Page 43 of Gloves Off

I freeze. “What?”

The doctor covers her mouth with her hand. I think she’s hiding a laugh.

Owens shakes his head, grinning between us. He lowers his voice. “Volkov, I know you’re not a wedding guy, but you need to cut the caketogether.” He gives me an emphasizing look. “It’s symbolic. I think.” He looks to Darcy. “Right?”

She gives him a sweet smile and nods.

My new wife steps in front of me, taking the knife, and I hesitate before covering her hand with mine. Her hand is warm and soft, like at our wedding when our fingers touched. It’s the size of her hand, though, that snags my senses. Deep in my caveman brain, my instincts like that she’s so much smaller than me.

Which is fucking dumb. I’m six foot five. Most women are smaller than me.

Most women aren’t my new spoiled, selfish wife, though, who smells like that and wear those shoes and has that thick hair I want to sink my fingers into.

And who is messing around with another guy. She’s probably in love with him, from the tone of voice she used. I wish I could stop thinking about that.

My other hand comes to her waist, the sequins warm from her body heat. Under my gentle grip, she presses the knife down into the cake. Together, we cut a slice, and the guests cheer. More photos. Lots of smiles and applause.

“Great.” I let her go, and she sets the knife aside. “Is that all?”

The doctor gives me a sick, serpent-like smile before she picks up a piece of the cake. Alarm rockets through me and I open my mouth to sayNo fucking waybut she’s too fast.

Everyone laughs as she smears it across my face. Some of it gets in my nose.

“I just love yousomuch.”

People howl. Her eyes dance as she licks icing off her finger, pretty plump lips closing around the tip as her cheeks hollow out.

Deep in my chest, something wakes up. It’s not the blood rushing to my cock that has me frowning, though; it’s the rising pressure behind my sternum, like a balloon expanding. I have icing up my fucking nose and yet I have the urge to laugh.

I lift the plate with the remaining cake before my gaze locks on hers. “My turn.”

“No.” She shakes her head, stepping away. “No, thank you.” She gestures at her exquisite face. “I don’t want to ruin my makeup.”

The spark’s back in her eyes, and a weird feeling loops through me, light and buzzing. My competitive instincts rise. I could go after her. I could chase her and shove cake in her face. Her makeup would be ruined and there would be cake on her dress and she’d be furious.

Or maybe she’d shriek with laughter. My eyebrow inches higher and I take a step toward her. Her eyes flare.

“Alexei, don’t,” Darcy calls, laughing.

With a dry look, I set the plate down, and people laugh, thinking it was a joke. Someone hands me a towel and I wipe the cake off my face before cutting a finger-sized sliver of cake.

“Hold on, Hellfire,” I say as she steps away. I lift the piece I cut off. “We’re not done here.”

Defiance snaps onto her features, eyes burning me, and I feel my mouth tilting into a cruel smile. I love that stubborn scowl on her pretty face when I tell her what to do.

“Eat up,” I murmur.

“I will get you back for this,” she whispers, holding my eyes.

There’s something new pounding through my body, though, as her lips part and I slip the cake between them. She’s so stubborn, but when she bends for me, Jesus… it’s like a drug.

Her tongue flicks out to catch a dot of icing on her bottom lip. Fuck—I’m getting hard.

“What, no kiss?” someone calls.

My stomach drops. The doctor’s expression falters.

“Kiss, kiss!” another person echoes. That goddamned rookie again. “You didn’t kiss for the photo.”

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