Page 57 of Ruined By the Enemy
“So you thought you’d poke around my study?” I step closer, watching how her posture shifts and how her breath catches. As she rounds my desk, putting some distance between us, the lamp reveals something else.
The peek of her nipples against her shirt as the space between silk and skin brightens under the light.
“Did you find what you were looking for, Miss Greco?” I turn off my thoughts, focusing on her crime.
Silence.
Placing the bottle and glass gingerly, I grab the file she slammed shut, flipping it open, my eyes on her the entire time. “This one? You thought I wouldn’t notice if you skimmed it fast enough?”
“I wasn’t trying to steal anything,” she says, voice low but firm.
“No,” I murmur, stepping into her space, “You were just trying to see how much I know because you’re a mole.
Her throat bobs as she swallows, but she holds onto denial. “A mole? That’s ridiculous. I admit,” she pauses, gathering her defense tighter, “that I was snooping through your stuff, but I wasn’t looking for anything in particular.”
The switch from being a deer caught in a trap to staggering stubbornness is impressive. I should like the vicious side of her less, probably.
But a shot of pleasure runs through him as she steps out from behind the desk, as ridiculous as it might sound.
Wanting so palpable I can feel it in my throat, follows suit.
“You said I couldn’t leave,” she snaps, arms folding as she closes the distance between us. “And I can’t return to work until I’m cleared. Your housekeeper, God bless her, treats me like a flight risk every time I so much as stretch my legs.”
“So forgive me,” she finishes, eyes gleaming, “for poking around as the only way to keep my sanity intact.”
The stubborn angle of her jaw… the intensity of her stare.
I close my eyes and exhale through my nostrils, willing my mind back to order.
When I open them again, there’s no shred of grace left. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a dead giveaway when you lie?”
Her mouth drops open.
Chapter Fifteen
Sophie
How did I lose track of time?
I checked the clock hanging on the wall every half hour or so while I rifled through Dom’s drawer and every nook of his study.
I had my eyes on the door and an alarm on my phone, so I’d know when to call it a night.
Like I said, the housekeeper’s presence was the reason I couldn’t move around freely all day. Somehow, she was everywhere I went: in the hallway with a fresh load of clothes, standing in the kitchen with a cup of tea that smelled weird but did wonders for my splitting headache.
But I needed to access his private space, so the second she walked out the front door, I was in his office.
“Do you?” he repeats with a twinge of mockery in his voice. Like he’s been carrying the secret for so long, while keeping arecord of how many lies I’ve told. “Should I tell you what it is?” Dom murmurs.
His foot moves an inch, and I retreat instinctively, backing myself against the curve of polished wood.He’s lying.He has to be unless he’s telling the truth and knows that I’m Sophie Bellini, not Greco.
In that case, I’ve been burrowing deep into his trap this entire time.
I’m not ready to believe that.
“No,” I shake my head. “I don’t want to hear it because I’m not lying to you. I was bored and found myself here after exploring every other room and nook I could enter.”
“And,” I throw with a careless shrug, “I don’t care if you think I’m lying. It’s your fault, anyway. You shouldn’t have kept me in here like a prisoner. That’s what you get for inviting a stranger into your home.”
