Page 27 of Ruined By the Enemy
She starts to speak, but nothing comes out after the first word.
I lean in, just enough for our faces to nearly touch. Her perfume hits me—something soft, expensive, and utterly out of place here.
“Looking for excuses?” I murmur, my voice low, unyielding. “Don’t even try. I know why you’re here.”
She schools her expression fast, but not fast enough. I catch it—the slight jolt in her eyes, the flicker of panic she tries to bury under a half-hearted shrug.
“To party?” she offers, casual as sin.
My eyes drag over her. The dress clings to her curves like it was sewn onto her. The black fabric shimmers faintly under the low light, stopping scandalously short of modesty. Her heels are impossibly high, eagerly showing off legs that wrapped around me nights ago.
And around her neck, a thin diamond chain. It’s delicate in the semi-darkness, but in a room with flashing lights, it would command attention without trying.
Heat rushes down my throat and floods my body, making it hard to think, breathe, or do anything remotely human and rational.
“Is that a crime?” she pushes.
I chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. The sound comes from deep in my chest.
“Party?” I repeat, tilting my head. “That’s what you wore this for?”
My gaze lifts to hers again, cold and steady.
“Yeah,” she insists, against the audible thuds coming from her chest. “A party. What did you expect me to wear? A long, ball gown? Party frocks? Halloween costume?” Her chest arches with every question, challenging me.
It’s a battle of words, yet all I can focus on is how her cleavage sits in her dress and how dry my throat feels.
I need a fucking drink.
Grinding my teeth, I release her wrist and step back, dragging a hand down my face like that might help reset the fire simmering under my skin.
“Cut the crap, Sophie.” My voice drops into a low growl. “What are you really doing here? And don’t say party—” I jerk my chin toward the faint thrum of music in the distance “—because it’s that way. You can hear it.”
She hesitates just for a second. Then tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, like that might stop it from trembling.
But I see it.
“Maybe I wanted some quiet?” she whispers, looking away to conceal her lie. When she turns back, her face is set to continue with it. “I needed to clear my head for a moment, and I got lost looking for the bathroom.”
“If that’s a crime,” she adds with a sassy one-shoulder shrug, “then sue me.”
I might’ve bought it. If I weren’t looking for the signs, I might’ve accepted her lie and let her go.
However, I know who she is.
Sophie Bellini. I’m not allowed to forget that—no matter how much the damned dress makes me feel like a horny teenager, or her smart mouthpracticallybegs to be kissed.
And the truth is, I smelled her before I saw her.
I had to leave the meeting to attend to an issue on the other side of the bar, but returning was where I smelled her.
Soft and sweet. Fun and flirty. The caramel candy notes floated across the hallway, with vanilla and brown sugar, teasing my senses until I couldn’t push the reminder of that night from my head.
Then I saw Sophie, by the door, with her ear pressed to the wood.
“Who are you working for?” I demand.
Her frown is automatic. “What do you mean?”
