Page 48 of Savage Princess

That kind of thing would have frightened me, once. But I’ve started to feel more confident. This wasmychoice to be here, to help Levin. I glance archly around the table as I straighten, catching quick glimpses of the other men as I turn away, letting my hips sway a bit as I make my way back to the bar.

As the night goes on, I can see the tensions rising. Levin is winning—whether purely from his own skill or a combination of that and my distraction, I don’t know—but I can see some of the men starting to prickle towards him. I hear a few murmured comments when I refresh his drink—bastard must be cheating; fucking Russian prick; make sure he doesn’t leave here with the whole pot—and I feel a slight knot of anxiety start to form in my stomach. But I know Levin is looking out. If he thinks there’s too much danger, he’ll bow out and leave.

He said that was possible, at least in these lower-level games. And I trust him to keep me safe.

I watch as he loses one hand; I suspect to make sure that it doesn’t look as if he’s winning every round with too much ease. I still have no idea how the game itself is played, really, but I enjoy watching Levin as I sit there sipping my wine—which is much, much better than what I’d drank at the last bar we were at.

Every now and then, I get up to check if he needs a drink or just to walk past him, brushing my fingers over the back of his neck or leaning down to give him a kiss on the cheek. When he turns his head to brush his lips over mine, briefly, before handing me his glass, I hear a low murmur of jealousy from a few of the men.

I’m at the bar when I hear a loud smack, the sound of a hand hitting the table, and one of the chairs turns over. When I turn around, I see a tall, bearded man standing up, his chair knocked over as he looks angrily around the table.

“I don’t like being cheated,” he growls, smashing his fist down on the table again and making the chips bounce and shudder. “This is supposed to be a fair, gentleman’s game.”

“It is,” one of the other men says calmly, as I stand there clutching Levin’s drink, ready to flee at the slightest sign that he gives me that we need to go. “No one’s cheating here. Just sit down, and let’s deal out the next round.”

Levin’s face is completely emotionless, not a flicker of worry or fear on it, and I wonder what he’s thinking. He doesn’t glance over at me, but his hand brushes over mine as I set his glass down, and a shiver runs down my spine.

There are two other tables on the floor where we are, too, with games in progress. I can feel eyes on me from those tables as well, and I do my best to ignore them, focusing on Levin. As the night starts to wind down and I order my last glass of wine, feeling the slight buzz of the two I’ve had so far, I catch a glimpse of a man approaching from the corner of my eye.

He’s tall and slender, with a thin mustache and dark hair, well-dressed in a tan suit. He moves in front of me, blocking my view of Levin’s table, which irritates me more than anything else.

“Let me buy you a drink,senorita,”he says smoothly, shifting to sit down next to me, and I see his gaze slide over me. “That’s a lovely dress you have on.”

“Thank you,” I tell him neutrally, reaching for the glass of wine the bartender pushes towards me. “My husband bought it for me. And I already have a drink, but your offer is appreciated.”

“There’s no ring on your finger,” he notes, and I have to force myself not to grimace. I’m not about to ask Levin to buy me a fake ring to keep up this ruse. Still, it keeps coming up in conversation, and I don’t feel likemy boyfriendhas the same emphasis to it thathusbanddoes, when it comes to fending off other interested men.

“Rings don’t make a marriage,” I tell him as smoothly as I can, taking a sip of my wine. “Anyway, mine is being resized.”

“Your husband shouldn’t let you out of his sight until it’s back on your finger, then.”

Thatcomment makes me bristle, but I manage to hide it. “Fortunately, I’m directly in his line of sight,” I tell the man, nodding towards where Levin is sitting. “But your concern is noted.”

“You haven’t even asked my name.” He leans closer, clearly not intending to give up, not even after he glances in the direction of where I’m looking. I would think Levin’s sheer physical presence would be enough to put most men off of continuing to flirt with me, but I’ve clearly underestimated a lot of men.

“You didn’t ask mine.” It’s meant to be curt and a little offputting, but it doesn’t seem to have the desired effect.

“What’s your name?” He’s still leaning forward, almost in my space, and I glance over toward the table to see if they’re wrapping things up yet. I hadn’t thought of a fake name to give, and that seems like an oversight, at this particular moment.

“Isabella,” I blurt out, stealing my sister’s name in my haste to come up with something. “I think my husband is almost finished playing—”

“Well, I can keep you company until he is.” He flashes a toothy smile at me, waving at the bartender. “Bring the lady another glass of wine, and put it on my—”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Levin’s deep voice comes from just behind my shoulder, and I almost let out a gasp of relief. The man in front of me looks more than a little pissed off, and he straightens, looking at Levin over me.

“You shouldn’t leave your girl alone so long. A better man will come along and take her from you.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Levin says wryly. “And if so, it won’t be you.”

His hand slides around my waist, effortlessly slipping me off of the barstool and up against him. “Come along,malysh. Let’s go upstairs and celebrate.”

He turns me with him, his hand possessively on my waist as we walk away from the man, who is still spluttering behind us. I can feel my pulse fluttering in my throat, but it’s not from fear. It’s from the way it feels to have Levin hold me like this, the thrill of him standing up to someone else and staking a claim on me.

It’s all just another game, but it feels more real than it should.

“Where are we going?” I ask as we walk towards the stairs that lead back down.

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