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

Hours later, after the game, I open the door to the hotel room, Volkov following behind me, and my stomach sinks.

We’ve been given the room with one bed.noveldrama

Fuck.

I didn’t bring pajamas.

Double fuck.

On team trips, I always get my own room. All I have are my work clothes, a tiny sleep T-shirt, my toiletries, a couple pairs of shoes, and my undergarments.

Lingerie. They’re pretty and sexy, because I love to feel good about myself.

And now I’m stuck sharing a bed with Volkov.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

My eyes close. Why didn’t I think of this?

“We can’t ask for another room with two beds,” he says with a warning look. “We have to share.”

“I know, Volkov.”

He heads into the washroom, the shower starts, and I run through my options.

Sleeping without pajama pants isn’t a big deal. He won’t even notice.

When I open my bag to pull out my sleep shirt, though, it’s not there. My stomach flips. I have nothing to wear to bed.

Oh god. Okay.

We went straight from the airport to the arena. I was working at the game so I couldn’t step away, and now it’s late. Everything is closed.

I could sleep in my work clothes, but I know myself. I’ll get too warm and in the middle of the night, fast asleep, I’ll unzip my dress and yank it off. Volkov will wake to me laying on top of the covers with my ass and tits spilling out of my navy blue Agent Provocateur set.

I could ask Volkov if I can borrow a T-shirt but . . . no. It would smell like him, and I’d look adorable in it. No way. We’re not going there.

When the bathroom door opens, I’m still standing over my bag, wracking my brain for any other solution. He leaves the room and by the time he returns with an ice pack, I’ve brushed my teeth and washed my face, but I still haven’t come up with a solution. I’m back to standing over my bag, feeling the weight of his attention as he heads to the bed and settles on top of the covers, placing the ice pack across his shoulder.

It doesn’t help that he looks painfully hot. He’s shirtless, which I saw in Hawaii, but there’s something about a man lounging against the headboard, all rippling muscles and broad shoulders. I’m rendered helpless by the smattering of dark chest hair snaking down his carved abs into the waistband of his boxers.

He’s wearing glasses, too. Hockey players shouldn’t wear glasses. It makes them look too hot.

He rolls his shoulder, wincing, and I frown down at my suitcase. “Shoulder hurting?”

He took a hard hit during tonight’s game, the kind that made me feel sick.

“No.”

“You should take an anti-inflammatory.”

“Doctor.” He sighs, reaching for his e-reader. “I’m not your patient anymore. You made sure of that.”

In my mind, I see him and the player collide again before I shove the replay out of my head. Our gazes meet, and his eyes flick over me, standing tense and frozen over my bag.

“What’s wrong with you?”

My face goes hot. After the sleepwalking thing, which he clearly didn’t believe, he’s probably going to think I planned this. “I didn’t bring pajamas.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t bring pajamas?”

“I mean,” I inhale a sharp breath, “I thought I’d be in my own room like always, and I didn’t bring anything to sleep in.”

“Nothing?”

My face is probably bright red. “Nothing appropriate.”

His gaze sharpens. “What does that mean?”

“You know I love beautiful things, Volkov.”

I study my nails without seeing them, acting aloof. My heart’s beating out of my chest. A long moment passes in silence.

“I don’t care what you wear,” he finally says with disinterest like I’m one of his teammates. “You’re about as attractive to me as a sack of potatoes.”

My mouth parts in shock, and I let out a dry laugh. “A sack of potatoes.”

Ouch. Really?

His gaze skims over my body, and his expression remains hard as he turns back to his e-reader. “Sorry to break it to you.”

My instincts say he’s lying. Is he embarrassed about finding me attractive, or is he telling the truth?

My skin prickles with that competitive feeling again, like I want to fuck with him. I was going to put my pride aside and ask to borrow a T-shirt, but now I’m going to shove his words in his face, make him choke on them.

“Well, if I’m just a sack of potatoes,” I say lightly, “then I guess there’s no issue.”

“That’s what I said.”

With my back to him, I pull out the blue Agent Provocateur set. It’s see-through. Am I actually doing this? I’m playing with fire, but he did call me a sack of potatoes and I am wildly competitive. Petty, too.

I’m about to head to the washroom to change when I stop. Declaration of war, the yellow flowers meant, and I’m ready to retaliate.

My expression turns innocent. “You don’t mind if I change in the room, right?”

God, I’m evil.

His gaze stays glued to his e-reader but his jaw flexes. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“It’s just that the humidity in the bathroom is going to mess with my hair.” I unzip my dress.

“I said it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Good.” I slide my dress off, now standing in front of him in just my bra and panties. My heart thuds. He still isn’t looking at me. “I’m so relieved.”

I’ve never done something like this, taunt a man like this, but around Alexei Volkov, I’m not myself.

I turn to give him my back and unhook my bra. My skin prickles. Is he watching? I don’t dare turn around. Slowly, I slide my panties down, bare-ass naked, heart hammering, adrenaline howling through me.

My instincts scream to sprint into the washroom and cover myself in a towel, but I put the set on as slowly as I can, dragging this out.

I take one steadying breath before turning around, and I’m about to freak out that Volkov can see my nipples through the sheer fabric, but his eyes flick to my body and stay there. He doesn’t look like he’s breathing.

“Something wrong?” My voice is light and casual, but I’m sure my eyes glow with feminine rage and revenge.

He’s still staring. “No.”

“Good.” I wander to my side of the bed and settle on top of the duvet, his eyes on me the entire time.

Sack of potatoes, my ass. Take that, you fucking asshole.

“Do you want to…uh.” His gaze snags on my chest. My nipples pinch and his eyes darken. “…put a line of pillows down the bed or something?”

He actually looks nervous, and delight sparkles through me. His e-reader screen’s turned off due to inactivity, but he hasn’t noticed.

“I don’t think we need that, do we?”

Silently, he shakes his head. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, gaze sliding down my stomach, my hips, my legs. I adjust the pillows behind my head, take a deep breath that makes my tits rise and fall, and close my eyes.

“Get under the covers.” His voice sounds hoarse.

I can’t look at him. If I see his expression, I’ll burst into laughter. “I get too warm. This is fine.”

I reach for the lamp and click it off before laying back down, purposefully pushing my boobs together, and my darling husband clears his throat.

“Sweet dreams, Volkov.”