Chapter 2

Instinctively, Dimitri’s arms went around the American woman, tightening his control on his own body as he gathered up hers, trying to keep her on her feet. Even drunk—hell, especially drunk—Lauren Grant was beautiful, with her normally restrained hair now tied into some sort of loose, low bun, her elegant features soft and easy, not held tightly in a coy smile or coolly sophisticated smirk. When she wobbled, he firmed his hold on her, scowling down the street toward the castle.

He needed to get her back there. It was late, and the streets were dark, but she was a guest of the royal family.

And he had a job to do.

“Mm. You’re so warm.” Instead of fainting as he expected, the American pressed forward, angling her soft curves along every plane and ridge of his ever-more-hardening body. Her face was buried in his chest, her breath hot and wet against his shirt, and her arms shifted to encircle his waist, hands moving down to palm his ass.

His gods-damned eyes almost crossed as she wiggled forward.

“That’s not something you want to do, princess,” he growled, stepping away from her. She seemed alternately too alert and too sloppy, but tsipouro could do that to a woman. It could do that to a full-grown man, and Lauren weighed barely enough to strain his arms as he steadied her again.

“What if I do want to do it?” she whispered, swaying close. Her lips parted and her eyes were wide and clear, and she looked so beautiful standing there in the starlight that he nearly groaned, though he knew what she was doing, could sense the cunning and intelligence wafting off her as easily as her expensive perfume and the cheap tsipouro.

She’d correctly figured out he was getting hard over her, but he’d have to be dead not to want that piece of ass. However, she’d incorrectly decided that he was going to do anything about it.

That wasn’t his assignment. And he’d be damned if someone as brittle as this uptight American ice pick would make him go back on his assignment.

He’d known she was trouble the first time he’d seen her, striding up the beach like she’d owned the entire country, wearing nothing but a see-through cover-up over her tiny bikini, which did nothing to shield her and everything to thrust her assets into the face of anyone with eyeballs to see. She’d spoken O?rois with a native’s ease—a native royal, anyway, her consonants crisp and her syllables short and precise. And she’d tossed her blonde hair and ignored him as if he was some sort of foot soldier, when in fact he commanded his own company in the ONSF, he served the crown at the highest levels of O?ros’s military...and he wasn’t even fully human, for fuck’s sake.

None of that mattered to this woman, though. She’d assessed and catalogued him in one swift glance—then charged forward.

He got the feeling she did that a lot.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?”

Somehow the American had moved closer again, leaning into him so that her full lips, parting on her words, rested below his mouth. Since she’d shown up in his country less than a week ago, that mouth had been the subject of way too many fantasies and irritating daydreams, all of them ending badly for him. But the near-term ride was almost always worth it in his mind.

But that was his mind. This was reality, and he had to get the obnoxious woman back to her quarters. He sure as hell couldn’t let her make her own way, not with her about to get hit with the full brunt of tsipouro.

“Dimitri.” The sound of his name startled him, and he glanced down—a mistake, but a reasonable one, given the fact that Lauren Grant was a refined American heiress with a million years of finishing schools and private tutors and expensive colleges...and yet she spoke his name like she wanted nothing more from him than his mouth and his body.

Lauren pressed up toward him, her lips brushing his.

Need rocketed through Dimitri hot enough to burn. He let her nuzzle his mouth once, twice, until his sight dimmed to a pinpoint and his muscles were clenched so tight, he practically spasmed. She wasn’t his to play with. She was part of the group of friends of Prince Kristos’s new fiancée, a woman he did admire, unlike this unholy hellcat who darted out her tongue to taste his mouth, turning him inside out, and?—

With a surprising amount of strength, Lauren drove her heel into his instep.

The move was remarkably effective, given that he wasn’t wearing his usual ONSF boots but the soft-soled shoes that had made tracking her child’s play tonight, and he flinched away from the blow while trying not to hurt her. Unfortunately, that provided the blonde with all the distraction she needed. She slipped out of her light sweater and left it hanging in his grasp. Then she was off through the darkness, running faster than he would have given her credit for.

Dimitri hopped once on his foot, allowing her enough time to feel safe, then he set out after her. He should let her go, he knew. She was running back toward the castle, back toward safety. He could simply track her and make sure she made it, then vanish into the night. Easy and done, mission accomplished.

Besides, if she believed that she’d given him the slip, what harm would it cause? She’d feel good about herself, as if she’d won some kind of battle. He would have done what he’d been ordered to do, to get her home safely. Everyone would sleep better in the end—except maybe him, his cock now hard enough to pound nails and his body so ready for sex he was about to burst.

Dimitri pushed those thoughts away as he ran, assessing every turn, every stride of the young woman ahead of him. If anyone saw the pursuit, they knew well enough to stay out of the way. Dimitri had spent many long years in this town. He was known and respected by everyone.

Everyone except Lauren Grant.

The blonde chose that moment to make her first mistake—a fatal one, in his mind. She darted off into a side street, a street that clearly didn’t lead to the castle. Which meant that she had no intention of heading back to the safety of her bed.

Do not think about that woman and “bed.”

Dimitri picked up his own pace, pounding forward now, and he could hear her squeak of alarm. She knew he was back there, could sense the difference in his pace, his urgency, knew somehow she’d screwed up, but she clearly wasn’t going to stop, wasn’t going to give in?—

He ducked into a side alley, blending into the shadows. She’d figure it out soon enough.

She did. The lane she turned down next dead-ended, and the American’s frustrated cry made him a little too happy. He schooled his breath and waited. She would have to come back out this way. She would know he wasn’t following her anymore. Which meant she knew he was waiting somewhere in the dark. Waiting for her.

He understood now how cats felt when playing with mice. Only this mouse had claws and a seriously bad attitude. He needed to remember that.

Dimitri”s cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket, but this time, it wasn’t Kristos contacting him—it was ONSF command. He’d returned to the world-renowned security force a few years ago when the princes had entered military service, and had quickly risen to the rank of captain. He’d lost count of how many times he’d served in that role since he’d first entered the military at age 18, but at least nothing surprised him anymore. The technology changed over time, but the urgent summons for him never got any more convenient. Something was up, and he needed to report.

His eyes narrowed as Lauren came back into view. They were close enough to target that he could hand off her escort to one of his men, if she gave him any trouble from here on out. Now he needed to head back to the ONSF home base at the back of the palace, not the front doors.

The American walked by him, and as if she sensed him staring at her, burst into another panicked run. But he could see her steps were less solid now, her footing less sure. He sprang out of the alley and caught her as she sprawled forward, headlong, his hands clamping around soft curves and rounded muscles as she gasped. He pulled her upright, bracing her against him. “Easy does it, princess. That little jog is going to speed up the effects of the tsipouro.”

“Let go of me—” Her voice was clipped, or would have been without the alcohol. The booze wasn’t masking her fury now. She’d been stupid, and she’d been caught. He wasn’t sure which pissed her off more. She turned back toward him, battering her free hand against his chest. “I said, let go!”

Dimitri”s pocket rattled a second time, and he shook Lauren hard enough that she stopped. “Look, princess, you’re drunk, it’s late, and I’m your ride home. This isn’t America, and you don’t get to vote.”

She blanched, shocked at his anger or his nearness, he didn’t know. He didn’t have a chance to ask either.

She slumped toward the ground, a deadweight.

This time well and truly passed out.

Just as his cell buzzed again.