Chapter 31

Lauren looked up, blinking as Dimitri loomed over her. They were on the porch, the porch where the day before she’d sat, clutching her beer, wondering if she was reading Dimitri’s signals wrong, and practically desperate to have sex with the man, if only once. Her time on the island had been a remarkable, a time-out-of-time experience, and she was already losing the memory of it, her mind already moving forward, everything happening too fast.

Now she felt as if she had to memorize everything around her, because it was all ending. Everything would be going back to normal, and she wasn’t ready for normal yet, though she knew that was selfish, knew that that wasn’t her place. She didn’t care.

“Lauren.” Dimitri’s large hands came up to her upper arms, and he gently steadied her as if she were a filly about to bolt, or a skittish child about to have a meltdown. Was that what he thought of her, she wondered? And what did it matter if he did?

But it did matter. It mattered a lot. And if she wasn’t careful, she’d betray how much it mattered, and then the big hulking possibly demigod-bodyguard would have a better story to tell his military buddies for the rest of his life, however long it lasted, about how he swooped an American heiress off her feet without so much as lifting a hand, and then she turned into a blubbering mess at the prospect of him leaving her. They’d all have a good laugh about that, probably, or at least they should.

“Lauren,” Dimitri said again, more sharply this time. “I’m serious. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” she snapped, smiling to soften the harshness of her tone. She glanced away to compose herself. How many times had she done that over the years? A simple pause to center on what was important, what counted. A resetting of her expression to ensure that she conveyed exactly what she wanted to convey—and only what she wanted to convey.

But when she looked back to Dimitri, it all fell apart again. She prayed she sounded artful when she spoke, that he couldn’t tell how much he affected her, but her heart was in her words too much to her own ears, and there was nothing she could do about it. “It’s just that—once you make that call, we’re done here, right? We’ll pack up and leave this house, this beach, and head back to the mainland on the earliest possible boat.”

“Well...yes. But that’s better for you anyway. You didn’t plan on staying hidden for any longer than a few days, remember?” He smiled, and suddenly he seemed larger, more powerful than she wanted him to. Definitely more in control. Where had all that predictable confusion gone? “Unless you simply can’t imagine life without me?”

His tease let her recenter herself, far more than any of her training could have. See? He didn’t consider this any big deal. Why should she?

“Ha, no. Of course not.” She straightened with a bright smile as Dimitri lounged back against the railing, watching her. She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “What will your role be anyway, after you give up the watch? Are they going to let you take part in the search?”

He shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “I’ll go where they order me to go,” he said. But he wasn’t looking at the watch; he was looking at her. “That’s what you do when you commit to serve.”

“Whatever.” She looked out to the ocean. “Sounds kind of mindless to me.”

He chuckled, clearly way too happy about the idea of getting rid of her. “Not really. The military doesn’t want you to stop thinking, princess. They want you to think very hard about the right things.” He didn’t move, but she still sensed him shifting toward her, somehow, like a net that was closing in too quickly. “You aren’t paid to counteract your orders, you’re paid to be creative in the pursuit of your orders.”

“Creativity, right,” she muttered, stung to the quick though he hadn’t said anything offensive. Once again, he simply seemed so...blasé. So matter-of-fact. As if none of this mattered. As if she didn’t matter. “I don’t remember creativity being a key attribute of a good soldier.”

“I suspect you probably haven’t gotten your hands dirty with too many soldiers, good or otherwise.”

The fact that he was right didn’t make the comment any less annoying. “You have no idea what kind of men I’ve been with.”

“I think I have some idea.” He moved toward her then, easy and relaxed, and she took a sharp step back, forgetting how near she’d already been to the wall. The cool, rough plaster pressed against her as Dimitri rested a hand on the wall above her, leaning in to stare down at her, his expression smug. “I suspect you’re the kind of women who likes her men pretty but weak. Easily controlled. Fit enough to look good jogging beside you or playing tennis, but not someone you actually expect to get any real work done. And certainly no one that would qualify as creative.”

“And you are?”

“We’re not talking about me.” A hot surge of embarrassment flared through Lauren at Dimitri’s chiding tone, but when she would have moved away, he put his other hand against the wall, effectively caging her. “We’ll get to me in a second. First I want you to describe the last man you allowed to make love to you.”

Lauren’s eyes widened at the rude question, but she couldn’t stop her brain from jumping to the man in question—not even a man, just some guy she knew from college, someone who was tall, lean, good-looking in a Ralph Lauren model kind of way. His hair had always been neatly trimmed, she found herself thinking now. His face always smooth. His manners always careful, precise. Even in bed.

“On second thought, never mind,” Dimitri said. “You’ve told me everything you need simply with that disappointed look on your face.”

She scowled up at him, taking in his hot, hooded eyes, his skin bristling with a two-day beard, his lips curved into a mocking smirk.

She pushed against his chest, not expecting to move him. She didn’t. “Well, at least he had manners,” she snapped, pushing him harder. Instead of shifting back, Dimitri leaned closer, tilting his hips until they connected with hers, the pressure of his hard shaft shocking though she expected it. It was rough, almost crude, and she wanted to spit out a rebuke. But it was also exactly what she wanted, what she needed. And there was no way she could think of words as her knees wobbled beneath her, her belly swimming with a damp heat that she could no more articulate than ignore.

“Manners,” Dimitri murmured, and he dipped his head down to her ear, as if to whisper a confidence to her.

Instead, she felt the cool slide of his tongue as it traced the rim of her ear, his teeth then closing lightly around the lobe. Unable to stop herself, she clenched her hand in his shirt, half grabbing it, half bracing herself against Dimitri’s body, unsure of anything but the heady sensation as he kissed his way down her neck and into the curve of her shoulder. His right hand came away from the wall and cupped her breast, hard, as his gaze reconnected with hers. “I’ve never been a big fan of manners in bed. Perhaps you’ll have to explain to me how that works.”

“You’d never pick it up,” she managed, and then his other hand was massaging her breast as well, practically steaming through her clothes.

“You’ve got my attention now,” he murmured. “Believe me, I’m all ears.”

His words were calm and measured, but she could feel the heat beginning to roll off him as his body reacted to hers. His hands moved again to her bare arms, and the touch of him electrified her. She tilted her head up, searching his gaze.

“Do we really need to leave yet?” She broke off at the embarrassment of what she was asking. But suddenly, the world outside this villa seemed a big and lonely place, whereas standing in the circle of Dimitri’s arms felt totally safe, impossibly right.

Dimitri leaned closer to her. “Something you want, princess?” he said gruffly, his lips skimming her cheek before barely brushing against her mouth. “Because I’m more than happy to give it to you. But this time, we have to do it my way.”