Page 17 of Vendetta Vows

How much I want him.

The dress pools around my waist now, his hands exploring the newly revealed skin of my shoulders, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts. Each touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake.

"Still want to say I'm a good girl?" I breathe, meaning it in a way I never have before.

My hand reaches its destination and cups him through his pants. Ruslan groans in response, and the sound sends satisfaction coursing through me.

I feel powerful, wanted, and above all else…

Safe.

"Never," he praises, his lips capturing mine again.

I grip him more firmly, relishing his sharp intake of breath.

A loud, insistent knock at the door shatters the moment. We break apart, both breathing heavily.

I pull my dress back up as Ruslan stands up with an annoyed grunt. My fingers fumble with the zipper, heart racing from both desire and panic.

Ugh!

Of all the times for an interruption...

Ruslan straightens his shirt, runs a hand through his slightly disheveled hair, and strides to the door. The second he cracks it open, a blur of gold sequins and perfume shoves past him.

"Mr. Dragunov." The security guard looks uncomfortable. "I apologize for the interruption, but?—"

"But I insisted." A woman slides past him, her gold sequined dress catching the light. Even slightly disheveled, there's no mistaking Sienna Voss. Her face has been on every magazine cover this year.

"Ruslan." Her voice is controlled but her eyes are hard as they move from him to me, assessing and dismissing in one practiced sweep. "Your security has become very obstructive these days. Almost as if they've been ordered to keep me away."

"Sienna." Ruslan stands, putting himself between us. "We've discussed this. Any professional matters need to go through?—"

"Professional matters?" She laughs, the sound brittle. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Her gaze shifts to me, a predatory smile forming. "And who's this? Another 'professional matter'?"

"Enough." Ruslan's voice drops to a dangerous register. "You're drunk, Sienna."

"Observant as always." She pulls out her phone, her movement casual and fluid.

Before any of us can react, she snaps a photo, the sound of the shutter as loud as a gunshot.

"How precious." She smiles, examining the screen. "I'm thinking this would make an excellent Instagram story. 'Ruslan moves on quickly.' Or should I tag you instead?" She looks at me. "What's your handle, sweetie?"

My blood turns to ice. "Delete that," I manage, my voice strangled.

"Or what?" She raises an eyebrow, thumbs already moving across the screen.

I lunge forward, reaching for the phone. Sienna steps back, surprised by my reaction.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, little bitch?" She snaps at me.

"Please," I plead with her, panic seeping into my voice. "Delete that photo."

"No, I don't think I will." Her smile turns nasty. "In fact, I think I'll post it right now."

"Sienna, you know the rules here," Ruslan's voice is iron hard now in a tone that brooks no argument. "Delete it. Now. Or you'll never work another day in this town again."

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