Gloves Off: a marriage of convenience hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 4)

My two bunnies stare 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 is beautiful. I expected his aesthetic to be dirty man cave cluttered with empty beer cans but his home is like a spread out of Architectural 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’s safe.

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’s my house and he’s the 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.”

“You can’t be surprised. You should be thrilled, actually, that you have such a stylish and hot wife.”

His eyes cut to me, his eyes raking over me like I’m wearing a dirty, grease-stained paper bag instead of yoga leggings and the cute windbreaker I wear to soccer practice.

Fuck him, I look great.

“The kind of woman I usually go for doesn’t need expensive shoes to feel confident.” His cold gaze is steady on me. “It comes off as insecure.”

My lips part. Insecure? My vision goes red with rage. I just—he’s so fucking—I can’t. He’s a fucking asshole. Heat rises to the surface of my skin and an angry knot tightens in my throat, but I send him a cool smile, like his words bounced right off me.

“The men I’m with usually don’t mind. In fact,” I lower my voice, lean closer, and hold his cold gaze, “they love my heels. Fuck-me heels, they call them.”

Men? What men? I haven’t slept with someone in forever. Volkov doesn’t know that, though, and I’m hoping what he doesn’t know will hurt him.

He glowers down at me, a muscle tight in his jaw. “Those guys are going to have to wait until this arrangement is over.”

Again, what guys? But something in the controlling, commanding way Volkov says this turns a knife in my stomach.

“That wasn’t part of the deal. And besides,” my voice is light and casual, and I’m winning this argument so hard, “why should my beautiful shoes go to waste?” Our gazes are locked, and a weird, tense energy snaps between us. My skin feels hot and prickly. “No, Volkov, I’m going to be wearing my fuck-me heels all year long.”

“No fucking other guys,” he bites out, eyes raging.

Are we standing closer than before? Blood pounds in my ears. “Oh, I’m going to.”

I don’t know what I’m saying. Of course I’m not going to sleep with other guys and screw everything up, but Volkov telling me what to do in that tone makes me want to scream. My emotions are at the wheel, joyriding.

“I’m going to fuck every guy I want. Every guy I meet.”

What? I’m acting ridiculous, but I can’t stop. I’m possessed with the need to piss him off. Volkov’s jaw looks so hard it could crack.

“I’m going to be out every night in a short dress and my sparkly little fuck-me heels, getting railed by some nameless guy while he gives me mind-blowing orgasms.”

Like that would ever happen. The only guy who’s ever been able to make me come is rechargeable and safely tucked in my nightstand, but wounding Volkov’s overinflated ego makes my heart pound so hard I swear he can hear it.

I feel sick. Or excited. Or like I could fly or fight a lion. Fighting with Volkov is like a drug.

“No.” He swallows, towering over me, and his lethal expression sends a shiver down my spine. “You will not.”

The air between us feels flammable.

“Yes,” I whisper, “I will.”

“You’re going to jeopardize everything.”

“I’ll be discreet.”

We’re inches apart. His eyes flick down to my mouth. Something cutting and hot surges through me, spiraling and sparking. His scent is in my nose—sharp, masculine, and dominant—and the back of my neck tingles.

This year is going to be hell, but I won’t back down. I won’t let him win.

“I’m going out.” I give him my most charming smile, like I’m not replaying the word insecure in my mind like a broken record.

“Now?”

He raises an eyebrow. God, I hate when he does that. It’s his sign that he thinks I’m making the wrong choice. That I’m just a dumb little woman with a dumb little woman brain.

“Yes. Now.”

“The dinner is in⁠—”

“I know when the team dinner is.” My smile is razor-sharp. “I can tell time, Volkov.” He’s getting the best of me again. “Don’t you worry your bruised skull. I’ll be home with plenty of time to slip on a pair of those heels you love so much.” My expression is innocent. Maybe even a little sweet. I am the devil reincarnate. “Maybe I’ll even find someone tonight who likes them.”

His dark eyes flare but I’m out the door before he can respond.

An hour later, after blasting one of Jordan’s angry lady rock playlists, I return to Volkov’s home. Not my home. This place will never be my home. Not with him living there.

The front door’s unlocked, to my surprise. I wouldn’t put it past him to lock the house up tight so I’m forced to ring the doorbell and beg to be let in.

No sign of my horrible husband, thank god. Outside my room, though, my gaze snags on something.noveldrama

The packing tape is torn off the boxes. They’ve been opened. My heart jumps into my throat as I flip the cardboard box open.

Empty. Alarm bells ring in my head.

I yank my bedroom door open and head to my new walk-in closet, praying for Volkov’s sake that he had a complete personality transformation, felt remorse for our argument, and neatly unpacked my beautiful shoes in the closet like a good husband would.

The closet is empty, though, and my new husband is still a fucking asshole. My lungs feel tight, my heart beats harder, and my stomach clenches into a hard knot. If I were an egotistical jerk, where would I hide my shoes?

A thought occurs to me, and my lips part with shock and horror.

He wouldn’t.

He would, that voice in my head says. He hates you and he totally would.

I fly through the house, out the door, and around the side where the compost, recycling, and garbage bins sit. When I flip the garbage lid open, my vision blurs with white-hot rage.