Page 25

"What?" I ask, searching his face. He's on full alert now.

"My father's men. They're watching us. I don’t know if they saw you, but we have to get you out of here." His hand slides around my waist protectively, and now my heart is beating hard too.

"So, what now?" I think I might throw up. If I weren't slightly buzzed, I might. Being caught in public with Dimitri is the worst thing that could happen. My father would be furious with me for making such a fuss over Natalia marrying Alexei then being caught out with his brother.

I let Dimitri guide me a few blocks away to his car and open the door for me. Taking a cab home isn't an option at this point. I know the Sokolov men would kill me on the spot if they caught me alone. Part of this marriage is the cover-up—that's true. But part of it is meant to force lower-level members of both families to stop attacking each other. If an alliance is struck, it binds them to a code. They'll be allowed to hate each other, but the killing will stop.

Dimitri gets in and drives cautiously, escorting me far away from the restaurant. He checks the mirrors every few seconds, and I watch behind us, but we're not followed this time. My heart races at the thought of being caught and I turn back around in the seat and sink into it, ready to cry.

If I'm so terrified of being caught. Why do I keep doing this to myself? What is so tempting about Dimitri Sokolov that I take this risk? I don't understand.

One tear slips out, then another. Then I'm crying quietly and sniffling. Dimitri pulls to the curb in a dark neighborhood and kills the engine, turning to touch my shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly. It's not my favorite thing to experience, but I’m alright. I'm not in trouble and no one found out—at least I don't think. But I don't want to feel this again. Ever.

"I'm fine," I grumble, but I have no tissues to wipe my face. I'm forced to use the back of my coat sleeve.

"You're not fine," he says, reaching into his glovebox to give me a takeaway napkin.

It's coarse on my nose, but it does the trick and I suck in a breath and breathe it out hard. "I'm scared. I don't like feeling like this." I've felt this way for long enough, every grocery trip, every time I leave the house. I don’t like fear at all. I want to kill it and heal my body so it never feels fear again.

"Come here," he mumbles, pulling me into his arms. I sob into his neck for a second, then take more offered paper napkins to clean my face.

"What's going on between us?" I ask. "Do you understand how stupid this is? We're literally trying to stop our siblings from marrying each other while we're out here sneaking around like kids."

"I know. It's a rush, right?" The stupid smirk on his face makes me scowl at him.

"I'm serious, Dimitri." I ball the used napkins in my fist and say, "What's going on? What are we doing?"

He sits back in his seat and sighs, dropping all pretense of forced humor. "Hell, Alana, I don't know. Okay? I just know I want to be around you. I want to spend time with you."

That open confession, knowing the risk, pulls at my heart. I have all these reservations, but Dimitri knows this situation better than I do. I'm the one who's been hurt. I deserve better than my family trying to make peace with someone who attacked me. But he never had to stand up for me or what's right. His entire reason for fighting this marriage is to stop an alliance that's bad for his family. It's beyond selfish, but he's choosing it anyway.

And honestly, the way he's chosen to protect me is purely selfless. He never had to do that. He's not doing it to benefit his family. He's doing it for me.

"Oh, God," I whimper, realizing I'm in too deep. My heart is so fucked up right now.

"What?" he asks, but I'm already leaning.

He sucked me into his gravity and I can't resist it. I brace myself on the center console and lean over it, crushing my mouth to his. There's not enough alcohol in the world to make this right, but I think this time, I want it because I really want him, not because I'm tipsy or trapped in a confined space.

"Alana," he mumbles against my mouth, but I'm climbing over the center console, ready to straddle him. He pulls the handle of the seat, and it slides back until there's room for me to sink over his lap and straddle him. The console digs into my hip, but my mouth stays on his as his hands grip my waist and haul me closer.

“Alana—”

I kiss him harder so he stops talking. My fingers find his belt, and I yank the leather free of the buckle and drag the zipper down. He doesn’t help with my clothes. He only shoves his hand into his open fly and pulls his cock out, and I see how swollen he is. I wonder how long he's been like that—if he's always like that when he's around me.

"This is a tight fight, Princess," he says, and most of the time, when a guy calls me that, I hate it. But when he does it, I think it's hot.

"I have to get these pants off," I mumble. "Shut up and help me."

I sit back enough to work the button, but my fingers slip. The button's frustratingly small and my hands shake. I swear and try again. The fabric is tight across my hips from sitting like this. I twist, lift one knee, then the other. The waistband won’t clear my ass. I have to hook my thumbs in and shove, rocking forward and back, using his thighs for leverage. The material bunches. I almost lose my balance and catch myself on his shoulder.

“Fuck,” I mutter against his mouth. Whoever thought a quickie in a car was a good idea. This is ridiculous.

He chuckles and keeps one hand on my hip, the other wrapped around himself, stroking. I get the pants down to mid-thigh and have to stand up on the seat, hunched under the ceiling, and kick one boot off so I can get one leg free. The other boot stays on. I leave the pants twisted around on ankle and drop back onto his lap.

"Better," I mumble, claiming another kiss which he moans into. His dick is so hard I can grind on it, and I'm so wet my panties are soaked but he doesn't seem to mind.