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ALEXEI

“Georgia, are you feeling okay?” Dr. Joshi asks in a low voice after my wife stumbles back to the table. “You’re flushed.”

The doctor clears her throat. A pretty pink color washes over her cheeks, and I force myself to look away.

We shouldn’t have done that, but my blood is humming with interest and satisfaction. The way she looked up at me with that defiant look on her face, fire flashing in her eyes, it just?—

“I’m fine,” Georgia answers.

Her eyes flick to mine and away again, and all I can think about is the way she looked up at me in the library, like she couldn’t look away. How her hot, tight cunt felt around my cock. The fury in her eyes and the powerful surge through my blood when I wouldn’t let her come.

Best fuck of my life, I realize with alarm. That’s not good.

Never in my life have I done something like that. I don’t know what came over me. I have the frustrating urge to haul her back there and finish what I started. Watching her disintegrate would be the sweetest thing I ever saw.

Hearing about her work woke up something in me. With every detail I learn about her, the feeling that I’ve been wrong grows.

Jesus. I run a hand through my hair. Get ahold of yourself .

That Dr. Handjob is looking at her again, and jealousy tightens in my gut. It doesn’t matter that she’s only my wife in name. He doesn’t know that. As far as he’s concerned, she’s mine.

“You’ve barely touched your dessert,” Dr. Joshi adds with concern.

Georgia’s gaze cuts to mine and her shoulders straighten. What happened back there won’t happen again, and this arousal lingering low in my gut? It’s a natural physical response. I still don’t like her.

She’s just so fucking mouthy all the time, and taking control over her and seeing the way she responded to it gave me a sense of victory I rarely feel these days.

“The smell of my husband’s aftershave turns my stomach,” she tells Dr. Joshi.

My mouth twitches. There we go. There’s the woman I know and love to fight with.

I lean back and settle my arm over the top of her chair. “Maybe you’re pregnant.”

She chokes on her water. At the next table, Dr. Handjob drops his fork with a loud clatter.

“Oh?” Dr. Joshi looks stunned but pleased.

“I’m not,” the doctor says quickly. “Definitely not pregnant.”

“You don’t know that.” I find the ends of her hair. “We’re not always careful.”

It’s a wonder I don’t burst into flames right here, with the way the doctor’s glowering at me. My chest expands with pressure and I bring my mouth closer to her ear.

“What’s the matter, Hellfire?” I murmur. Her hair’s soft, just like I thought it would be. “You seem tense.”

The doctor’s hand settles on my thigh and my cock jumps, but a moment later, something sharp pokes me. My knee jumps and hits the bottom of the table, making the plates and glasses clink.

I look down to see the doctor’s retreating hand wrapped around her fork.

“Muscle spasm,” I explain to the table before lowering my voice again. “Did you just stab me with your fork? ”

She smiles, fire raging in her eyes. “Sorry, baby . My hand slipped.”

“Brat.”

She rolls her eyes, and I have the weirdest urge to laugh.

Our gazes hold, and an ache throbs low in my abdomen. Such pretty eyes, such a mesmerizing, unique caramel color. Long lashes that fluttered as I fucked her.

I shouldn’t have done it, and it won’t happen again. We can’t be doing stuff like that.

“We’re never doing that again,” she says as we drive home.

A sickening thought slams into me: Did I go too far?

A curl of shame unfolds in my gut—I don’t act like that during sex. I’ve wanted to, but I never act on it.

“Did I hurt you?” I ask in alarm. Our eyes meet, hers confused. “Earlier?”

Maybe I went too hard or fast. Maybe she’s sore. The idea of causing the doctor actual pain and discomfort splashes cold water over my arousal.

“No.” She snorts.

“I’m serious.”

“Volkov, I’m fine. Relax. I’m not going to go to the media and ruin your career.”

“That’s not what I was worried about.” The thought never crossed my mind.

“You didn’t hurt me.”

Relief settles in my body and I loosen my hold on the steering wheel.

“This is an agreement.” She studies her nails. “Let’s do ourselves a favor and keep it uncomplicated. ”

I think about what I learned about her tonight.

She created a world-renowned research program studying athletes.

It’s clearly her passion. Her colleagues rave about her, she’s got this guy at work bidding thousands of dollars to take her out as a friend, and she had a university scholarship to play soccer.

I think about earlier, and the desperate frustration in her eyes when I wouldn’t let her come. I picture myself carrying her up the stairs to bed and burying my head between her legs to reward her. The urge to take care of her pounds through me.

And that is why we can’t do this again. I’m not going to do something stupid and start caring about this woman.

“Fine by me.”

What else don’t I know about her? For the first time, I wonder why she needs her inheritance so desperately.

I don’t care. I don’t want to know.

“We need to go to these kinds of things together,” I add. “I don’t want to catch you going on another date .”

She huffs a laugh. “Lucky you, then. My parents are having a party next weekend. They’ve been begging to meet you.”

The Greenes want to meet me?

A bad taste fills my mouth. The Greenes run in the same social circles as Emma’s family.

Georgia might even know Emma. Their party will be catered with staff in uniforms, serving the finest champagne.

The out-of-touch guests will complain about the government using their tax dollars on the poor, or how many immigrants are being let into the country.

I was wrong about her being spoiled and selfish. I was wrong about her wanting to marry rich and live a life of leisure.

Maybe I was wrong about her family. Maybe they’re nothing like Emma’s.

I thought I had her all figured out, but now I’m realizing I don’t know anything about my wife.