Page 13 of Siren (The Enigma Affairs #1)

ELEVEN

T he night followed me. In the weight of my suit. The press of her palm on my chest when we posed for the cameras. The scent of her—vanilla and heat—still lingering in the folds of my jacket.

The car ride back was low-lit and quiet. Dre had jazz playing, something slow and breathy, like the soundtrack of a memory you hadn’t made yet.

Sienna sat beside me, body turned slightly toward the window, eyes shadowed with thought.

But I could feel her.

Same way you feel the pull of gravity without thinking about it. She was right there. And every brush of her knee against mine was a reminder of what I couldn’t touch. Not yet.

I was trying not to want. Trying to play the part. But she moaned into that mic tonight like she meant it, and I haven’t caught my breath since.

Then she tapped Dre’s shoulder. “Pull over?”

He glanced back in the mirror.

I looked at her, brow raised. “You serious?”

She nodded, eyes already locked on the window. “Dead.”

I followed her gaze.

Tiny corner pizza shop. Neon sign half-lit. Booths with peeling leather. Two kids tossing dough behind the glass like it mattered.

“I saw you nibbling on food all night.” I said, smirking.

“I’m starving,” she said, pushing the door open. “And that party food was all vibes and air.”

That made me laugh.

So we stepped out—me in slate gray, her in black satin—and walked into the kind of place nobody expected to see us in.

The warmth hit first. Spring air was funny like that. One minute you feel summer peaking out and then the fringes of winter shut her up. Then the garlic hit. Cheese. Tomato. Grease on wax paper. A holy smell if you were raised right.

We ordered at the counter. She got pepperoni. Extra cheese. I kept it plain. Folded it like ritual.

She took one bite, let out a sound so soft and guttural it made my jaw clench.

“Careful,” I said, eyes still on her delicious mouth.

She wiped the corner with a napkin. “What?”

“You makin’ sounds you might have to back up.”

That little laugh she gave me did something reckless to my pulse.

We slid into a booth by the window, red neon washing over her skin like something holy.

Her dress clung to her body in a way that made it impossible to look anywhere else—soft curves, smooth golden brown skin catching the low light like it had been dipped in honey and satin.

Her lips glistened from the gloss, or maybe from the grease she’d just licked away, slow and casual, off the corner of her mouth.

I watched it happen. Watched her tongue sweep that bottom lip while the cheese from her slice melted down her fingers.

God.

My bracelet caught the light when I dragged my thumb over the edge of my plate, pretending I wasn’t staring.

But I was.

Her eyes met mine for a second too long, and there was a knowing in them. Like she felt it too. Like she was letting me.

We ate in silence for a while, but it wasn’t the awkward kind. It was the kind that felt like... us. The kind that pulsed with things we weren’t saying yet.

“You always been like this?” I asked, my voice lower than I meant it to be.

She blinked. “Like what?”

“Focused. Guarded. Beautiful…”

I leaned in a little, couldn’t help it. My eyes dropped to her mouth.

“...And fully aware of what that means.”

“I’m not guarded.”

I gave her a look that said be serious .

She sighed, rolled her eyes, then lifted her hand to her mouth. The moment her lips wrapped around her thumb, slow and intentional, sucking the sauce clean—it short-circuited something in me.

My dick twitched under the table.

No lie. I pictured her mouth wrapped around me, that same concentration in her eyes. Wet. Soft. In control.

She didn’t even notice the way my jaw flexed. Or maybe she did—because when her eyes flicked up, they’d gone darker. A shade slower. She played with the hoop in her ear like she needed something to do with her hands.

“Fine,” she murmured. “Maybe I am. But when the world keeps asking you to bleed and smile at the same time? Guarded feels like survival.”

I nodded.

Yeah. That, I knew.

She looked at me then. Really looked. Her lashes were thick and low, but her gaze never wavered. Eyes like a storm rolling in—quiet, but heavy. Measuring.

“What about you?” she asked.

I finished the last bite, wiped my fingers, and leaned back, arm draped over the booth like I wasn’t on fire from the inside out.

“What about me?”

“You always been like this?”

“Define this .”

“Quiet. Magnetic.” She tilted her head, eyes roaming slow like she was mapping me. “The kind of man who leaves a mark just by looking.”

That pulled a smile from me. Barely.

But I didn’t deny it.

“I’ve had a lot of false starts,” I said. “Music. People. Promises. Learned early that everything loud isn’t lasting. So yeah—I move different now.”

She nodded. Didn’t speak right away. Just licked a drop of sauce from her bottom lip, then let it catch between her teeth before she pulled it back in .

Then her voice dropped.

“Why move with me?”

She asked it softly, like she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer out loud.

I looked at her for a long time.

Not just because I was still replaying the image of her mouth.

But because the question— her —deserved more than something rehearsed.

“You don’t try too hard,” I said. “That’s rare.”

Her lips parted slightly, glistening from the gloss and the heat of the food. She didn’t speak—just tilted her head, that earring swaying, catching light.

I leaned in, kept my voice low.

“You listen more than you speak. You hold your ground. And when you walk into a room, it’s like…”

I exhaled.

“It’s like music starts playing, and only I can hear it.”

Her eyes darkened.

She looked at me like she was reading every line I hadn’t written yet.

“You’re serious,” she murmured.

I nodded.

“Dead.”

She traced her finger around the rim of her glass, slow.

“You know… I don’t usually feel seen this early.”

“You ever been studied though?” I asked.

That made her smile. The kind that curled at one side and sent a ripple through my bloodstream.

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“I’m trying not to. But you make it hard.”

She leaned in too now, and the space between us thinned. Her thigh brushed mine under the table. Her gaze flicked to my mouth for a second before meeting my eyes again .

“Keep talking like that,” she said, “and I’m gonna start thinking this isn’t just about music.”

I let my smile show then. All of it.

“Maybe it never was.”

It wasn’t just about the muse or marketing. She was something I was already writing into the marrow of my next verse.

Sienna

We pulled up to the hotel just before midnight.

The street had quieted, but the city’s hum never truly stopped—it just slid underground. Like craving. Like curiosity. Like everything I hadn’t dared to name.

The car door opened, and cool air kissed my legs. My heels clicked against the wet concrete, the sound sharp, feminine, and assured.

Taraj moved beside me. Still not touching. Still too close.

The doorman nodded, but I barely registered it. All I could feel was him. His steps beside mine.

His energy trailing like heat down my back.

His voice from earlier curling in my ear… You ever been studied though?

Inside, the elevator was all mirrors and low, golden light. The doors closed behind us, and silence folded around our bodies like silk.

He stood behind me—close enough that I felt the warmth of him radiating between us. His breath ghosted the back of my neck. My pulse jumped.

The air changed. I felt his gaze climbing the back of my thighs, reading the tension in my spine, imagining things I couldn’t let myself say out loud .

When the elevator chimed, I stepped forward. Slowly. Not because I was uncertain. But because I didn’t want to lose the way his presence followed me.

His suite was just two doors down. Every step carried the weight of what hadn’t happened yet.

At my door, I paused and he slowed beside me.

The hallway was quiet. Like even the walls were waiting.

“I had a good night,” I whispered, my voice softer than it should’ve been.

More like confession.

“Me too,” he said. “Every part of me did.”

His tone was low. Velvet dipped in sin.

It made my stomach clench.

I turned toward him, my shoulder brushing his chest. I could smell him now—amber, spice, something masculine and unrushed.

“Night, Raj.”

“Night, Sienna.”

His voice lingered. Like he wanted the words to stay on my skin.

I opened my door. Slipped inside but even then— I felt him.

All I could think was… we’re not pretending anymore. Are we?

The robe was soft against my skin, but it didn’t soothe me.

I’d washed the night from my body, but not from my blood.

It beat in my chest. Flickered behind my knees. Settled hot between my thighs, soaking my flesh.

I climbed into bed trying my best to ignore what he kindled inside of me.

My phone lit up beside me.

Jas: So…?

Me: I almost jumped the man’s bones.

Jas: I KNEW IT

Me: We ate pizza. Talked. He’s not what I thought.

Jas: Lemme guess. Brooding. Brilliant. Built like a god?

Me: …

Jas: Girl.

Jas: Go to his room.

Me: I can’t.

Jas: Why not?

Me: Because if I do… it’s not just sex. There’s something else here…

Jas: So what?

Me: So I think I like him. And this whole thing is supposed to be pretend.

Jas: Then stop pretending.

I stared at the screen.

My heart thudded—not fast. Just deep. Like it had been waiting to speak up. Because it wasn’t the sex I feared.

It was everything after.

The way things shift once you give in. The way silence the next morning says more than words.

I turned off the lamp. Dropped the phone.

But my body didn’t listen.

The sheets were cool against my skin, but I was flushed. Too aware. Still thinking about the look in his eyes when he said maybe it never was.

I shut my eyes and tried to wait it out. Ten minutes. Twenty.

An hour.

Still burning.

I kicked the covers off. Sat up. No plan. No shame. No lies.

The night wasn’t done.

And neither was I.