Page 50 of Masked Seduction

“I’ve noticed.”

Her mouth is so close. I tilt her chin and press a kiss to her lips—soft at first, but she meets me with more. Hunger flares instantly. My hand slips beneath her blouse, finding the smoothskin along her hips. She sighs, melting into my touch. The other hand traces up, fingers sliding under her bra to cup her breast. She gasps into my mouth, her body pressing against mine, wanting more. I can feel her heat, the ache, the need in her breathless little moans. I could take her again so easily

She bites my lip lightly. “We’re really about to do this again?”

“Apparently so.”

As I brush my thumb over her nipple she arches into me. And then?—

Knock-knock.

We both freeze.

It’s sharp. Purposeful. Not like a staff member’s knock.

Her eyes widen. “No one should be here. The phone didn’t ring. There hasn’t been a call to let anyone up. Staff’s not in yet.”

I pull back from her slowly and move toward the desk, opening the top drawer. My Glock is in there—always. Just in case. I lift it out and tuck it against my back.

“Go to the far wall.”

She nods then moves, watching me with wide eyes.

I cross to the door and unlock it. I open it fast.

And curse.

Standing there, poised like a goddamn storm in stilettos, is a nightmare from my past.

“Hello, Abram.”

CHAPTER 18

JENNA

Islap a hand over my mouth to keep from yelping.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I scramble, snatching up my skirt and my heels—grateful I’d already put my bra and blouse back on. I duck behind the couch out of view of the door, wriggling back into my clothes with shaky fingers. I smooth my blouse, slide my heels back on, and practically crawl to the mirror beside the bookcase.

My reflection stares back at me—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, pupils far too wide. I look like a woman who just got thoroughly, unapologetically railed. I dab at my mouth, swipe under my eyes. My hair’s a mess. I fix my ponytail with trembling fingers.

I strain to hear the conversation taking place near the door.

“Well. That’s quite the welcome. Is that a gun tucked into your waistband or are you just thrilled to see me?” The woman’s voice is velvet-lined steel. Unmistakably Russian. Like a Bond villainess.

Abram replies, his voice colder than I’ve ever heard it. “Daria. You don’t show up unannounced. You know that.”

I exhale and gather myself, then step forward.

She’s still in the doorway, leaning slightly into his space with a smirk that says she believes she’s superior to most. Her beauty is otherworldly—long legs in sleek black trousers, blood-red lips, raven hair pinned back in a neat bun.

Her nails are like claws. Her blouse is silk, open at the collar. Her eyes—icy blue, but colder than Abram’s—fix on me like a hawk spotting a mouse.

She narrows them. “Who are you?”

Before I can answer, Abram steps between us, his tone sharp. “Show a little respect.”