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

The entire street probably hears the doctor’s shriek. My fingers still while I work on my tie, a rush of adrenaline hitting my bloodstream.

Over my dead body will she be fucking other guys this year.

Why didn’t I think to ask if she had a boyfriend before we made the deal? Of course she does. I’ve never seen eyes like hers. The doctor is a rare kind of beautiful. If you’re into women like her, that is.

Which I’m not.

I’m not jealous. I don’t care if she has a boyfriend. I’m only mad because it’ll jeopardize my and my parents’ citizenship. That’s all.

The front door bangs closed, and my pulse trips. I can hear her opening and closing doors downstairs, looking for me. Anticipation sways and peaks inside me. I haven’t felt this wired since my first season in professional hockey. Her footsteps move up the stairs, slow and steady like a predator.

I take a seat in the lounge chair by the window, spreading out and folding my arms over my chest, wearing a smug look that’ll make her blood boil.

My bedroom door bursts open, fire in her eyes, color on her cheekbones, and hair rumpled. Her chest rises and falls fast as she glares daggers at me, holding up the clear trash bag.

“What,” she growls, and my groin tightens, “is this?”

“I don’t know, Doctor. Trash?”

“Not trash.” Her eyes turn wild, and she slowly walks toward me. Anticipation rises in my gut. “You threw out my shoes.”

“Svetta must have thrown them out when she was cleaning. Were they on the floor?”noveldrama

“No, they were not on the floor.”

She stares at me with hate in her eyes. Good. Let her hate me. It fuels me, makes my heart race, makes me feel alive.

“So this is how it’s going to be,” she says.

I think about the guy she was talking to earlier, and frustration courses through me all over again. “I guess so, Hellfire.”

Forty-five minutes later, I’m hit with her next move.

I sit in the front room, reading through team emails on my phone, when she descends the stairs. My eyes land on her shoes, first. Sparkly, strappy, and sky-high.

Fuck-me heels.