Page 37 of Ruined By the Enemy
I shake my head. “It’s nobody. I should,” I click my tongue, “take a shower. Make yourself comfortable. Although I’m sure you already think of my apartment as yours, seeing as you crashed my sleep,” I say, shooting her a look over my shoulder as I walk away.
A quick shower, a towel wrapped around my hair, and a pair of casual clothing later, I walk into my kitchen, inhaling fresh coffee and slices of buttered toast. “Here,” Amara hands me a cup. “Milk and sugar.”
I take a sip before perching on the counter. “So,” I bite into the toast, “what is the favor?”
“How do you know there’s one?”
“Isn’t there?”
Amara hesitates momentarily, her tongue tucked into her cheek, then exhales. “Fine,” the words rush out of her as she begins. “So, I’ve been talking to this guy for a while, and we haven’t met, but I think he’s the one. I know, I know,” she holds up a hand to stop me from commenting,
“I always say that about every guy I meet. But I’m serious about this one. And that’s why I refused to meet him until now, so that you know,” she wiggles her eyebrows. I shake my head.
She rolls her eyes. “Sex. I didn’t want to sleep with him and get swept off my feet by a perception of—” she throws her hands up to find the word and smacks her forehead lightly when she doesn’t. “What I’m trying to say is that I finally agreed to meet up. We’re supposed to go on a date tomorrow, and I’m hoping you could be my plus one to go shopping?”
“You have dresses,” I point out. “A lot of them.”
Amara pouts as I sip some more coffee. “Yeah, but this is different. You’ll go with me, won’t you?” She grabs my arm. “I’ll get you something too. Maybe we could make it a double date?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “You’ve been out of the dating scene for a while now. Years, even.”
Pulling away from her grip—no small feat—I grab my cup and the last slice of toast, retreating out of the kitchen. “Thank you, but I’m not looking to share any of the twenty-four hours I don’t have with someone else. I can barely tolerate you,” I say.
Besides, I can’t afford any distractions. I have to stay on top of Domenico if he decides to do something unexpected.
Speaking of on top…
“No,” I shake my head vehemently, rerouting my train of thought. It doesn’t work, nor does chewing firmly on the bread crust. The harder I try not to remember, the more vivid they are. I feel… a slight shift in the air, his thumb inches away from my skin, not touching and turning me into a puddle of greed and need.
My lips part and my knees go weak, forcing me to the couch where I drop my breakfast with a low, throaty sigh.
The towel falls from my head, and my hair comes tumbling, each strand like a recreation of Dom’s hands as they roamed over my body. I felt him everywhere.I can feel him everywhere.
My feet on the floor send a tingle that spreads rapidly, gathering between my thighs and my chest, where his fingers teased before he drove me over the edge, begging to beshattered. It didn’t matter that I was supposed to hate him, that I had no business letting Dom break me apart.
I craved it.
“Sophie?”
My eyes—which must have closed at some point during my reverie—fly open when I hear Amara’s voice. “Are you okay?” Her expression is tinged with worry. “You were deep in thought when I walked in on you. You looked uncomfortable,” she purses her lips.
Because I was busy reminiscing about the biggest mistake of my life—and probably my career, too. “I’m fine,” I mumble as embarrassment clouds my face, turning it into a volcano of shame.
Not so much because I got swept into that night, but I brought the lingering effects to the present. The fact that my thighs are clenched and I can feel the tiny but steady pulse below my stomach is enough cause for me to dig a hole and bury myself.
My phone chimes as Amara’s worry turns into something more, and I hightail out of the living room before she gets the chance to ask her question.
My screen lights up with a forwarded message from my work email, scheduled and marked urgent. I click without thinking.
“Invitation to—”
“Shit.”
My phone slips from my hands and hits the floor. “Shit.”
Amara bursts into the room. “What? What happened?”
I press a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound of pure despair. There’s no getting out of this. I had the information, the heads-up, the twenty-four-hour grace period to devise an excuse. And still I forgot.
“I’m supposed to attend a party with my boss tonight,” I mutter through my palm, voice thick with horror. “And I completely forgot about it.”
