Page 115 of Sinful Desires
Victoria tossed her hair and followed him. “By the way, I don’t hateallmen, for the record. Just the ones who flirt like it’s their job and then disappear for three to five business days.”
He raised a brow. “So basically, every straight man with a pulse?”
I didn’t stay to hear them argue over the fate of romance. I slipped behind a waiter balancing a stack of empty trays and ducked through the swinging kitchen doors like I had urgent business to do, which I did: escaping. He gave me a look like I’d just wandered off a red carpet and into food service by mistake.
Inside, the kitchen screeched to a halt. Chefs, servers, dishwashers—everyone froze mid-motion. One guy was mid-pour. A girl dropped a spoon. All of them just staring.
“Oh my god, that’s Scarlett Har?—”
I snatched a fancy bottle of sparkling apple juice off the nearest counter—it honestly looked like champagne—and popped the cork after double-checking the label.
“Hi. Yes. It’s me. No, I’m not lost. And yes, I know you all signed NDAs, so let’s not ruin the moment. Pretend I’m a ghost. A really hot, weird, emotionally unavailable ghost.”
A few nodded. Someone cleared their throat. The pastry chef fake-coughed into a meringue. I gave them my best red-carpet smile, heels clicking dramatically as I made my way across the kitchen, then pushed open the back door and stepped into the alley behind the church.
Quiet. Cool. Blessedly people-free.Heaven.
I set the bottle down and fished a cigarette and my lighter out of my clutch.
Slipping it between my lips, I lit it and took a long, unbothered drag. The smoke curled around me as I leaned against the brick wall and finally exhaled.
I closed my eyes. Let the stress bleed out, one overpriced puff at a time.
Then a voice ruined it.
“Still a little bratandan addict. Guess even rehab can’t fix what’s permanently broken.”
My pulse didn’t spike. My breath didn’t hitch. I just stood there, cigarette between my fingers, eyes still closed. I didn’t need to see him to know. His voice was a scar I could still feel.
And the second it hit the air, my body reacted before my mind could keep up. A slow crawl at the back of my neck. A pull deep in my stomach, messy and warm. And I hated how good it still sounded. How much I felt it anyway.
I took a long drag, letting the smoke fill me. Bought myself a second.
Of course it washim. Of course he’d show upnow. Of coursehe’d still know exactly where to cut.
Then I exhaled, lips barely parted.
We hadn’t even touched, yet my body was already betraying me. Clenched thighs. Shallow breath. Like muscle memory could still get drunk off his voice.
I kept my eyes closed. “Still obsessed with stalking me, I see. Guess some things don’t change.”
“Not stalking, sweetheart, merely observing.” His voice was closer now, smooth, bored, and just cruel enough to sting.
I heard the sound of his shoes on stone. “Can’t help it,” he added, his tone sliding straight into my spine. “You’re finally becoming what I always suspected you were.”
I exhaled a stream of grey smoke, cigarette shaking just slightly between my fingers. “Which is?”
“Pretty ruined.”
I opened my eyes. The bottle was still near my foot. For a second, I imagined picking it up, cracking it against his jaw, and watching the blood drip down the collar of whatever overpriced shirt he was wearing.
But then I looked at him. Andfuck.
Grey eyes, same as I remembered, only colder. Lips I wanted to bite just so I could make him bleed. His hair was longer now, brushing his ears, a little messier, a little meaner.
He wasn’t in uniform. No badge. No bulletproof vest. No gun strapped to his chest. Just a suit made for sin, two buttons undone like a dare, and eyes that made me forget every lie I’d rehearsed.
He stood there, black on black, hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just crawled out of my past to wreck me all over again.
