Page 21 of Seduced By the Enemy

“Just about everything that could go wrong in Moricosia is going wrong.”

Leandro nodded sympathetically. “Tell me about it.”

“Okay, well, our principal design team has been sidelined owing to some in-house staff issues—allegations of bullying and unfair dismissal. You can imagine how that looks to the government. I’m scrambling to find someone else to take over, but the project is huge, and halfway through the formal design process, so getting a company to step in isn’t as easy as you might think, despite the prestige of the job.”

Leandro sat back in his seat, eyes latched to hers. “What else?”

And she let it all come tumbling out, every single issue, every broken deadline, every impatient phone call from the Moricosian Minister of Development. It had been one nightmare after the next, so half the time she seriously wondered if they were being sabotaged.

“Is there any possibility this isn’t all an accident?” Leandro asked, thoughtfully, when she’d finished talking.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just a lot to go wrong, as you say. This isn’t your first major development. I know you, Emme. You run things with the precision of a Swiss bank. You make careful decisions when it comes to hiring companies. For the wheels to all be coming off like this seems—unlikely.”

His praise nestled inside of her, acting as a sort of reassurance she hadn’t realized she desperately needed.

“I can’t see how anyone could pull these strings,” she said, with a shake of her head.

“The Santoros could.”

She thought of Salvatore and was surprised to find herself shaking her head, without realizing it. “No, impossible.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s too devious. They fight fair, even if it means losing.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Do you have any evidence to the contrary?”

He stared at her, clearly not convinced.

“We’re the ones who stole Acto out from under them,” she pointed out. It had been Andie’s suggestion to have their older brother Max pose as her fiancé, to get her father to sell the company to the Valentinos instead of the Santoros. They’d worked for a long time on putting together an offer for the business, but it had been Max who’d swooped in and bought it at the last minute. Never mind that he and Andie had legitimately fallen in love in the process.

“All’s fair in love and business,” Leandro said with a shrug. “A philosophy I assure you they share. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that they’re sabotaging us.”

But she shook her head again. “I think this has just been incredibly unlucky,” she admitted. “I hate it, but I’d rather just address each issue without looking to villainize the Santoros. At least, not over this.”

“Have it your way, but I’m going to do some digging.” And she nodded, confident her brother wouldn’t find anything of note.

The day wentfrom bad to worse on the work front, so by the time Emilia walked in the door of her SoHo apartment, she was drained. Mentally, physically and in every way, just utterly exhausted. Of course, the lack of sleep the night before didn’t help.

As if to reinforce that, she stifled a yawn as she placed her handbag on the hall stand, removing her phone before makingher way into the kitchen. There was a text message from her mum, just checking in, and a few work emails that had come through on the drive home. She ignored the emails for now, and instead, poured herself a glass of Shiraz, which she carried through to the bathroom.

While the bath was running, Emilia slowly removed her work clothes, draping them over an ornate chair in the corner, before catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror and letting out a small gasp.

Either she’d been too pleasure-fogged that morning to properly look at herself, or these marks had grown darker through the day. Slowly, fascinated, she trailed her finger from the places on her breasts where Salvatore had lavished kisses and sucked until her skin had grown darker, then to the sensitive flesh that was roughened by his stubble. Her cheeks flushed at the reminders of how he had touched and worshipped her entire body. She wondered if he showed similar marks—nail scratches down his back, or crescent moon shapes across his shoulders from where she’d dug her fingers in as if to hold on for dear life. It was easy to believe he would. She remembered drawing her nails down his back over and over as he spent hours pushing all the buttons she’d needed pushed—and hadn’t even realised she possessed.

The bath was sumptuously warm around her body, and she sunk into it gratefully, lying there with her eyes shut for several long moments before reaching for the glass of wine and taking a sip. She’d just replaced it on the bath’s edge when her phone buzzed. She yawned again as she reached out, blinking to clear her eyes before focusing on the text.

It was from Salvatore—just a photo of a bed. Or rather, half a bed. Crisp white sheets, white pillow, and in the distant background, a sparling view of Manhattan.

Wish you were here.

A smile tugged at her lips as she contemplated what to say, then flicked to the camera and took a picture of her red-painted toenails peeping above the surface of the water. She sent it back to him with the words:

I could say the same.

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