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

Saturday morning, a fist pounds on my door.

“Go away,” I groan into my pillow. “It’s my day off.”

Another loud thumping noise. When I ignore it and pull the pillow over my head, the door opens. There’s a clinking noise from my bedside table, and a second later, the pillow is whipped away.

A big hand comes to my back and he shakes me.

“Mmm,” I moan into the bed, “harder, Dr. Handley. Harder.”

Alexei growls, and I grin before rolling over. His hair is damp from his morning shower. A navy T-shirt. Brown eyes a little sleepy, with those under-eye circles. Something pulses between my legs.

I’m distracted, though, by the latte and breakfast sandwich on my bedside table.

I squint at him, frowning. “Did you make that?”

He shrugs. That means yes.

“I already forgave you. You don’t have to keep doing this.”

“All you eat are those fucking protein bars, and I don’t want you getting hungry and cranky halfway through your dress fitting.”

I sit up straighter, starting to smile. “Dress fitting?”

His eyes glint. “Mhm.”

“Today?”

“If you ever get out of bed, yes. I have an appointment for a suit fitting. The designer is going to meet us there to get your measurements.”

“Designer?” My vocabulary has been reduced to repeating things.

“Yes.” He sighs like I’m getting on his nerves, but reaches for the coffee and puts it in my hand. “Eat. Drink.” He looks at his watch. “We leave in twenty minutes.”

Without another word, he leaves, closing the door behind him, and I look down at Damon, cuddled against my legs.

“Dress fitting,” I whisper, wiggling with excitement.

At the tailor’s shop, Alexei introduces me to the designer—who I recognize from a recent Vogue spread about up-and-coming designers—before he disappears with the tailor to do his final fitting.

“I’m thinking something like . . .” The designer’s pencil flies over her sketchpad before she shows me what she’s drawn.

“Yes.” I blink at the simple line sketch of me in a floor-length gown with drapey sleeves. “Is that a cape? A thousand times yes.”

She laughs. “I’m thinking less superhero and more high fashion, but yes. Toronto is cold as hell. The draping will need a lightweight fabric, probably silk. Something bold. Something fun.” Her eyes move over the swatches.

My eyes go to one like a magnet. A soft gold that catches the light with a barely perceptible sparkle, so subtle it looks like a sheen.

“That one,” we say at the same time, before we look at each other and laugh.

After she has my measurements, we say a quick goodbye, and I wander into the area where Alexei’s being fitted for his suit.

He stands in front of the mirror while the tailor finishes tucking pins in a few places. They talk quietly, and I take a moment to admire my husband in the wool three-piece suit. Navy blue, like his T-shirt this morning, with a subtle check pattern. Fits him like a glove. Sharp and handsome.

There’s something about brutal, cold, callous Alexei Volkov in a sharp suit that makes me frustratingly horny.

“Georgia.”

“Hmm?” I snap to attention. The tailor’s gone, and Alexei’s eyes are on me. He’s saying something.

His mouth twitches. “I said, what do you think?”

“Yes.” I blink. “Looks great. What’s this dinner for again?”

“A league thing,” he says. Same answer as before.

No one on the team has mentioned it. “Are the guys going?”

“Just Ward and me.”

I give him a strange look. What kind of dinner would single the two of them out?

“If you want to pick another fabric, I’ll have the same one made for Miller’s wedding.”

My pulse stops. “You’re going?”

“I’m going.” He turns away without another word, heading back into the change room.

I stare after him, confused. It’s the first word he’s said about it since we learned that the team gifted us a week in the honeymoon suite at the Silver Falls resort. I assumed I’d go myself.

He doesn’t go to weddings, so what’s changed?

It’s just for show, I tell myself. Maybe after our wedding, he doesn’t care about going to them anymore. Maybe he feels bad about missing Jamie Streicher’s wedding last year. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe he knows it would look strange if I went and he didn’t.noveldrama

Nothing to do with me.