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My intended.
And he is furious.
His voice is a low, dark snarl. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“What?” I struggle to wrangle my disjointed thoughts into some semblance of coherence. Is this for real, or have I smoked way too much? There’s no way Alexei is here, at my high school prom.In New Hampshire.
He lets go of my arm and grips my jaw in one big hand to turn my face one way, then the other, peering into my eyes intently the whole time. “You’re fucking high.” He sounds both disgusted and disbelieving.
“Um, yeah.” Wait, should I have denied it? Fuck. This is real. But how? Why? What is he doing here? It occurs to me that I should probably ask that last bit out loud. “What are you doing here?”
There. I sound almost normal. Except I’m not. I’m high as fuck, and nothing about this situation is normal. I was dancing with Josh—yuck—and then… Oh, shit. The adrenaline clears away some of the fog in my brain, and horror floods in as Alexei tightens his grip on my jaw, squeezing my cheeks into a pout, and bends his head over me, his eyes burning like live coals.
“You do not fucking dance with other men.” Each word falls on my ears like an executioner’s axe. “You do not look at them—and you do not, under any fucking circumstances, let them touch you. Contractually and in every other way, you are mine. Understand?”
I’m so stunned I can only blink in answer. It must not be enough because he brings his face closer, until our noses are barely three inches apart. His nostrils flare dangerously. “Say you fucking understand.”
With the way he’s holding my jaw, I can’t say anything, so I just make an “uh-huh” noise in the back of my throat. I can feel the repressed violence within him, the fury that’s on the verge of boiling over, and my heartbeat skyrockets, clearing more of the haze in my brain.
This isn’t a nightmare or my imagination playing tricks. It’s happening. He’s here, in the flesh.
Contrary to my hopes, he hasn’t forgotten me.
My latest attempt at an answer must mollify him because his grip on my face gentles slightly. However, he doesn’t release me, nor does he move his face away. Instead, his gaze falls on my lips, still pouted by his fingers squeezing my cheeks, and a different sort of tension invades his powerful body. I can feel it, the heat rising off his skin, the way his breathing grows heavier, more uneven. My own breath shallows out in response, a warm lassitude sweeping through me, weakening my knees and liquifying my core. Every dream, every nightmare I’ve ever had about him, is suddenly vivid in my mind, as are those sweet, sharp sensations that I refuse to take to their natural conclusion. Becauseheis responsible for them. He’s the only one who’s ever made me feel this way.
“Were you going to let him kiss you?” His voice is rough as he brings his head down until his mouth hovers just above mine, his breath warm and cinnamon-flavored against my lips. “Were you going to let him fuck you?”
“N-no.” I don’t really know what I’m saying. I’d say anything to feel his lips on mine. I’m trembling with the force of my need, my heart thundering so loudly it’s all I can hear. My first kiss. I never knew it was possible to want something so badly. And he wants it too. He must. Surely, any second now he’ll—
He drops his hand and steps back with a suddenness that jolts me. “Good. Don’t.” His tone is shockingly cold and hard. “You are my betrothed, and I don’t share. Ever.”
With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me shaken to the core. I don’t see him or Josh again for the remainder of the night.
In fact, I don’t see Josh ever again, and neither does anyone else.
Like my tutor, he simply disappears.
Chapter9
Present Day, Location Unknown
Alexei’s eyes are midnight black as he stares down at me, his jaw flexing, and as the silence between us stretches, I’m certain his base desires will win out. But I’m wrong. He lets me go and steps back, dropping his hand.
“Let’s feed you then,” he says, his dry tone telling me he knows it’s just another stalling tactic on my part.
I don’t care, though. I’ve won myself more time. “I need clothes,” I say, proud of how calm I sound. “Where can I—”
He gestures to a sliding door. “That closet has everything you need.”
Okay, so he doesn’t plan to keep me naked. Yay. Sometimes, you have to celebrate the little things.
I hurry to the closet before he changes his mind. My face burns as I feel his eyes on my naked backside. My ass is nicely toned—I’ve done lots of hiking and gym workouts in recent months—yet I can’t help but wonder if he’s seen better. Touched better. I have no reason to think he’s been as faithful to me as I’ve been forced to be to him.
It’s a thought that, as always, fills my veins with acid.
Suppressing it, I push the sliding door aside and step into a walk-in closet that’s nearly as large as what I had at Nikolai’s compound, though neither is comparable to the spacious room that houses my clothes and accessories in Moscow. Nonetheless, the selection here is pretty solid. I find dresses and heels by many of my favorite designers, along with about a million swimsuits, casual sundresses, shorts, T-shirts, and a wide selection of flat sandals and flip-flops.
It’s tempting to put on something casual and comfy, but I reach for a cocktail dress instead. Made of heavy green silk with a fitted sweetheart bodice and flared knee-length skirt, it’s going to make me look and feel put-together. More in control.
