Page 58 of Savage Vows
I push to my feet, pulse jumping. “What are you doing here?”
He leans against the frame, gaze sweeping over me—taking in my bare feet, the mess of my hair, the flush on my cheeks. “When else,” he says, his voice low and rough, “am I going to find this house empty, except for you?”
Heat flares through me—pure, electric, dangerous.
He lets the door fall shut behind him. The click is soft, but it feels final. For a moment neither of us moves. The air is heavy, charged. He looks at me like he’s just barely restraining himself, and for the first time all night, I want to be caught.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, but my voice betrays me.
Dante’s mouth curves into a smile, slow and predatory. “Convince me to leave.”
I don’t. I can’t.
16
DANTE
Aleksandrand I are standing near the gallery, half watching the crowd, half pretending not to size each other up, when Adriana walks past us. She looks determined, focused on the exit, not even glancing my way.
“Adriana,” I call after her.
She doesn’t even turn her head. I watch her disappear into the crowd, the back of her dress catching the light for just a second.
Aleksandr follows my gaze, that smug little grin forming on his lips. “She always leave parties early, or just the ones with you in them?”
I give him a flat look. “She’s not your business.”
He shrugs, rolling his shoulders. “I didn’t say she was. But if she were mine, I’d make sure she wasn’t running off alone.”
The dig lands, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Before I can reply, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
It’s Oleg:Boss. Mrs. Volkova says she isn’t feeling well, wants to go home. Should I let her?
I glance again at the door, but she’s already gone.
Yeah. Take her home.
Aleksandr raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “See? If you blink, you’ll miss her.”
I force a smile. “She knows how to take care of herself.”
He clinks his glass against mine. “Let’s hope so. Otherwise, these parties get awfully dull.”
He turns away before I can answer, already moving toward the bar. For a moment, I just stand there, hands in my pockets, trying not to show that I care more than I should.
All I can think about is her—walking out on her own, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the questions in her eyes.
She’s up to some kind of trouble; I can feel it.
I try to focus on the noise and the networking, but my mind keeps drifting back to Adriana. I can’t help it. I picture her slipping out the door, shoulders tense, jaw set—like she was running from something, or maybe toward it.
I’m done. Whatever this party was supposed to be, it’s over for me.
I set down my half-empty drink and start for the door. Aleksandr catches my movement, one eyebrow raised, that sly grin back in place. “Early night, Volkov?”
“Something like that,” I mutter.
He smirks. “Send her my regards.”
