Page 120 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 1-4

Shocked, and more aroused than I’ve been in...well, ever, I swallow hard. His touch is possessive, his fingers searing my body through the material of my blazer. A brand. It should disgust me. I should be bringing my knee up and ramming it into his groin. The man is arrogant, rude, conceited and a Drakos.

But I don’t. I don’t because for one moment, I’m not thinking about revenge or illness or the depths of human depravity. I’m savoring how it feels to be wanted, desired. Indulging in a yearning I’ve never experienced before with a man who tests the limits of my patience even as he has earned my grudging respect for doing what his father never had the courage to do and go head-to-head with me.

Carnal images fill my mind, remnants of dreams I’ve suppressed and imaginings that make me blush even as they make me crave. It takes my very limited reserves of self-control to stop myself from rising up on my toes and pressing my mouth to his.

He lowers his head. God, I can feel his breath against my lips.

Just a taste.

A sharp peal of muted laughter sounds off to my right. A moment later the door swings open. The women in pink sashes stream through, still wearing the sashes but now sporting swimwear. A couple of them cast glances at Gavriil and me. Some keep their eyes focused on him, not bothering to hide their appreciation of his impressive physique. Others shoot me an envious glance. One even winks at me and gives me a thumbs-up.

Gavriil releases me and steps back, nodding to the passing women with a smile that could kill. They titter and preen as they head toward the first set of lounge chairs clustered at the edge of the lap pool.

That uncomfortable feeling when I saw him with Natalie hits again, harder and deeper after our intimate moment. I did what I haven’t done since I started my career—I let myself be swayed by a handsome face. Whether he was genuinely attracted to me moments ago or was just faking his response to distract me, I don’t know. But his ability to step away so quickly, to smile at another woman like she’s the best thing he’s seen all day seconds after nearly kissing me, reinforces the rule I almost forgot.

Men like Gavriil—like Lucifer—don’t care about other people.

Be careful, sweetheart, I can hear Dessie murmuring as she brushed my hair before a school dance. He turns his back to me, the smile disappearing as it’s replaced by a dark brooding that sends a shiver down my spine.A handsome face can hide an ugly heart.

“Goodbye, Mr. Drakos.”

His eyes harden as he starts to reply.

“If she’s turning you down, I’m free, sexy!” one of the women calls from the edge of the pool. “I could use a date for the wedding tonight.” The women around her alternate between laughter and groans.

I shoot her a grin over his shoulder. “He’s all yours. And I’ve heard he loves to dance.”

He glares daggers at me. The sight boosts my mood and I incline my head. “Mr. Drakos.”

“This isn’t over, Grey. Not by a long shot.”

“On that, Mr. Drakos, we agree.”

I leave the pool, walk past the spa, and ascend the stairs, my body tense as I listen for the sound of footsteps behind me.

Nothing. He’s letting me go.

Good.

I reach the main floor of the hotel.

Time to regroup. Strategize.

The next meeting will be in an office setting, preferably one of my choosing. I’ll have research, notes, everything I need to make my case.

That and an iron grip on my wayward desire. He didn’t even hesitate to shut down his reaction to me when the bridal party came in, to engage in flirtation with another woman as if we hadn’t just been about to tear each other’s clothes off.

It hurts. My throat tightens as I hit the top of the stairs. It hurts and I hate that it hurts. That I let myself be swayed for even a moment by the chemistry between us. Even though I tell myself I won’t let things go that far again, I make a promise as I move toward the main doors of the hotel to never let myself get that close to him again, especially in a dark room that blurs my inhibitions and tempts me to the edge of reason.

No matter how much I might fantasize otherwise.

CHAPTER FIVE

Gavriil

ISTAREATthe storm-lashed beach from the driver’s seat of my convertible. Rain drums on the leather roof. It’s thin enough I can see the sea, steely gray waves churned white in places by nature’s fury.

My fingers tighten on the wheel. I know the feeling.

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