Page 18 of Beautiful Cruelty

"Lacey McKinney," I manage, trying not to fidget under her appraising gaze.

"Irina Vorobyov." Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows rise and she takes a delicate sip of wine.

"Vorobyov? As in… are you related to Savin?"

“I am. And if it weren't for this man right here." She gestures to Vadim. "Daddy's final collection would never have seen the light of day." She leans forward conspiratorially. "So tell me, how do you know the savior of my family?"

"Actually, it's kind of funny..." I glance at Vadim, who's watching me with that knowing smirk. "I accidentally took his dry cleaning instead of mine."

"You should see her work," Vadim cuts in smoothly. "She has quite the eye for composition and staging that gives everything an impeccably intimate sensuality."

My face burns as I catch his hidden meaning. I want to sink into my chair and disappear.

“Really?” Irina's eyes light up with interest. "Are you a photographer when you're not catering?"

"More of a designer, actually," I mumble, fiddling with the edge of my uniform.

"Vadim has always had excellent taste." Irina's hand slides across the table to rest on Vadim's forearm. "In fashion. In business. In everything really."

Something hot and uncomfortable twists in my stomach as I watch her perfectly manicured fingers stroke his sleeve. The way she's looking at him, all bedroom eyes and knowing smiles.

I grip my champagne glass tighter, surprised by the surge of jealousy coursing through me.What right do I have to feel this way?

Vadim's eyes flick to mine, and his lips curve up slightly. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

"Would you care to dance, Lacey?" He stands abruptly, holding out his hand to me.

"I can't." I gesture at my uniform. "I told you, five minutes max. I need to get back to work. If my boss finds out…"

His eyes gleam with amusement. "Who do you think is paying for this entire event?"

My mouth drops open.

"That's right,zvyozdochka," he confirms, his hand still extended toward me. "Technically, I'm your boss this evening."

My heart thunders as Vadim guides me onto the dance floor. The weight of a hundred stares prickles across my skin—expensive dresses and perfectly coiffed hair swishing as heads turn to watch one of the caterers dancing withhim.

"Everyone's staring," I whisper, shrinking into myself.

"Let them." His hand slides to my lower back, pulling me closer. "Look at me,zvyozdochka. And only me."

The first notes of a slow song fill the air. Vadim's other hand captures mine, and suddenly we're moving. His touch is firm but gentle as he leads me through the steps.

"That photo you sent," he murmurs against my ear, his voice thicker and rougher. "Do you know what it did to me?"

Heat floods my core, and I confess. "No."

"Seeing you spread open like that, wearing nothing but my jacket..." His thumb traces circles on my back. "I wanted to taste every inch of you."

I press closer and my breasts brushes against his chest through the thin fabric of my shirt. His cologne wraps around me, spicy and intoxicating, and makes my head swim with desire. The warmth of his body pours into mine, and I find myself craving more.

More of his touch. More of his whispers. More of him telling me how he wants to taste me.

But I don't want him to just taste.

I want him to devour.

The music swells around us as my mind races with possibilities. His hands are so warm, so steady against my back, and I can't stop thinking about what those fingers could do to me. How they'd feel sliding up my thighs, teasing me open.

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