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I can tell she doesn’t like it, even from where I stand nearly twenty feet away. He’s handsy, taking advantage of her inebriation as he grabs her ass with both hands and practically starts to hump her right there on the dance floor.
Intense jealousy flares up inside me, driving me across the room before I even have a chance to think this through or strategize. And when my hand clamps down on his shoulder, I know I have his attention before I’ve even said a word.
“I think you’re done here,” I growl, my temper boiling over as I see the anxiety etched across Alina’s face.
Her blue eyes snap up, finding mine with what looks like intense relief.
Then Viktor is at the man’s other shoulder, a deadly reinforcement. “Get your hands off my sister if you want to keep them,” he warns.
It’s not an idle threat. This man must either be insanely drunk or a complete idiot to think he could get away with touching the daughter of Sergio Sakharov. And even if he didn’t know who Alina was, that he dared to touch a girl in Viktor Sakharov’s party? I didn’t think anyone in Boston would be that kind of stupid.
“Who the fuck are you?” The guy’s eyes widen as he turns to face Viktor and recognition dawns on his face. “This is your sister?”
Yep, definitely drunk. Because his reaction time is way too slow, and his eyes jump as they travel between Viktor and Alina. His arms continue to hold her close even after he’s recognized his error. Finally, I snap.
Reaching around Alina, I grasp the guy’s hand and remove it forcibly from her ass cheek as I wrench it behind his back. The guy howls in pain as I place my body between Alina’s and his. Then I launch my fist into his jaw.
The girls squeal as Grabby Hands hits the floor. A moment later, Viktor is on him, burying his toe in the guy’s ribs once, twice, three times. Grabby Hands curls in on himself, trying to protect his stomach as he coughs, and blood splatters his lips.
From the corner of my eye, I see Alina flinch as if the kicks are hitting her rather than her attacker. Though it goes against all my instincts, I reach down and haul the drunken sleaze off the dance floor by the front of his shirt.
“Come near her again, and we’ll kill you,” I warn, getting in his face.
Slowly, he opens his eyes, and when he sees me staring him down, he nods. Before Viktor can decide to punish him further, I shove him, launching him through the crowd and toward the exit in a clear indication that it’s time for him to go home.
He gets the message loud and clear, stumbling in the direction of the door with as much purpose as he can find.
Turning back to Alina, I can’t help the concern that flashes through me as my hand lifts protectively toward her of its own accord. “Are you alright?”
And to my surprise, she flinches back from me. Her eyes well with tears as she leans into her friend Katie. Then Alina squares her shoulders as she steps forward to get in my face. “Who the hell do you think you are? I was just having fun, and like a crazy man, you had to beat up the first guy who was willing to dance with me!”
Stunned by her sudden anger, I let my hand drop, unsure of how to respond. Everything about her body language had screamed discomfort from across the room. But perhaps I misread the situation.
Then, before I can think too far down that rabbit hole, Alina sways dangerously on her feet, her eyes glassing over as the champagne seems to hit her all at once.
“Christ, Alina, how much did you drink?” Viktor demands, gripping her elbow and steadying her before I dare to touch her.
“I’m fine,” she snaps, wrenching her arm from her brother’s grip only to stumble against me.
As soon as my arm wraps around her waist, I can feel just how unstable she is on her feet. Though she’s doing a valiant job of trying to hold herself up, her fingers tighten around my bicep as she sways dangerously.
“You’re not fine. You’re drunk, and I’m taking you home,” Viktor snaps.
“No, don’t take me home,” she pleads, her defiance bleeding away in a flash as she suddenly seems to sober. “Papachka will kill me if he sees me like this. Please don’t take me home.”
Alina grips her brother’s forearm, her blue eyes round with desperation, and I can’t deny that her pleas manage to tug at my heartstrings even though I’m not the one threatening to take her home.
Viktor scowls, clearly irritated with having to babysit his younger sister on her birthday. “Fine. We can go back to my place. But we’re leaving.”
Hanging her head, Alina nods, suddenly contrite, and when I gently grip her shoulders, guiding her in her brother’s footsteps as he heads toward the exit, she doesn’t resist. It’s bad, I know, that the feel of her soft skin beneath my palms makes my chest ache. The way she stumbles makes my heart bleed. And I wonder just how she managed to get drunk so quickly.
Sure, she seemed intoxicated when she was tempting me to dance. But this is an entirely different level than just a half hour ago. I should have been paying closer attention. I just didn’t want to be paying too close attention when Viktor has made it clear that I’m not supposed to have eyes on his sister.
Steering Alina into the car behind her brother, I let Alina’s friend Katie follow her into the limo, then the rest of the girls. By the time I slip inside and close the door, Alina’s tipped sideways so her head rests in Katie’s lap.
Probably a good thing I didn’t follow Alina into the car like I wanted. Otherwise, it might be my lap she fell asleep on. And I don’t trust myself enough to have her that close for long.
The girls are demure as we drop them off one at a time to their dorms and houses, waiting until each slips safely inside their building. Then the limo heads toward Beacon Hill. Alina sprawls across the bench seat of the limo, her head nuzzling her brother’s suit jacket in her dreams as she uses it for a pillow.
