Page 23 of Power's Fall

He groaned to himself when he realized exactly how much time remained between now and when he could freely—and safely—take them to his bed. Vadisk’s balls would be tinted a permanent blue before the three of them could consummate this marriage.

As Vadisk lay there, he came up with a million different ways he could have approached them and their unexpected union better. Instead, he’d taken the path of most resistance, acting like a miserable asshole right out of the gate, bickering with Montana over every little thing and failing to comfort Dahlia the way he’d wanted to after she told them about her failing vision.

It had taken everything he had not to reach out to grasp her hand, but to do so would have been a monumental mistake if someone was watching. And while he hadn’t seen anyone in the surrounding area or found any cameras or bugs in the villa, Vadisk was still cautious enoughandsmart enough to know someone was most definitely watching them.

Too much was riding on them completing this mission successfully, and not just in terms of them catching the blackmailer and figuring out how he or she knew about the Masters’ Admiralty. Failure wouldn’t just put the Masters’ Admiralty at risk; it could very well put his, Montana’s, and Dahlia’s lives at risk. Crimea was swarming with people who wouldn’t hesitate to bring them down should their duplicity be discovered, and considering the current state of the world, the Russian government didn’t need to look too hard for a reason to detain, or even eliminate, AmericansorUkrainians.

They couldn’t let their guard down. Not for a single second.

When it became obvious sleep wasn’t coming, Vadisk rose from the bed and pulled on a pair of lounge pants. Making his way to the large sliding glass door in his room, he stepped out onto the terrace that spanned the entire side of the villa for some fresh air.

Glancing down at the pool, he jerked back, every part of him coming to attention as he quickly glanced over his shoulder for a weapon.

Someone was standing on the patio.

Stealing another glimpse, it took several seconds for his ready-for-battle brain to process that there was no threat.

It was Dahlia.

Apparently, she was struggling to sleep as well. Her back was toward him as she looked across the pool and down over the mountainside to the moonlight reflected on the Black Sea. She was barefoot and wearing a thin cotton robe over her pajama shorts and T-shirt. Her attire was more functional than sexy. Not that his libido was registering that.

Dahlia, his wife, was a very beautiful woman. She tied the belt of her robe, and his gaze slid over her generous curves, her hourglass shape. She’d pulled her hair up in a short ponytail, though several strands had escaped and were curling around her shoulders.

Vadisk imagined himself stepping up behind her, wrapping his arms around her tiny waist as she tilted her head, allowing him to run his lips and tongue along her delicate neck before lifting his hands to cup her breasts. His cock thickened at the thought.

“Shit,” he whispered, aware he’d done what he’d just told himself he couldn’t. He’d allowed himself to be distracted by her. He issued his dick the old “down boy,” shutting away the image of the two of them together.

Once his arousal was under control again, his inner soldier took over, telling him to get down there and drag her ass back inside. It wasn’t safe for her to be outside alone, and he intended to make sure she realized that.

Before he took a single step, Montana walked out of the villa and joined her.

It looked like none of them were getting any sleep tonight.

Vadisk remained where he was, aware he was hidden from their view, as the shadows cast by nearby trees left the part of the terrace where he stood in relative darkness, concealing him.

“Can’t sleep?” he heard Montana say softly.

The way Dahlia startled slightly, quickly raising her hands to her eyes before turning around, told Vadisk she’d been crying. He hadn’t even noticed.

His chest grew tight at the thought—and the realization—that he was most likely responsible for those tears.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said, her thick voice also betraying the tears she’d shed.

“Dahlia?” Montana stepped closer, his hands landing on her shoulders. He studied her face for a moment before cupping her cheek with one hand. “Are you crying?”

“No.” She shook her head hastily, even though there was enough proof to the contrary. “I don’t cry.”

Montana tipped her face upward with a finger under her chin. “What’s wrong?”

Dahlia turned her head away, swiping her eyes once more. “God. I hate crying. I never do it.” Her tone was suddenly angry, and it was clear she was pissed off at herself for the moment of weakness.

Montana remained close, though Vadisk thought he saw a ghost of a smile on the other man’s face in the light. “You hate it, huh?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m usually better at controlling my emotions. I shouldn’t have let this get to me.”

Vadisk mentally corrected her statement, changingthistohim.He’dgotten to her by acting like a petulant child, kicking his feet over the prospect of having to uproot his life in Ukraine. Maybe if he explained what the hell was happening with his admiral, his certainty that if he wasn’t there she might not survive, they’d understand.

“There’s nothing wrong with crying, Dahlia. My mom loves a good cry. Says it’s cleansing. Sometimes she goes out of her way to do it, putting on sad movies just to get the tears out.”

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