Page 36 of Dark Possession
I frown and settle into the corner of the sofa, drawing my foot up into the opposite knee. “Just tell me.”
“Your sister’s debt. It was already settled.”
I blink and stand back up to pace the floor in front of the sofa. “What?”
“I took care of it. Right after you told me.”
The words hit like a sudden drop, stealing the air from my lungs. My head spins, trying to process. “You mean when I told you the reason I was at the auction was that Marina owed someone fifty thousand dollars. Koka.”
“Yes.”
I press my palms to my temples, trying to stop the spinning. This doesn’t make sense. “You…you what? Why—”
“Koka is one of my men. He collects payments for debts on my behalf. He was not authorized to raise Marina’s debt from fifty thousand to one hundred thousand.” His look softens. “I did not know about it until after he contacted you. I am sorry.”
I stop pacing. “He is one of your men? Marina owed you? Well, technically not Marina. It was her boyfriend, and we don’t know where he is, so Koka came to Marina—” Lev’s expression darkens.
Dimly, I’m aware that I’m repeating his own words back to him. I can’t seem to formulate my own, though. One thought stands out among all the dust. “You basically paid your own debt, plus I don’t know how much at the auction…oh my God, Lev…we still owe—”
His hand lifts, silencing my building panic before it can fully form into speech. “No. That is not how this works. You should never have tried to carry that weight, Alina. Your loyalty to your family is admirable, but it is too much.” He pauses, jaw tightening like he’s fighting himself. “The hundred grand—it is in your account. You can do whatever you want with it. But Alina…I don’t want you to leave.”
I stare at him, speechless. It’s the first and only time I’ve heard him ask for anything. From the moment I met him, he’s demanded everything of me.Come, sit, stand, wear this, go here…
My heart pounds, the room shrinking around us. He steps closer, the little finger of his hand brushing mine, and the warmth of his touch undoes me.
As if in response to my thoughts, all traces of vulnerability vanish. His gaze locks onto mine, unflinching. “Stay.”
I smile a little. The commander in him can’t stay hidden for long. “Why?”
He frowns. “You’re going to make me say it?”
“I need to hear it.” I swallow. “I need to know that I am more than just something you bought, something to pass the time—”
He grabs me to him roughly. “I love you, damn it. I love you, Alina.”
His mouth finds mine, and I kiss him eagerly, using that as the excuse I need to hide the fact that I don’t say the words back to him. Do I love Lev? Maybe. Very possibly. I’m just not sure I can relinquish that last tiny piece of myself.
Not yet.
The kiss deepens, and everything else falls away. It’s just him and me—no debts, no fears, no barriers. When we finally pull apart, his forehead rests against mine, and for the first time in weeks, I feel safe.
Lev steps away, and when I would follow, he lifts a finger to halt me. I watch, bemused, as he lifts a thick fur throw from the back of a chair and lays it on the floor before the fire, then goes to the door and turns the lock.
I look around at the tall windows, clear to the grounds. Anyone could see in. Anyone could hear us. “Here? Now?”
He smirks as he strides toward me, rolling back his sleeves with deliberate ease, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “The servants will find somewhere else to be.”
Before I can respond, he steps in close, fingers curling around the edges of my pajama shirt. With one sharp tug, buttons scatter across the floor with plastic pings.
It’s different from when Sergei did the same basic thing earlier. My breath quickens, but for an entirely different reason.
I shimmy out of my remaining clothing quickly and take my place on the fur blanket, waiting for Lev to do the same and join me.
When he does, he eases me to my back with a lingering kiss that leaves me breathless. I anticipate heat and speed, but he hovers over me, propped on one elbow, while his fingers trace lazy circles against my bare skin with a featherlight touch. His palm is warm and solid against the curve of my waist as he holds me close, our bodies barely a breath apart. In the quiet of the room, his breathing is a slow, steady rhythm, a deep inhale and exhale that seems to match my own.
He’s watching me. I can feel it even with my eyes closed—the weight of his gaze, the way his thumb traces the dip of my waist and hip as if memorizing the shape of me. I open my eyes, and he’s right there, so close, his dark lashes casting shadows over his sharp cheekbones, his lips slightly parted like he’s on the verge of saying something.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he lifts a hand to my face, his knuckles grazing my cheek, his touch reverent.
