Page 66 of Ruined By the Enemy
Slippingmy hand into my pocket, I watch her hurriedly chew the rest of her breakfast, with no sign that anything went wrong.
If I hadn’t been there… if I hadn’t kissed her and watched her say my name with muffled sobs and broken whimpers, I wouldn’t believe the past twenty-four hours had happened.
What is she hiding from me?
Sophie brushes the crumbs off her hands with the kitchen towel and rubs them together. “We should get going, then.”
She walks past me when I don’t move immediately, and I see her shoulders stiffen and the effort she puts into keeping her pace.
The hired driver is waiting for us outside the villa, and Sophie slips into the passenger seat, leaving me in the backseat.
My gaze strays to the vanity mirror more than once in the short drive to the winery, wanting a glimpse of her. Maybe I’ll find the answer to my question in her eyes… or elsewhere.
But she keeps her eyes fixed straight ahead, giving me silence.
“Let’s take a tour first,” I say as she jumps out of the car, stopping her cold.
She glances over her shoulder, and panic flashes through her eyes for just a second.
A piece of the puzzle clicks into place.
She’s running.
That’s why she was up early. Why she bolted the moment the car stopped. It’s not just avoidance—it’s defense. A flight response. Which means… I’m closer to the truth than she’s comfortable with.
But what truth?
It can’t be something simple like her family still owning the place. She handled the party exit cleanly and ran One Construction on her own.
This feels deeper. Like she’s willing to gnaw her foot off to get free.
“I’ve spoken with an administrator,” I say smoothly, slipping the lie between us like a blade. “We’ll take a tour on our own. Get a feel for the place before deciding next steps.”
“Well,” she starts, chewing at her lip, then stops when my gaze drops there. “You don’t need me for that, do you? It’s your decision at the end of the day. I think I should work on the staff instead. You’ll need them on your side.”
Running. Still.
I curl a finger in silent command.
She shifts her weight, eyes scanning the space like she’s weighing every exit. Then, with a sigh, she steps closer.
“Okay.”
We walk silently through the vineyard, the rich soil crunching beneath our feet. The rows stretch wide and endless on either side of us, vines thick with grapes, their scent warm and heavy in the late morning sun.
But it isn’t the grapes I smell. It’s Sophie.
It’s not caramel this time. It’s something more subtle, as if she wore it out of habit, but needed to be invisible. Yet, it curls like smoke, soaking into my thoughts, threading through the air between us.
Just like she’s in my head.
I inhale quietly, and vivid memories slip in.Not memories.They feel too real, like I can still touch her. I can still feel the warmth of her thighs locked around my neck, the way she gasped when I buried my face between her legs, slipping my tongue into wet, desperate places that tasted like red wine.
And lust.
I’m staring straight ahead, pretending not to feel it. But in my mind, I can still see her head thrown back, eyes glazed over, her lids too heavy to hold open while my tongue traced the notes of last night across her skin.
And then she stumbles.
