Page 25 of Sinful Desires
He was half in shadow, dressed in black like sin dressed for war—cargo pants, combat boots, a long-sleeved shirt stretched across his chest, and a bulletproof vest stamped SECURITY.
He had that same expression: flat, unaffected, like the world could burn around him and he’d just exhale slower. An earpiece curled against his temple. His stance was effortless and military clean.
And worse than anything, he still looked good. No, not good.Infuriatingly attractive.
The kind of attractive that hit you in the gut. That tightened your spine before your brain could catch up. He was broad in the way that made doorframes seem too narrow.
I fucking hated that I noticed. But as Victoria had once said, you’d have to be legally blind not to find him attractive. And lucky me, my vision had always been crystal clear.
I should’ve looked away.
Instead, I tilted my chin and held his gaze like a dare. “No?—”
“She’s ready,” Victoria cut in at the exact same time. She then tried to smother her laugh behind a cough.
She failed.Miserably.
He mumbled something into his earpiece, eyes scanning the room with that practiced detachment, always alert, always the soldier.
I told myself I hated him, but my pulse hadn’t gotten the memo.
His gaze flicked once, and I felt it. A quick glance down to my dress. A beat. A breath I didn’t take. And then, slowly, his eyes were back on mine.
He pushed the door open wider, stepping aside with that same unreadable face, and gestured for me to go.
I sighed, rolled my shoulders, and took a breath. The mic buzzed in my ear. Applause crackled beyond the curtain. I walked past him, eyes on the floor.
He stepped to the right to let me pass, but his hand still brushed mine.
Just a graze. Fingertips against skin for half a second. But it shot through me like heat under my skin, low and electric, curling behind my knees.
I kept walking, but my cheeks burned. My heartbeat stuttered in my throat.
He didn’t say a word.
And I didn’t look back.
Okay, I can do this. Showtime, baby.
Chapter
Nine
“We were strangers under the same roof. We were perfect pretenders in the stage of the world.”
— Ranjani Ramachandran
Scarlett
25 years old
One year ago
I groaned as the warm water slid over my shoulders. Glitter and makeup swirled at my feet, remnants of a night well spent, draining away.
The gala went exactly how I’d expected. Everyone had clapped, a few cried during “Butterfly,” but I guessed they just liked the attention.
My family had been there too. Kiara said it was the most beautiful dress I’d ever worn. Probably because she’d helped Victoria pick it.
