I barely drink. First, because it takes all of one glass of wine to make me giggly, and two to get me falling down drunk. But also because I don’t like the loss of control that comes with alcohol. It’s another of the things that my friends love to tease me about, especially Milena, who’s also Russian, and always jokingly threatens to “revoke my Russian card”.
But when in Hell, act the part.
A sharp cry yanks my head around, my eyes bulging when they land on the woman who just uttered it. She’s on her knees, straddling one guy who is madly thrusting up into her pussy. A second man crouches over her, and when I realize what he’s doing andwherehe’s putting his…thing…my blood turns to fire.
At the SAME time??
Holy moley.
I take another quick, tiny sip of vodka, ignoring the burning as best I can, hoping the liquor will at least take me down a notch from freaking out to just plain anxious. Right now, I’m so out of my element that I’m not sure I could even speak one word to Vaughn.
But I have to.
You do what you have to for family.
I take one more awful sip of vodka, then turn my gaze back toward Vaughn.
Crap.
The chair by the fireplace is now empty. I dart my eyes around the room, vainly trying to spot him.
Shoot shoot shoot.
What if he left? Or what if hedidn't, but it turns out he’s ditched his clothes to become one of the exhibitionists getting his freak on in front of everyone? What am I going to do, walk up and tap his shoulder while he’s screwing someone and ask for a moment of his time?
My pulse starts to jangle in wild, uneven staccato beats. My palms turn slick again as anxiety claws and twists inside me, laughing.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my breath coming too quickly as my heart begins to crawl up into my throat.
“I just have one question.”
Gasping, I whirl toward the deep, smooth and yet venomous baritone behind me. Then I go still.
It’s him.
Vaughn.
My whole world narrows until all I see is his icy blue eyes piercing into me like twin blades from behind his mask. His chiseled, hewn jawline. His regal nose and perfect lips, which are vaguely curled into a hint of an amused yet cruel smile as he towers a foot over me.
“Whatare you doing here?” he purrs in that same even-toned, deep baritone with a touch of smoke and rasp at the edges of it. The timbre is so unapologetically in control, and his scent—a slight spice, mixed with a clean earthiness—is so deeply masculine that I feel my skin start to tingle, as if I’m standing too close to the sun or a god.
…Or a devil.
Every survival instinct tells me to turn andrun. To put as much distance between myself and thisinsaneidea as possible and then spend the rest of my life forgetting I was ever stupid enough to even consider it.
But something tells me he wouldn’t let me get far.
So I swallow, take a slow breath, then force a calmness that I don’t remotely feel into my voice as I smile.
“Mr. Bancroft.” I dip my chin gracefully. “Such a pleasure to meet you. My name is Vivian?—”
My brain shuts off even before my throat realizes it’s being squeezed. My eyes bulge, my mouth dropping open in a horrified“O” as Vaughn’s large, strong hand wraps around my throat andtightens.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,Evelina…”
The floor drops out from under me. My heart stops beating.
“Whatthe fuckare you doing here?”
