Page 9 of Seduced By the Enemy

“Nothing important, I hope?”

“No. What were you saying?”

But Emilia was almost incapable of listening now. There was a strange buzzing sound in her ears, like a persistent white noise, that crowded out almost everything else. And that was it. For the rest of the night, where he moved, she looked. Without intending to, she was aware of him in a way that drove her crazy.

This was a cocktail party format, so there was a lot of shifting around, groups moving and changing, and it was loud. So loud she might have made her escape before this, had it not been for the fact she was finding it hard to look away from Salvatore. Even when the sight of him made her blood boil from anger and rage, even when sheknewshe hated him, she still found herself looking after him as though he were her dying breath. As though he were the sum total of what she wanted. Not in life, just for tonight.

The last text message he’d sent her was burned into her retinas—his address. So even now, two weeks later and after she’d deleted it, she remembered it. But she suspected the invitation had held an expiry date. Hell, for all she knew, he’d taken someone else home that very night. Maybe she hadn’t been the only one to receive a text.

She knew enough of Salvatore to know he had about as many notches on his bedpost as he did dollars in the bank—somewhere in the billions. Way more notches on the bedpost than her, that was for sure. Despite the fact she seemed to have a dangerous habit of tumbling into bed—or stairways—with him, that was far from the norm for Emilia, who’d led a pretty sheltered and protected life, and always harbored hopes of the fairytale happy ending, just like both her brothers had found.

Funny, she’d long thought she’d be first. True, she was the youngest, but she’d always been the most romantic—craving and wanting that sort of Hollywood happy ending. But for all she’d dated, she’d never really been with anyone she clicked with. Not on a soul deep level. Maybe that was a protective mechanism after her first disastrous relationship had proven such a flop. The first guy she’d been with, who’d pretty clearly been using her because of her money and connections, had made her understandably wary.

After that, she’d sworn that only the Right Guy (capital R, capital G) would get beyond a few dates with her. A few dates was fine. Fun. Easy. And in a few dates, she could work out if theywereright, and worth spending any more time with. So far, she hadn’t had any luck.

Once upon a time, she might have thought she was living in a fantasy world to expect that level of connectivity, but then she’d seen Max and Andie together, and Leandro and Skye, and she’d known she was right to hold out for ‘the one’.

But Andie and Skye were tough acts to follow. She couldn’t imagine introducing someone into her family who would be as beloved as they both were. And she couldn’t bear to get involved with anyone her parents and brothers wouldn’t like. There was so much to take into account, and so the months had turned into years and Emilia stayed resolutely single, save for a few casual dates, here and there.

“Babe? You listening?”

She blinked quickly, as her friend Esther Campion gripped her forearm. “Sorry, no. What’s up?”

“We’re heading out. You want to come?”

Before she could stop herself, Emilia’s gaze drifted across the room. Salvatore was locked in conversation with three men she’d never seen before. His expression was intent. As though he didn’t even know she was there.

Pride piqued, she flashed her friends a bright smile, and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll just get my coat.”

“We’ll wait out the front. I’m dying for one of these.” Esther lifted her vintage Tiffany cigar holder aloft.

Emilia pulled a face—she wasn’t a fan of smoking—but nodded once. “Okay, see you soon.”

She put it down to the excellent quality of the food and wine that the cocktail party continued to be thronging with well-heeled guests. Quite often, people came to these things for the bare minimum time, simply to make an appearance, before getting on with their plans for the night. This was an event people were happily staying at.

But for Emilia, knowing he was here, and that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—speak to or see him at close range was doing something funny to her insides. She began to cut through the crowd, careful to avoid making eye contact with anyone, lest she be pulled into a long, boring conversation.

The cloak room was attended by two staff members. She handed over her ticket and waited for them to retrieve the leather jacket she’d worn. It was impossible to fight a sense of disappointment, though, when her jacket was returned and she’d shrugged it on, and still hadn’t seen up close, nor spoken to, Salvatore.

A sense of pride prevented her from scanning the crowd on her way out. She kept her gaze focused squarely on the doors that led from the hotel ballroom into the elegant corridor beyond. As she approached, the doors were opened for her by another pair of staff, and she stepped outside into the relative silence with a small breath of what she told herself was relief.

Beyond the corridor, on the wide boulevard street, she knew her friends would be smoking, waiting for her, but Emilia needed a minute to calm her fluttering nerves. Without speaking to Salvatore, he still had the ability to make her pulse rush.

She ground her teeth, annoyed at him, herself, and just about everyone, in that moment.

Assuming a mask of carefree contentment, she began to walk down the corridor, the soft fabric of her black cocktail dress running against her hips as she went. She was halfway down the hallway when she became aware of someone following her. Hardly unusual—she wouldn’t be the only guest leaving the party. She didn’t bother turning around. But a moment later, her hand was gripped, and then, it all happened so quickly, she didn’t have time to think. Salvatore was pulling her sideways, away from the main corridor, down a separate access point, and then, around another corner. It was the work of a moment, and she was there, back pressed against the wall as he dropped his head and kissed her, claiming her mouth like he had every right, like he somehow knew that’s what she’d been hoping he’d do all damned night.

And now that he was kissing her, she could finally admit that to herself. Yes, she’d been wanting this. Waiting for it. Aching for it, and the longing had driven her quite wild, in the end.

His tongue lashed hers, as though he felt the same anger she did—anger at the fact they’d just spent two and a half hours milling around in a huge, grand ballroom, without so much as making eye contact. One big, strong knee wedged between her legs and she moaned as, without even being aware of it, her hips rolled and her sex pressed to this thick, muscular thigh, craving everything he could possible give her.

Voices, loud and laughing, drifted towards them, but his hands were moving to the hem of her dress now, lifting it, sliding into her thong, massaging the flesh of her butt cheek until she was almost coming, then and there. Another voice, this one masculine, loud, closer.

“Salvatore,” she cried, hungry for him, wild with desperation, bunching her hands in his shirt. “Someone will see us.” Shehoped it wasn’t the case. She didn’t want to stop kissing, touching, feeling, but at the same time, being seen with him would be an absolute disaster. Sanity was just enough within reach to make her listen. But when she dragged her lower lip between her teeth and his eyes flared, and she felt his cock jerk in his pants, she had a sinking feeling that she would throw caution to the wind and keep kissing him anyway, keep doinganythingwith him, because of how much she wanted this.

“Stay here,” he muttered, pressing a finger to her lips, eyes holding hers, before he pulled away. “Do you promise?”

She massaged her lower lip then, knowing she should demur. That she should leave. “My friends are waiting…”

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