Page 44 of Imperfect Desires

"You should come with me," the Greek says smoothly. "I have a private cruise boat. Open ocean. Just you and me under the stars."

Alina smiles faintly. "And how do you know I love the sea?"

The Greek’s eyes gleam. "It’s obvious. You’re a free spirit. The kind of spirit that shouldn’t be caged or subdued."

Every cell in my body strains painfully. And at that moment, her eyes meet mine. For a brief second, I anticipate her usual lingering stare—the silent plea for attention she’s given me for years. But this time, her gaze feels cool and uninterested.

She looks away first and then leans in toward the Greek and says, "Do you want to dance?"

“Of course.” The Greek smiles and takes her hand.

My world tilts on its axis as Alina lets him lead her toward the dance floor. His hand settles low on her back. Too low. And she rests her hand on his shoulder. Her head tilts toward him as they move together beneath the soft lights.

My breath burns in my throat, and my hands start to shake violently. I set my glass down on a side table with a sharp clink and take a deep breath to stay calm.

But then the motherfucker’s hand slides even lower. And Alina doesn’t stop him. I storm out onto the balcony, the cold night air slamming into my overheated skin. I imagine the damage I would cause should I stroll to the dance floor now and deck the guy. No doubt it will dent our relationship with the Greeks, but it will send a message to other fools to stay away from Alina.

I brace my hands against the stone railing, my breath coming hard and fast.

The city sprawls beneath me, glittering with lights. A cold wind rakes through my hair, but it does nothing to cool the heat crawling beneath my skin.

I tell myself to let it go, that Alina isn’t mine. She never was, and she is bound to receive a marriage offer soon. But the image of her laughing in the arms of another man is too much for even my cold heart to bear.

I squeeze my eyes shut and remember the taste of her mouth beneath mine. The way she trembled when I pulled her close. The way her breath hitched when I touched her. The way she moaned when I slid into her wetness.

Fuck.

I still want her like a drowning man needs air. And now some arrogant Greek bastard is touching what isn’t his.

My hand curls into a fist against the stone railing, my knuckles grinding painfully beneath the pressure. I stalk back into the ballroom, my gaze cutting toward the dance floor, ready to march down there and tear them apart from each other.

But Alina is gone, and so is the leering bastard. And for the first time in my life, I go into panic mood.

I stride toward Yelena, who is now seated at one of the nearby tables while her husband talks with some men. She could easily be mistaken for Alina if not for her tiny growing bump.

"Where’s Alina?" My voice is low and rough.

Yelena frowns. "She said she was going to her room."

My mind spirals darkly as a clear picture form in my mind: Alina in her room, the Greek’s hands on her. His mouth on her.

My feet are already moving toward the elevator, and I am halfway running. I slam my hand against the button. The doors slide open. My pulse hammers painfully beneath my skin as the elevator ascends. For once, I feel thankful that I am aware of how the rooms are assigned. I have this information for security reasons, and I cannot think of a better time to keep Alina safe from a leech.

I tell myself to calm down. But I can’t. The elevator opens on the top floor, and I stride down the hallway, my footsteps sharp against the polished marble. I am breathing hard when I arrive at Alina’s door.

Just as my hand hovers over the handle, I change my mind and pull out my master keycard. I push the door open to find Alina standing by the window, already changed and wearing a black lace lingerie set.

Her silk robe hangs loosely off her shoulders, and she freezes when she sees me.

"Lev?"

I scan the room, and it’s empty.

"Where is he?" My voice is dark, sharp as glass.

Alina’s brows furrow. "Who?"

"The Greek."

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