Where The Spirit Meets The Bone

Fourteen: Aleksander Morozova

Fourteen

Aleksander Morozova

She was drunk. Drunk, and giggling, and practically falling into his lap. Alina, it turned out, could not hold her wine. "You know," she said, "you have really p-pr-pretty-hiccup-eyes-hiccup." Her chair had somehow made its way over to his side of the table. The food and drink had made her amiable, and she had started being chatty.

They had talked about the orphanage, about her time at boarding school including a story involving Nikolai and a goat. One that he was going to remember to bring up to the annoying young Prince the next time that he saw him. He also knew that her favorite flowers were irises, and that she liked listening to some band called The Summers, and that her mother had been a devoted follower of The Sun Summoner saint and she wore her necklace around her neck all of the time.

"Well," he said, "your eyes are remarkably pretty too."

She blushed. "Thank you."

She reached out and placed a hand on his chest. Aleksander shivered at her touch. It had been a long time since he had shivered at anyone's chest. "Firm," she said, "you're very, very firm. Are you made of a rock?"

He laughed. "Muscle," he said.

"Can I see the rock?" she said. "I mean, the muscle. I'm certain that it's a very pretty muscle."

He stared at her. "You are drunk, Miss Starkov."

"How dare you! I am snot. Wait? No. That's not right. I am snot. Not. NOT!"

He shook his head. "Remind me never to serve you wine ever again."

Alina smacked her lips together. "I like the wine. It's sweet and bitter. Like you. Sweet and bitterrrrr."

She placed both of her hands on his chest. "Kiss me." Alina looked up at him, her eyes locked on his.

It would be so easy to sneak a kiss now. To taste her lips, still tasting, no doubt, of the sweet wine that she had drunk. But he needed a lifetime with her and he wouldn't get that if he took advantage of her in this state.

"No," he said, "I won't kiss you now."

Alina frowned. "You're forcing me to marry you, but you won't-hiccup-kiss-hiccup—me?"

"I won't kiss you because you're drunk," he said.

"I'm not runk," she said, "I'm rober. Rober. Sober."

She stood up then. "I am sober and to prove it to you I am going to storm off." She stood up, had taken a step, and before he knew what was happening, he watched as Alina tumbled to the ground.

"Alina!" he called out.

She crashed and hit the table as she fell, and a yelp escaped her lips. He bent down and stroked her forehead. She had a cut on her forehead, blood dripping down from it. And she was wincing in pain. "The floor fell," she said.

"I'm afraid that was you," he said, "come on, Sun Beam. We need to get you up. You've hurt your head. I'm going to pull you up slowly, okay?"

He gripped her hand, shivering again at her touch, and moaned.

"What was that?" she said.

"Nothing," he replied. "Come on. Let's get you up. I'm going to carry you to the car."

"I can----I can----what's the word?"

"Walk?" he offered.

"That!" Alina shouted a little too loudly.

"You just fell, you could have a concussion," he said, "and you're bleeding from the head. You can't walk. I'm carrying you."

He picked her up, carrying her bridal style, and he took her out of the restaurant ignoring the stares and the flashes from the paparazzi as he did so. The drive home was a long one, and Alina kept on trying to fall asleep.

"Stay awake, Miss Starkov," he said, "we need to make sure you don't have a concussion."

Her head lolled against his shoulder. "You're comfy," she said, "and you smell good."

He could feel his length tightening in his pants, and he let out another groan. He tensed. He was going to have a very, very long car ride. And then when he got home after he took care of her he was going to take a very, very long shower. "Alina," he said, "please be..."

"Aren't you the one who was talking about seduction?" she said. "And heirs? Seduce me, Lord Morozova. Weren't you the one that was talking about being in between my thighs? Touch me. Make me---"

She hiccupped again. Then her stomach gurgled. "I don't feel good."

And that was when she threw up on his shoes, making him wince. He drove home puke on his shoes and holding Alina's hair back.

"I don't like wine," Alina declared, and then she wiped a bit of puke off her lip and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Good, because I'm never giving you it again," he said.

"That I can agree on," she said, "that's a good rule. No wine for Alina. No matter how sweet it is."

The car pulled up to their home, and he carried Alina out of the car and up the stairs. He should have taken her to the room that Baghra had set up for her. But instead, he took her to his room, and placed her in his bed. He went and got the first aid kit he kept in the house and worked on bandaging her forehead. When he was done, he gave her a kiss on the head, and then he went and slept in his office. Because, apparently, he was a gentleman and an idiot who had turned down his beautiful fiancé when she had thrown herself at him.

It was no matter. They were going to have a lifetime together. And when he made love to her, he would do it the right way. With her wanting his every touch. No wine involved.