Page 49 of Betrayal and Vows

I push inside with one powerful thrust. Her mouth falls open. I’m so fucking hard for the woman, I’m going to embarrass myself. I only get three thrusts before she’s soaking me with her climax.

It triggers my own and in the back of my mind, I’m laughing at myself.

Three pump chump.

That’s what Dmitri would say.

Footsteps echo in the hallway outside.

I jerk back, both of us breathing hard. Her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed. She looks thoroughly kissed and completely beautiful.

"Fix your hair," I command quietly, zipping up my pants. "And your lipstick."

She rushes into the adjoining bathroom.

The footsteps pass by her door without stopping.

Five minutes later, she returns to the room wearing a pair of jeans, knee-high boots and a black top with shoulder cutouts. She’s put her hair up and lip gloss on those swollen lips.

"This has to stop," I say, though my voice lacks conviction.

"I know."

She walks toward me, her eyes locked on mine.

Her hand brushes across my chest. "But I can't. Not yet."

We step out of her room. Dmitri is there with a look of irritation.

I say nothing and walk right by him.

Lena is back to her bratty persona, bitching as she walks to the sitting room.

I’m going to tell her to chill on the brat thing. It’s annoying.

The next three hours are hell.

Too many faces. Too many variables. Every person who steps onto this property is a potential assassin. I don’t know what is worse—watching Lena complain about flower colors or watching the steady stream of strangers crowd into the sitting room.

I’m cataloging threats with the precision of a man preparing for war.

Every one of these fuckers has managed to get past security, but I don’t trust them. It’s easy to pretend to be something you’re not.

Lena is proof of that.

The wedding planner breezes through the door in a tight pencil skirt and heels that look lethal. I watch her and Lena kiss each other’s cheeks before they sit down. She's brought a shadow. A tall, thin man with dark hair and nervous eyes carrying a leather portfolio.

I don’t like him.

"Lena, darling, this is Marcus, my new assistant. He'll be helping with the final details."

I step forward before the stranger can get within ten feet of her. "Stop."

Marcus freezes, his portfolio clutched against his chest like a shield. The wedding planner's smile falters.

"Excuse me?" she stammers.

"Who the fuck is he?" I direct the question at the planner but keep my eyes locked on Marcus. Something about him sets my teeth on edge. Maybe it's the way he won't make eye contact. Maybe it's how his hands shake slightly as he grips that portfolio.