Page 32 of Gloves Off

Before I can respond, she shoots me a wink, flounces down the stairs, and it’s hard to look away from the curve of her hips in those leggings.

Late that afternoon, I return, listening for sounds of my new wife moving like a tornado through my home. She has probably rearranged half the furniture by now. Or sold it.

Silence.

Upstairs, half a dozen moving boxes sit outside her closed door. A few are labeledFragile—shoes!

“It’s not forever, Damon,” she’s saying quietly on the other side. “It’ll be over before you know it and then it’ll just be us again.”

The sweet softness in her tone has me standing straighter, listening harder. Damon? I’ve never heard the doctor speaking toanyonelike that. Who the fuck is Damon? Hot, sharp alarm races through me.

My fake wife failed to mention she has aboyfriend.

My teeth clench so hard my jaw hurts as I glare at her door, burning a hole in it. I picture some faceless guy all over her, hands in her hair. Does he take her out and spend money on her? Is he a nice guy, someone the doctor can push around, or is he an asshole like me?

It pisses me off because she didn’t tell me, and her having a boyfriend could blow up this entire deal. That’s why I’m mad.

Before I can stop myself, I lift a fist and pound on the door.

CHAPTER 14

GEORGIA

My two bunniesstare up at me forlornly.

Damon and Stefan are twenty-pound lionhead rabbits, so fluffy I can barely see their eyes, but I sense their distress at the new environment. Poor guys. I offer a piece of lettuce to each of them but they just gaze up at me with sadness.

To my utter shock, Volkov’s home isbeautiful. I expected his aesthetic to bedirty man cave cluttered with empty beer cansbut his home is like a spread out ofArchitectural Digest. Open, spacious, masculine, and stylish. I’m sure he had someone choose everything for him. Powerful men like Volkov don’t do anything home-related. They make the money, have the big career, and expect a pretty little wife to do the rest.

The guest room is almost bigger than the apartment Jordan and I shared, and nicer than any place I’ve ever lived. His home gym is better equipped than the one the players train in at the arena, complete with a sauna and an ice machine and tub for cold plunges. He has a fully-stocked wine cellar, a library with a stained-glass window too pretty for a guy like him to own, and a sprawling kitchen overlooking the emerald forest out back. I hope there are paths through that forest so I have somewhere to scream after Volkov and I argue.

Living in his home will be an unexpected perk of this arrangement, as long as Volkov isn’t here.

And as long as I don’t sleepwalk.

When I’m going through periods of extreme stress, I sleepwalk. Like clockwork, it would happen during exams in university and med school. The whole summer with Liam, when I knew something was wrong and wasn’t ready to admit it. During my medical residency. I usually end up in Jordan’s bed, clinging to her like a cuddly koala while she squirms to the edge of the mattress to get away from me.

I take a deep, calming breath. That’s not going to happen here. Even unconscious, my body wants nothing to do with Volkov. I would sleepwalk to Jordan’s bed because it’ssafe.

Volkov’s bed is probably made of nails.

A pounding sound on the door has me nearly jumping out of my skin.

“Just a second, I’m naked,” I call, hoisting the bunnies up and hiding them in the bathroom.

He can’t know about them. He’d probably step on them “accidentally” or put them outside where they’d get scooped up by an eagle or eaten by a coyote.

“Talking to more of your crystals in there?” he calls through the door. “Does the Canadian Medical Association know about this?”

I bet he’d love to have my license taken away. He already thinks I’m terrible at my job. I open the door and adopt an inconvenienced expression, like it’smyhouse andhe’sthe guest.

On the other side of the doorway, his nostrils flare. He looks livid. Good.

“Who were you talking to?” He glances past me but I step into the hall and pull the door closed behind me.

“I was on the phone,” I lie.

His Adam’s apple bobs and his nostrils flare again before he jerks a hand at the boxes in the hallway. “What are all these boxes doing here? They can’t all be full of shoes.”

---