ELENA DUVAL
I slammed the door of the SUV closed, as I got out of the backseat with Dimitri. We arrived at Portland some minutes ago and drove straight to one of Dimitri's penthouses.
I was taking in my surroundings when I felt Dimitri's hand around my waist, and his lips almost pressed against the shell of my ears.
“Is something wrong?” The hot whisper of his breath made me tilt my head a little to him, inhaling his masculine clean skin and getting a whiff of the scotch he'd been drinking on the plane from his breath.
I shook my head, and he gave my waist a little squeeze before grabbing my suitcase from the truck and we headed inside. It was a three-story suite, and we took the elevator, heading to the top floor. Dimitri had some men guarding the front house and many more filled the
