Sinful Seduction
Then she saw the girl.
Liana stood beneath the largest print in the show, a ten-foot-tall image of herself sprawled across white silk, thighs open, fingers buried between them, head thrown back in a silent scream of release. In the photograph her eyes were half-lidded, lips parted, skin flushed rose and gold. In the flesh she wore a slip of silver fabric that barely qualified as a dress, nipples dark against the thin material, legs endless. She was staring at the image of herself the way someone might stare at a lover caught in the act: possessive, angry, aroused.
Elena’s pulse kicked hard. She crossed the room, heels silent on the polished concrete.
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