Page 11 of Vendetta Vows

I watch the neon lights slide across Ruslan's profile, highlighting the strong line of his jaw. He catches me looking, and I quickly turn away.

"You're quiet now," Ruslan says, his voice filling the intimate space. "Lost your critical spirit already?"

His cologne, carrying subtle notes of mahogany and cedarwood, mingles with the leather seats. The scent caresses me, heating my skin despite the cool air blowing from the vents.

"Still can't believe I'm not fired." I twist my hands in my lap. "After what I said about your movie to your face."

Ruslan chuckles, the sound deep and rich. When he glances at me, the passing streetlights illuminate the gold in his eyes.

"It's refreshing, actually." His fingers tap the steering wheel, drawing my attention to his tattooed hands framed by his expensive cuffs. "Most people just tell me what they think I want to hear."

"Trust me, if I had known who you were, I would have been way more discreet."

"And that would have been a tremendous loss."

As we drive through the hills, his hand moves from the gearshift to rest casually between us on the center console. A neutral gesture, neither demanding nor retreating. My fingers rest inches from his. I can close the distance in a heartbeat if I want.

And Idowant. But the tiny little voice of caution that's always whispering in the back of my head keeps my hand still, even as my heart throbs at my throat.

I study him for a moment longer, and then finally admit. "I don't usually get into cars with men I've just met."

"Yet here you are." His eyes meet mine. "What made you say yes?"

The question catches me off guard with its directness. "I'm not entirely sure," I admit. "Maybe I'm tired of saying no to everything."

"I understand that feeling." His expression becomes more serious. "Saying no keeps you safe."

"But it also keeps you lonely," I whisper, surprising myself with the admission.

A ghost of a smile graces his lips. "That it does."

Something about the way he says it makes me think he's being more than just observant.

He's speaking from experience.

Just like he did about trauma.

He shifts the gears with casual elegance, and my mind wanders, imagining those hands shifting something else entirely.

Maybe sliding up my thigh instead of the gearshift.

I blink the thought away before my face betrays me.

The car stops at a red light, and he turns to face me fully. "I'm curious if you're about to do any other things you don't usually do tonight.”

I muster a small laugh. "I think you might be disappointed."

"Really?" His smile is devastating in profile. "Did you forget the part where you stole the script and were hiding in the alley reading it? Not exactly risk-averse behavior."

"You're right." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, surprised by my own boldness. "Guess I'm not the good girl everyone thinks I am."

His laugh fills the car. It sounds warm, rich, and completely disarming. "For the record, I never saw you as a good girl."

The way he says it makes heat bloom across my skin. His fingers drum against the steering wheel. The motion draws my attention to the intricate tattoos curving across his knuckles.

"Then what did you see?" I ask, my voice softer than intended.

The words slip from my lips so naturally, it's as if someone else is controlling them. Flirting? I don't flirt. I can't flirt.

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