Chapter 4

Alexander's POV

My private jet had just landed in Los Angeles a few minutes ago, and my assistant had called the hotel he'd booked down before my arrival, informing them of my presence. 

The hotel hallway stretches before me, dimly lit and quiet. I've just stepped out of the elevator, my mind already cataloguing the mountain of work waiting in my suite and my first meeting with the board of directors tomorrow morning when something catches my attention.

Two men are half-dragging a woman between them. Her head hangs loosely, dark hair cascading over her face, and her legs kicking weakly. One of the men has his thick arm wrapped around her waist while the other grips her wrist with unnecessary force.

I should keep walking. I have enough problems waiting for me that required me to return to Los Angeles without adding someone else's drama to the list. Yet something about the scene makes my jaw clench and my feet slow to a stop.

The woman whimpers— a soft, broken sound that sends a jolt of protectiveness through me that I don't understand.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, my fingers curling into fists.

I turn away, forcing myself to continue toward my suite. It's not my business. She probably drank too much at the hotel bar and these are her friends helping her back to her room. 

I swipe my keycard and push open the door to the royal suite, but I can't shake the image of her struggling weakly against those men. Something feels wrong. The way they were looking around nervously, the way they were practically dragging her. 

“Shit!”  I hiss, letting the door slam shut behind me as I stride back into the hallway.

They haven't gotten far. I close the distance between us in several long strides, my presence commanding enough that they both freeze.

“Hey!” My voice cuts through the silence like a whip.

Up close, I can see them clearly now, rough-looking men with cheap suits and cheaper cologne. The woman between them is barely conscious, her skin flushed and clammy, her breathing shallow. This isn't someone who drank too much. This is someone who's been drugged.

“Back off,” the larger one growls, trying to assert dominance.

I don't give him the chance. My fist connects with his jaw before he can finish his threat. The sound of knuckles meeting bone echoes in the hallway, and he stumbles backward with a grunt of pain, clutching his face.

The second man's eyes widen with fear. He releases the woman's wrist and grabs his partner. “Let's get out of here!”

They scramble away, leaving her crumpled against the wall. I catch her before she can slide to the floor, her body collapsing against mine with a soft gasp. She's lighter than I expected, her frame delicate in my arms.

“You're safe now,” I murmur, adjusting my grip so she's cradled against my chest.

Her eyelids flutter, revealing stunning ocean-blue eyes glazed with confusion and fear. She tries to speak, but only a whimper escapes her lips. I press my fingers against her neck, checking her pulse, it's racing, too fast, too erratic.

Drugged! She's definitely drugged!

“What's your room number?” I ask, keeping my voice steady even as anger burns in my chest at whoever did this to her.

She doesn't respond. Instead, she nuzzles closer to me, her face pressing against my shirt, seeking comfort or warmth or something I can't quite understand. Her scent— sweet and intoxicating fills my senses, making my heart rate pick up in a way I don't appreciate.

I sigh heavily. I can't leave her in the hallway, and I certainly can't take her to her room when I don't know which one it is. That leaves only one option.

The walk back to my suite feels longer than it should. She shifts in my arms, her fingers clutching weakly at my shirt, and I become acutely aware of every point where her body touches mine. The curve of her waist. The softness of her skin. The way her breath fans against my neck.

Focus, Alexander. She needs help, not your wandering thoughts.

I shoulder open the door to my suite and carry her to the bedroom, laying her down gently on the massive bed. The white sheets contrast beautifully with her dark hair, which spreads across the pillow like silk.

Her hand shoots out, wrapping around my wrist with surprising strength for someone in her condition. 

“Please…” She whispers, her voice thick with whatever drug is coursing through her system. “Can you... touch me?”

My breath catches in my throat. Her eyes, those mesmerizing blue eyes, lock onto mine with a desperation that makes something in my chest tighten. She tugs me closer, and I find myself leaning down, my face mere inches from hers.

“You don't know what you're saying,” I tell her firmly, even as my resolve begins to crack. “You're not in your right mind.”

“Please,” she whispers again, and before I can stop her, she pulls me down.

Our lips meet, and it's like a spark igniting dry kindling. She kisses me with a hunger that catches me completely off guard, her fingers threading through my hair, pulling me closer. I should pull away, but my vision blurs suddenly, and the room tilts. I catch myself on the bed, my arms bracketing her body, confusion flooding my mind.

What the hell is happening to me?

My thoughts become hazy, fragmented. The edges of my control slip away.  I try to focus, to think clearly, but all I can process is the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin under my hands, the soft sounds she makes as I kiss her deeper.

Fuck. I've been drugged too.

The realization should terrify me, but my body no longer listens to reason. My hands move of their own accord, tracing the curve of her jaw, sliding down her neck. She arches into my touch, a soft moan escaping her lips that sends fire racing through my veins.

“You're so beautiful,” I murmur against her skin, my lips trailing kisses down her throat. 

Her pulse flutters wildly beneath my mouth, and I can feel her trembling, whether from the drug or from my touch, I can't tell.

She pulls at my shirt, her fingers fumbling with the buttons. I help her, shrugging out of it and tossing it aside. Her hands explore my chest, her touch leaving trails of heat in its wake. I capture her lips again, kissing her with an intensity that surprises even me.

Every rational thought in my head screams at me to stop, but my body refuses to listen. I've never felt this way before, this desperate, aching need that drowns out everything else. She responds to every touch, every kiss, her body moving against mine in a rhythm that feels both foreign and familiar.

I should feel guilty, but all I feel is the softness of her skin and the warmth of her breath. 

Her dress slides off easily under my trembling hands, and I pause, giving her one last chance to stop this.

“Are you sure?” I whisper against her lips, even though my body is screaming for her.

“Please,” she breathes, pulling me closer. “Don't stop.”

I take my time exploring every inch of her, memorizing the curves of her body, the way she responds to my touch. When I finally position myself between her thighs, she tenses slightly, and I slow down, confused by her reaction.

“I will be gently,” I murmur, pressing gentle kisses along her jaw. 

As I push forward slowly, carefully, she gasps, a sharp intake of breath that makes me freeze. Something feels different. The resistance I encounter, the way she grips my shoulders with her nails digging in, the tears that slip from the corners of her eyes despite the drug-induced haze.

“Fuck,” I breathe, realization dawning even through my clouded mind. She's a virgin.

The thought should make me stop. But the way she wraps her legs around me and whispers ‘please’ against my neck, destroys any remaining shred of control I have left.

I move slowly at first, letting her adjust, murmuring soothing words against her skin even as my body burns with need. Soon, her initial discomfort gives way to pleasure, and she moves with me, her soft moans filling the room.

The night blurs into a haze of sensation. Her fingers digging into my shoulders. The taste of her skin. The sound of her breathing, ragged and desperate. The way she clings to me like I'm the only solid thing in a spinning world. The way our bodies move together in perfect rhythm, like we were made for this moment.

I take her twice more throughout the night, each time slower, more deliberate, wanting to memorize every sound she makes, every way her body responds to mine. By the time exhaustion finally claims us both, she's curled against my chest, her breathing even and peaceful.

****

The sharp ringing of my phone pierces through the fog of sleep, dragging me back to consciousness. I groan, my head pounding as I reach blindly for my phone on the nightstand.

The woman beside me stirs slightly, her dark hair spilling across the pillow, her face peaceful in sleep. My chest tightens as memories crash over me. The drugged woman, the way she kissed me, the way I completely lost control.

Fuck. What have I done?

My phone continues its relentless ringing. I finally locate it and see my cousin Marcus's name flashing on the screen. I answer with a growl, my voice rough with sleep. 

“What?”

“It's your sister, Alex.” Marcus's voice is strained, panicked. “She's been hit by a car. It's really bad. You need to get to the hospital now.”

Ice floods my veins, replacing the warmth that had been there moments before.

“What?!” I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my heart pounding. “Which hospital?”

As Marcus rattles off the details, I'm already moving. I grab my pants from the chair where they'd been discarded in last night's haze and yank them on, my hands shaking. 

I button my shirt with fumbling fingers, my mind racing between last night and the emergency I'm rushing toward. I snatch my watch from the nightstand, and my eyes land on the woman still sleeping peacefully in my bed.

Everything in me wants to stay. To wait for her to wake up. To explain, to apologize, to make sense of what happened. But I can't. My sister needs me.

I pull out my wallet and extract one of my personal business cards with only my phone number embossed in silver. I place it carefully on the nightstand where she'll see it when she wakes.

“I have to leave now,” I whisper, even though she can't hear me. “But I hope call me. Please.”

I take one last look at her, knowing she has carved herself a place in my thoughts. I step out of the room, giving my assistant a call to check on her later. 

I can't let her go after what just happend.