,” she says like she’s not surprised.

I removed them in anticipation of her moving in. I have nothing to hide and I’m proud of my parents, but I don’t want her snooty, nose-in-the-air attitude anywhere near them. If she insults my parents, their heritage, or their jobs, I don’t know what I’d do.

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