Page 128 of Cognac Villain

As I approach the dancefloor, flashing lights twirl, momentarily blinding me. Then I see them.

Anya. Jorden. A few of my sister’s friends. They’re dancing in a circle in the middle of the floor.

No Cora, though.

I scan the crowd for her face. There’s no possible way she would blend in, I know that. The day we spent in bed together has made me a bloodhound for her. I’m positive I’d be able to pick her out of a crowd…but she isn’t here.

Just as a knot forms in my chest, I feel a hand on my arm.

I turn and look down at Francia. She’s holding a drink in one hand. Unlike the other women in the group, who I can see are glistening with sweat from here, Francia looks like she hasn’t spent much time on the dancefloor.

“I heard you were barred from the festivities tonight.”

“I heard this was supposed to be a small gathering,” I retort.

She grimaces. “So did we all. Your sister knows how to throw a party, that’s for sure.”

I don’t want to chit-chat. The last thing I need right now is to entangle my life even further with Cora’s. Once this is over, she and Francia and Jorden will all be out of my life. I don’t care whether they like me and I don’t need to get to know them.

I’m about to ask Francia where Cora is when she hands her drink to a passing busser and turns to me. “Care to dance?”

I arch a brow. “I’d tell you I’m engaged, but you already know that.”

“I didn’t figure that would matter,” she says. “It didn’t stop your fiancée.”

I frown as Francia points to the opposite side of the dance floor. To one of the private alcoves that ring the main space.

It’s a dark room, especially since it’s tucked behind the lights that strobe down on the dancefloor. But I can still make out the familiar shape of Cora. Her golden brown hair. The curve of her hip.

And a hand touching that hip…

My eyes sear up the arm of the man with his hand on my woman. When I see his pale face, practically translucent in the flashing lights, I don’t hesitate.

I tear past Francia and make my way across the room…

On a collision course with Mikhail Sokolov.

65

CORA

FIFTEEN MINUTES EARLIER

“I haven’t seen a waitress in way too long.” Francia grabs her clutch and stands up. “I’m going to brave the line at the bar.”

I start to stand up. “I’ll come with you.”

“That’s okay. I don’t want to lose this table. If we stand up, someone is going to jump on top of it.”

She’s not wrong; I’m just not sure I care anymore. Maybe the people on top of the tables have the right idea. It sure looks like they’re having fun. The ground floor is a touch less exciting.

“Maybe we could go dance or something. I’m tired of sitting here—”

“Okay, thanks! I’ll be right back!” Francia shouts, giving me a thumbs up. I can tell she didn’t hear a thing I said.

She heads towards the bar, and I slouch down in my seat.

When Anya first suggested the idea, I didn’t imagine dancing the night away in a crowd of strangers, but I didn’t imagine babysitting the table by myself all night, either.

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