Page 9 of His Stolen Bride

I let my eyes stay on her as I answer him. “Take her to the east wing and keep two men on the hall.”

Alina’s gaze snaps to him, then back to me. “I’m not sleeping next to strangers.”

“You’re sleeping in my house,” I say, and I keep my tone flat because it stops her from thinking she can push emotion into me. “You don’t get to demand comfort.”

Her lips part, then she closes them and breathes through her nose. She can hold herself together, and she can do it fast.

“Am I locked in?” she asks.

“Try the door,” I say.

Enzo shifts his grip, and Alina shrugs him off, then she marches toward the front doors as if she’s going to test me in front of everyone. She gets three steps before Enzo moves again and blocks her without touching her.

“Move,” she says.

Enzo doesn’t move, and he doesn’t speak, either.

I don’t raise my voice. “Alina.”

She stops, then she turns back, and she faces me with that same calm that makes men misjudge her. It’s not calm, it’s control, and control is always a choice.

“Yes?” she says.

“I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.” My lips curl upward, and hers tremble slightly. I could ruin that mouth, I think as my cock twitches in my trousers.

Enzo gestures toward the hall again, and she walks, and she doesn’t look back. I follow at a distance because my men need to see me present, and because she’s already in my head and I don’t like it.

The east corridor smells clean because my house staff are good at their jobs, and I pay for that kind of competence. Alina’s boots click on the marble, and she looks at every camera dome and every corner like she’s learning the house in one pass.

Good. Let her learn it. It won’t save her, but it will tell me what kind of trouble she is.

She stops at the door to the suite when Enzo opens it. She doesn’t step inside right away. She scans the room, then she looks at the balcony doors, then she looks at the bathroom entrance, then she looks at the connecting door that leads deeper into the wing.

“You want me here,” she says, and it’s accusation dressed as fact.

“I want you contained,” I reply.

She steps inside, and she turns once slowly, then she looks back at me. “You’re acting like I planned your brother’s death.”

“I’m acting like you’re tied to it,” I correct.

Her jaw tightens. “I didn’t ask Sergei to show up at my mother’s door.”

“No,” I say. “Your father did.”

Her eyes flash, and she forces it down. “So, that’s it. I pay for my father.”

“You’re paying already,” I answer, and I keep my voice even. “I’m deciding how.”

Her shoulders lift on a breath, then drop. She walks to the door, and she puts her hand on the knob, then she turns her head and looks at me again.

“Do I get a lock?” she asks, and she says it like she’s daring me to make a joke.

“You get one,” I say and then smile a little. “But you won’t need it. If I wanted you, no lock would keep me out.”

Her lips part again, and her eyes do something small that irritates me, because her body registers the same thing mine does, and I can see it before she masks it.

She recovers fast. “Then you won’t mind installing one.”