Page 40 of Ruined By the Enemy
Because there’s only one woman who could lie so cleanly, so completely.
Only one who would drop her last name and step willingly into the lion’s den—into my company—knowing exactly who I was, and what my family had lost because of hers.
Raff disappears into a sea of tailored suits and expensive perfume, and I drain the rest of my drink, heading toward the table reserved for Moretti Group.
But then something stops me. Or maybe someone. It carries through the air, a whiff of something that tugs and demands attention.
I turn, caught by a flicker of movement near the entrance, despite the number of people gathered close to the door.
And I see her.
Sophie walks in without a word, without fanfare, but still manages to shift the energy in the room.Maybenot the room, but I find myself unable to look anywhere but at her.
She’s wearing a deep emerald dress—not green, not quite black—but the kind of shade that looks darker depending on how the light hits it.
It hugs her frame like it was sewn next to her skin, the fabric liquid and smooth, catching in the soft golden glow of the chandeliers overhead.
Her hair falls in soft waves, pushed behind one ear, revealing a delicate earring that catches a pulse of light like a match striking in the dark.
And her lips are bare. No red, like the evening she walked into the restaurant. Just the natural flush of pink, like the tip of her ear when I kissed her skinthat night.
The same shade I remember blooming at the tip of her ear when I leaned in and kissed her skin that night.
I thought red felt like danger, fire ignited by gasoline.
Like the way my gaze couldn’t help but follow the subtle movement of her hand as she toyed with the edge of her glass, or the slow curve of her body when she leaned forward at the table, her neckline dipping just low enough to haunt me later.
But bare? It’s worse. It’s what she looked like when she had her guard down. When the lies slipped away, the only thing left between us was how much we wanted each other.
It reminds me of losing control.
She looks around, her gaze panning the tables before it settles on me. I see something unsure in them—vulnerable and unguarded—like she didn’t expect to find me looking at her.
Then she fixes it and strides across, holding her dress away from her heels with two fingers.
Before she gets to the table, I catch a whiff of caramel candy notes with vanilla and brown sugar, teasing my senses like the night at the bar.
Every night, every morning, every last moment spent near Sophie feels like it’s etched so deeply that my brain isn’t allowed to forget it.
Like a damned man dreaming of salvation while knowing it might be what kills him.
Finally, she gets to me. Her lashes are darker, with a shade of black drawn over them. She looks up at me, and in a voice that sounds nothing professional, she murmurs breathily and low,
“I’m sorry I’m late. My best friend had an emergency and I had to help her. I didn’t miss anything, did I?”
“No,” I shake my head, possessed by the sudden urge to reach for my tie and tug it loose. “You didn’t. I would’ve expected you to show up on time anyway, but we can make allowances for such situations.”
She sighs softly, a smile creeping across her mouth and fading away. “Thank you.”
Then she turns and reaches for two drinks from the passing waiter. I watch her fingers wrap delicately around the stems, and my gaze drops, lingering as she sinks into the chair with slow, deliberate poise.
It’s almost sinful.
My mind races, my thoughts go south.Would she still be this composed if I kissed her?I’ve seen how her eyes roll back and watched her legs wrap around mine to take me closer.
But that one night. One, hurried night.
I wouldn’t mind another. To watch her cling to me while I strip her-
