Page 45 of Gloves Off

I like kissing. I like it a lot. I could do this for hours. I hate that it’s with Volkov, though, and I really hate that he’s so good at it.

He makes a low noise in his throat like he’s just as annoyed as I am before the kiss deepens. Electricity spirals through me. Low in my abdomen, pressure builds as he pulls me closer to him, one big arm wrapping around my shoulders and the other still firmly rooted in my hair.

If this is how he kisses when he doesn’t like someone, what’s it like when hedoes?

Hoots and hollers rise up around us, hauling me back to earth. In a sharp rush of realization, I pull back. Right. He’s doing this to prove a point, to get back at me, one-up me.

He glowers down at me, eyes glazed and pupils expanding wide, chest rising and falling fast. My horrible husband still hates me. I clear my throat and look away, gathering my thoughts and fighting the urge to fan my overheated face.

The team watches with big, proud grins. Luca gives us a big smile and a thumbs-up. A twinge of embarrassment hits me, because I’m supposed to be professional in front of them.

I don’t know why I lost my head like that.

I want to say something cool and witty, because I’m unaffected and unrattled.

“What the hell was that?” I ask, instead.

He holds my gaze before his drops to my mouth. His hands flex like he’s holding himself back.

“You’re supposed to be a bad kisser.” I press my swollen lips together, and his eyes flash, watching the motion.

He leans in, an inch from my ear, and I can smell him again—body wash or detergent, something clean and crisp. “Maybe you don’t know everything about me.”

A shiver runs down my spine. Maybe I don’t.

CHAPTER 22

GEORGIA

Volkovand I head home in tense, awkward silence, pretending each other doesn’t exist.

I replay the dinner: the dinner, the game, the dance where Pippa sang about finding someone who means everything, trusting them, and giving them every part of yourself.

Been there, done that, and I won’t be doing it again.

I keep thinking about that kiss, though, and I have a sinking feeling I’ll be thinking about it for a while.

At his house, I’m about to head upstairs without saying goodnight when his voice stops me.

“Hellfire.”

Halfway up the stairs, my spine straightens. God, I hate that nickname. I hate the way he says it all low and arrogant, and I hate the way his mouth quirks when he says it, like heknowsI hate it.

“Get rid of him.”

I turn to look down at him. “Excuse me?”

His eyes flicker with possession. “Damon.”

I freeze. He knows? How does he know? I snuck them into my room without him seeing, and they haven’t made a peep.

Fuck, he’s mad. He’s doing that jaw-clenching thing again. My stomach flips at the intensity in his eyes. Slowly, I descend until I’m at his level.

“How did you find out?”

“I heard you talking to him in your room. We had a deal. Cut him loose.”

I stand as tall as I can, staring him down. He will not intimidate me. “No. They’re a bonded pair.”

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