CHAPTER 13
DIMITRI
The pool water reflects the Las Vegas sky, an impossible blue contrasting with the gray concrete of the surrounding buildings. From the upper terrace of the Tsarina, the city looks like a shimmering mirage in the desert, an illusion of luxury and money.
I shouldn't be here. I've spent three days actively avoiding Sloane since that... incident at the university. Three days trying to wipe the sound of her moan from my mind, the way her body molded to mine when I pinned her against my chest.
But Alexei insisted. "Urgent security matters," he said over the phone. And here I am, standing at the entrance to the pool terrace, unable to move forward.
Because there she is. In the crystal-clear water, her red hair pulled back in a high ponytail, a few loose strands stuck to her neck from the humidity.
She's laughing at something Harper just said, her head thrown back, exposing the curve of her throat—the same one I held between my fingers, coaxing out that sound that haunts me.
And her body... Fuck. She's wearing a black one-piece swimsuit, but the design looks like it was created specifically to torture me: plunging neckline, open back almost down to the line where her spine curves.
The water caresses her skin, drops sliding down her shoulders, down the valley between her breasts.
My mouth goes dry, my pulse racing.
"You're finally here." My brother's voice snaps me out of my trance.
Alexei is sitting on one of the lounge chairs under an umbrella, a tablet on his lap.
His expression, always calculating, softens slightly as he looks toward the pool, where Harper floats peacefully, her rounded belly shining under the sun.
"What's so urgent?" I ask, forcing myself to look away from Sloane and focus on my brother.
"The Irish," he replies quietly. "They've made a move again. We need to go over the security perimeter."
I nod mechanically, but my eyes traitorously return to the pool. Sloane has gotten out of the water and is now sitting on the edge, her legs submerged up to her knees. Drops of water slide down her body, some stopping in the hollow of her collarbone before continuing their path.
"Dimitri?" Alexei keeps talking, but his words sound distant. "Are you listening to me?"
"Yeah," I lie, forcing myself to concentrate. "Reinforcements at weak points, review of the night shifts."
Alexei watches me with that piercing gaze that's always made me feel like he can read my thoughts.
"You're distracted." It's not a question.
I'm about to deny it when I notice something that makes my blood boil.
Two men, guests of the hotel judging by their brand-name swim trunks and flashy watches, have approached the edge of the pool where Sloane and Harper are.
They smile too much, lean in too close. One of them holds a water volleyball, obviously an excuse to start a conversation.
"Want to play?" I hear the taller one ask, his eyes fixed on Sloane. "We need one more player for a game."
Harper smiles politely, but Sloane... Sloane laughs with that laugh that exposes her throat, the one she'd been directing at Harper a moment ago. The difference is that now she's directing it at a stranger.
An involuntary growl escapes my throat.
"What's wrong?" Alexei asks, following my gaze.
"Nothing," I reply curtly, but I'm already stalking toward the pool, my feet moving of their own accord.
I arrive just in time to hear Harper saying:
"I can't in my condition, but Sloane should join. She's very athletic."
"I bet you're amazing," the second man says, and the way his eyes rake over Sloane's body makes me want to rip his throat out.
"Murphy." My voice cuts through the air like a whip.
Four pairs of eyes turn toward me. Sloane blinks, confused by my sudden appearance, but her expression quickly hardens.
"I'm busy, Morozov," she replies, with that defiant tone that provokes contradictory impulses in me.
"I need to talk to you," I insist, deliberately ignoring the two assholes who still haven't taken the hint. Looks like they want me to break their necks. "It's important."
"Now?" Her irritation is palpable. "I was just about to..."
"It's about that... matter you mentioned," I interrupt, loading my words with meaning. "I think you'll be interested."
I see the exact moment she understands what I'm telling her. Her eyes light up slightly, with that spark I've already learned to recognize when something genuinely captures her interest.
"Sorry, guys," she says, addressing the men without taking her eyes off mine. "Have to be another time."
The two of them walk away, obviously disappointed, but not daring to protest. I'm aware that Alexei is watching us with interest from his lounge chair, and Harper isn't missing a detail either. But right now, I don't care.
Sloane stands up from the edge of the pool, water dripping down her legs. She's shorter than me, but her defiant stance bridges the gap.
"Well?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest, a gesture that only manages to accentuate her curves even more.
Fuck.
"Not here," I reply, turning toward the pool bar. "Want a drink?"
She follows me, her bare feet leaving wet footprints on the ground.
"Iced tea," she says, leaning against the bar as the bartender nods and moves away to make the drinks.
We stand in silence for a moment. We're secluded enough to have privacy, but I still feel eyes on us.
"This Saturday," I say finally, lowering my voice. "There's a game."
Her eyes widen slightly, and a smile forms on her lips. A genuine smile, not the one she was offering those clowns.
"An underground game?" she asks, leaning toward me to speak in a hushed tone.
The movement causes a lock of wet hair to fall onto her shoulder, leaving a trail of droplets on her skin. I have to restrain myself from following that trail with my fingers.
"If you still want to go, I can take you," I offer, keeping my tone casual despite the tension I feel throughout my body.
"Of course I want to go," she replies, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"There are conditions," I say, my voice turning serious. "If you're going to enter that world, you have to follow my rules."
She arches a brow, defiant. God, that expression turns me on.
"What rules?"
"You don't leave my side at any point," I list off, holding her gaze. "You do exactly what I tell you, when I say it. No questions, no arguments."
The bartender sets our drinks in front of us and retreats. Sloane grabs her glass, her fingers tracing the condensation on the misty glass.
"You seem very protective all of a sudden," she comments, with a tone I can't quite decipher. "I thought you wanted to get rid of me."
"Don't get things twisted, Red," I reply, more roughly than I intended. "I don't want you causing trouble in my territory. These games aren't child's play. There's a lot of money, alcohol, and dangerous men."
She takes a sip of her tea, looking at me over the rim of the glass with those eyes that seem to see too much.
"And you? Are you one of those dangerous men, Dimitri?"
The way she says my name sends an electric current down my spine.
"The most dangerous of all," I admit, holding her gaze. "That's why it's in your best interest to stay close."
A charged silence settles between us. Without realizing it, I've leaned toward her, and she toward me, until only a few inches separate us. Her scent—a mix of chlorine, sunscreen, and something sweet, exclusively hers—envelops me like an intoxicating fog.
"Okay," she says finally. "I'll follow your rules. Just this once."
The intensity of the moment hits me suddenly. We're too close, almost breathing the same air. If I leaned in a little more, I could...
I pull back abruptly, as if I'd received an electric shock.
"Saturday at eleven p.m.," I say, recovering my professional tone. "I'll pick you up."
She nods, a flicker of something—disappointment?—crossing her face.
"I'll see you then."
Without adding anything else, I turn and walk back to Alexei, feeling her gaze burning my back. My brother watches me with an expression mixing curiosity and concern.
"What was that?" he asks as soon as I sit down.
"Nothing," I lie, staring at the tablet with the security blueprints. "Just a pending matter."
Alexei studies me for a long moment, but finally returns to the blueprints. However, I can't stop my eyes from returning again and again to Sloane's figure, who is now sitting next to Harper, talking animatedly.
For a moment, our gazes lock across the terrace. And I know, with absolute certainty, that I'm fucked. Completely fucked.
Because this woman is driving me crazy, and the worst part is, I care less and less.