Page 25 of Claimed By the Enemy
And there she is.
Sophie, dancing with the tall stranger. His hand rests on the small of her back, guiding her through a slow turn. She’s smiling up at him, saying something that makes him laugh.
My hands clench into fists at my sides.
“Ah,” Torrino says, following my gaze. “There she is.”
“Beautiful woman,” Velasquez adds. “You’re a lucky man.”
Lucky. Right.
I watch as the stranger leans down to whisper something in Sophie’s ear. She tilts her head to hear him better, bringing them closer together. Too close.
“Dom?” Velasquez is discussing shipping schedules, but I’m no longer listening.
Sophie’s dress moves like liquid as she follows her partner’s lead. The midnight blue silk catches the light, making her skin glow. She looks radiant. Happy.
Happy dancing with another man.
“Excuse me,” I say abruptly, starting toward the dance floor.
“Dom, wait,” Torrino calls. “We’re not finished discussing Marseille.”
I stop, forcing myself to turn back. “Later.”
“But-”
“I said later.”
Both men fall silent, and I realize my voice carried more edge than I intended. Around us, other conversations have paused. People are staring.
Perfect. Nothing like making a scene at my own party.
I take a deep breath, forcing my expression back to neutral. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me. I should check on my guests.”
“Of course,” Velasquez says carefully. “We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow.”
I nod and walk away, but not toward the dance floor. Instead, I head for the bar, needing distance and alcohol in equal measure.
“Whiskey,” I tell the bartender. “Double.”
From this angle, I have a clear view of the dancing. Sophie and her partner have moved into a more complex pattern, something that requires coordination and trust. She follows his lead perfectly, like they’ve done this before.
I set down the empty glass and finally, finally allow myself to walk toward the dance floor.
But I don’t interrupt. I don’t cut in or make a scene or do any of the possessive, territorial things my instincts are screaming at me to do.
Instead, I stand at the edge of the dancing area and watch my wife smile at another man.
And I don’t say anything to her at all.
Chapter Eight
Dom
The last guest finally leaves at nearly midnight, their laughter and chatter fading as the front door closes behind them.
Sophie kicks off her heels, the sharp sound of them hitting marble echoing through the now-empty house. Without saying a word to her, I turn away and head toward the back of the house.
