Page 42 of Gloves Off

“On that adorable note, folks,” Miller sets his notecard aside, and I try not to let my relief be too obvious. “The game is over. Clearly, these two are meant for each other.” He looks to the audience. “Are we ready for the first dance?”

CHAPTER 20

ALEXEI

“You’re too far away,”I say quietly as we take our spot on the dance floor while Pippa plays a slow, romantic song on her guitar.

Everyone’s watching, their eyes on us like a weight.

“Not like this.” I press my hand into her lower back, bringing her closer. Flush against me. “Likethis.”

Her scent floods my nose again. Warm, sweet, but spicy. I let myself take one deep inhale for immunity—the more I’m exposed to it, the less it’ll affect me—before my gaze slides to her shoulder, where her bra strap would sit beneath the fabric of the dress. Maybe she’s wearing one of those strapless ones. Maybe it has lace on it. Maybe her panties match.

With a spike of arousal, I picture her in lingerie, but the image is soured by the addition of this facelessDamonshe’s with.

“Where would a guy like you learn to dance?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts.

Dance lessons in preparation for my first wedding. A real wedding that never happened. The memories make me feel sick.

“My mother made me learn when I was a teenager.” A lie.

“She wants you to get married.”

“More than anything in the world.” The truth.

“Won’t she be thrilled. Tell me, Volkov, is she going to use her mother-in-law powers for good or evil?”

My mom’s the kindest person on the planet. “Doctor, you don’t need to worry about that because I won’t let you get your claws anywhere near her.”

Besides, I don’t want my mom getting attached to someone who will be out of the picture in a year.

The corner of her mouth tugs up in a wry smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

We’ve danced alone for enough time that other couples join us on the dance floor, and even though her cool, confident expression doesn’t change, she relaxes under my touch. I study her features.

“What?” Her gaze flicks to mine, her whiskey eyes losing some of the spark from earlier.

“Tired?”

“Nope.”

She’s too proud to admit it, and for some reason, I don’t like that idea. I don’t know why she’s tired—she works part time as a doctor for the team. She doesn’t even work weekends.

MaybeDamonkept her up late, and I don’t like that idea, either.

When they bring the cake out, the little figurine groom on top has a black eye.

“Like it?” Owens laughs. “We had it specially made for you, Volkov.”

“It’s accurate,” I admit.

At my side, my fake wife’s smile is tight and forced.

“What’s the matter?” I tilt my chin at the cake. “He’s not missing enough teeth?”

She lets out a dry, humorless laugh.

People surround us, smiling and taking photos. I take the knife,about to slice into the cake, but Darcy makes a strangled noise of protest, eyes wide.

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