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Alana looks away quickly, but not before I see her jaw tighten. She takes a long drink from her glass, and when she sets it down, her hand shakes a little. Something's bothering her, and I want to know what it is. It frustrates me that I can't just walk over there and dismiss Vera, but if I do that, she'll go balking all night and every man in this place will know immediately that I've got my eye on Alana Volskaya—counterproductive to my goal.

Vera touches my chest with manicured fingers, drawing my attention back. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying.” Vera pouts, tilting her head up at me.

“I’m listening,” I lie, taking a sip of my whiskey and letting my eyes drift back to Alana.

Alana's talking to an older couple now, some distant Morozov relatives, but she keeps glancing over. Every time she sees Vera touching my arm, her jaw clenches and she narrows her eyes, and it hits me. She’s jealous. It’s written all over her, even under the mask she’s trying to maintain.

I feel the need to cross the room and explain that this means nothing, but seeing her reaction is sort of satisfying. I want Alana to feel what I’ve been feeling since the morning after the cabin, when she told me that sex meant nothing and I had to stand there and agree.

I want Alana to admit that she wants me before I give her another inch.

“Tell me more about Paris,” I say to Vera, and I even lean in a little, close enough to smell her perfume.

Vera lights up, thinking she’s won something. She launches into another story, settling her hand more firmly on my arm, and I keep my eyes on Alana while Vera talks. I watch her spine stiffen. Then I watch her excuse herself from the conversation and move toward the windows, staring out at the snow like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. And when Vera talks herself thirsty and goes for a drink, Maksim appears at my elbow again, glowering.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Being sociable.”

“You’re staring at Alana Volskaya like she’s the last meal you’re ever going to eat,” Maksim mutters quietly. “And you’re doing it while Vera hangs off your arm like a cheap necklace. People are noticing.”

“Let them notice.” God, I'm fooling myself if I think that's how I actually feel.

“Dimitri.” Maksim’s voice drops. “You’re becoming careless. You think your father won’t see how you look at her? You can’t keep your eyes off her. This isn’t a game. If they find out you’ve been⁠—”

“They won’t find out,” I cut him off, but he’s right and I know it. I’ve been reckless, unable to stop myself from seeking Alana out. But right now, with Alana glaring at my reflection in the window from across the room, I can’t make myself care.

Finally, when I excuse myself and find a quiet spot in the corner to stand alone and sip my drink, Alana approaches, and she looks hostile. It's adorable, really, that she will deny her feelings for me so vehemently but get so fucking jealous the first instant another woman shows an interest.

“Enjoying yourself?” Alana asks, and her voice is sharp enough to cut me in two.

“Immensely,” I say, leaning against the wall and crossing my arms. “Vera’s very… attentive.”

“She’s a vulture,” Alana snaps, then catches herself. She takes a breath and smooths her expression, but it’s too late. I already saw what I wanted to see.

“Jealous, Princess?”

“Don’t call me that.” Alana steps closer, invading my space. I can smell her perfume, that subtle vanilla that makes me want to bury my face in her neck. “I don’t care who you flirt with. We established that this morning. We’re nothing, remember?”

“You established it,” I correct her. “I just didn’t tell you you're wrong. Oh, wait. I did.”

“Shut up. It's the same thing.”

“Is it?” I push off the wall, backing her up a few steps. We’re hidden here, in the shadows where no one can see us, and I let my hand come up to rest on the wall beside her head. “Alana, you’re looking at me right now like you want to scratch Vera’s eyes out. Do you want to mark me as yours so every other woman in that room knows to back off?”

Alana swallows hard, and I watch her throat work. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” I lean in closer and say, “Then why are your hands shaking? Why can't you stop staring at me?"

Alana’s eyes drop to my lips before she can stop them, and when they rise back to mine, they’re dark and furious and wanting. “You’re an asshole,” she whispers.

“Probably,” I agree. “But I’m an asshole who wants you to admit that last night at that cabin meant something."

Alana is breathing hard now, and it draws my eyes downward to the dip of cleavage on her chest. “I don’t want you,” Alana lies, and it sounds ridiculously false.

“Bullshit.” I want to touch her but I can't. “You want me so bad you can taste it. You’re just too scared to take it.”

“And you’re not scared?” Alana challenges, her eyes flashing. “You’re standing here risking everything, just to tease me about some blonde bimbo?”