Page 76 of Gloves Off

Victory pounds through me as the audience roars with applause. At my side, my wife smiles through clenched teeth.

“Congratulations to Alexei Volkov of the Vancouver Storm forwinning a date with his new wife, Dr. Georgia Greene, and a massivethank youfor your generous contribution to our program.”

Did I just spend a hundred grand because I was jealous? Yes, and I’d do it again.

While everyone watches, I lean in to kiss her cheek, inhaling her, brushing my lips over the shell of her ear. Smug male pride beats through me.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Hellfire.”

CHAPTER 37

GEORGIA

While Heather auctionsoff another doctor, I drag Volkov out of the ballroom, pushing him through the nearest door.

It’s a library, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, dark wood paneling, and soft, dim lighting. Through the walls, we can hear Heather in the ballroom as the bidding continues.

“What was that?” I demand.

His eyes burn me. “A tax write-off.”

In the low lighting, the planes of my husband’s face look especially sharp, his under-eye circles even darker, and that pissed off, jaw-clenched expression only makes him hotter.

Anger pools in my abdomen. Or arousal. I’m not sure.

“That was you getting territorial. Control yourself, you animal.”

He glares down at me, stepping into my space. “That asshole was making a move on my wife. I had to do something.”

My stomach flips. “I’m not your wife.”

“Yes, you are.” He takes another step forward. My back hits the wall.

He looks to my mouth. Is he thinking about that kiss again? My pulse races with fury. He’ssuchan asshole.

An asshole who just spent a lot of money on me because he was jealous. I want to be mad—Iammad—but a tiny, miniscule part of me preens.

“I can’t stand you,”I whisper.

His fist comes to the wall, beside my head. “I hate you, too, Hellfire.”

He brings his mouth down to mine, hovering. It’s a new game for us—who will break first?

It won’t be me. I press my hand to his hard chest. Under my touch, his heart pounds. His scent makes it hard to focus.

“No more kissing,” I remind him, and his eyes flash.

His fingers trail along the neckline of my gown, sending sparks over my skin. I think my lashes flutter, like some swooning leading lady in an old Western. Holding my eyes, his fingers drag lower, beneath my neckline, challenging me.Daringme. Under his rough fingertips, my heart races, but I give him a cool, disinterested smirk.

I will not back down. I will not let him win.

“Tell me to stop.”

No. God, no. “I don’t care.”

I can play this game of chicken all day.

My gaze drops to the front of his pants, stretched out with an impressive erection. I swallow hard, heat moving through me. Volkov’s huge.

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