Page 21 of Trained In Sin

Seb

"Drive past Hartwell," I tell my driver, checking my watch. It's just past one, lunch time. She'll probably be returning from her break soon.

I tell myself I just want to see her, to catch a glimpse of the woman who's been haunting my thoughts. But the truth is I need to see her. It's been three days since the alley, three days since I felt her surrender completely in my arms, and the memory is driving me to distraction.

The driver slows as we approach the building, and I lean forward, scanning the street. There, walking back toward the entrance with Damon beside her. She's wearing her burgundy coat, looking as beautiful as ever. My chest tightens with something I don't want to name at the sight of her.

They pause at the building entrance. He says something that makes her smile, that soft, genuine smile I want reserved for me alone. And then, as she turns to go back inside, something changes in her posture.

She spins back to face him with sudden determination, grabs his face in both hands, and kisses him with an intensity that makes my blood boil. Passionate, hungry, everything I thought she'd lost the ability to feel for him.

My chest constricts as I watch her throw herself into the kiss, her body pressed against his like she can't get close enough. This isn't the polite peck of a comfortable couple. This is raw and desperate.

She's made her choice .

"Drive," I snarl, my hands clenching into fists.

The driver obeys without question, probably sensing the danger radiating from the back seat. I don't need to see the rest. I don't need to watch her let him touch her, hold her, pretend that what happened between us three nights ago meant nothing.

Rage builds in my chest, hot and vicious. I thought I was winning. I thought the kiss had shattered her illusions about what she really wanted. Instead, she's running straight back to her safe little life, pretending that fire doesn't burn.

"Syren," I order, my voice deadly calm.

The drive passes in a blur of fury. How dare she? How dare she kiss me like her life depended on it, respond to my touch like she was starving for it, then go home to him? How dare she give me a taste of paradise and then snatch it away?

I've been too patient. Too willing to let her process, to give her time to come to the obvious conclusion. I thought the chemistry between us would do the work for me, that she'd realize on her own how inadequate her current life is.

Clearly, I was wrong.

*

Back in my office, I pace like a caged animal. Matthew takes one look at my face and wisely doesn't ask questions. Instead, he positions himself by the door, ready for whatever explosion is coming .

"She's still with him," I say finally, stopping at the window that overlooks the city. "Three days ago, she was mine. Completely mine. And tonight, she's letting that pathetic excuse for a man put his hands on her."

"Maybe she needs more time…."

"No." I turn to face him, decision crystallizing. "Time isn't what she needs. She needs reminders. Constant, unavoidable reminders of what we have."

I move to my desk, pulling out my phone. "I've been too subtle. Too willing to let her pretend this is just attraction she can ignore. That ends now."

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking Saphy needs help remembering how good we are together.

" I scroll through my contacts, finding the number for the florist I used before.

"She's clearly capable of compartmentalizing, of telling herself that what happened was just a moment of weakness. I'm going to make that impossible."

The florist answers on the second ring, her voice professionally cheerful. "Mr. Blackwood, how lovely to hear from you again."

"I need another arrangement. Something different this time." I close my eyes, remembering the exact shade of Saphy's lipstick, the way it had transferred to my mouth when she kissed me. "Deep red roses. The colour of passion."

"How poetic. And the card?"

"No card. She'll know who they're from. "

After I hang up, I lean back in my chair, mind racing. Flowers are just the beginning. She wants to pretend nothing has changed? I'll show her exactly how much everything has changed.

"Get me a meeting with that boutique on Bond Street," I tell Matthew. "The one that carries Chanel cosmetics. I need something very specific."

"Cosmetics?"

"Lipstick. The exact shade she was wearing when I kissed her. I want her to think of my mouth every time she looks at it."

Matthew raises an eyebrow but doesn't question the order. He's learned to trust my instincts, even when they seem unconventional.

An idea strikes me, and I smile for the first time since seeing her with Damon. "And contact my cologne supplier. I want a bottle of my usual, Tom Ford Oud Wood, delivered to her flat. With a very specific message."

"Which is?"

"'In case you need to remember what desire smells like.'" I can picture her reaction. The flush that will spread across her cheeks, the way her pupils will dilate as she breathes it in and remembers exactly how it felt to be pressed against me.

"Seb," Matthew says carefully, "are you sure about this approach? It's... intense."

"Good. Intensity is exactly what she needs.

" I stand, moving to the window again. Somewhere out there, she's probably having dinner with that boring bastard, pretending to listen to his mundane conversation while thinking about me.

"She's been living a half life, Matthew. I'm offering her something real. "

"And if she doesn't want it?"

The question hangs in the air, and for a moment, doubt creeps in. But then I remember the way she kissed me back, the desperation in her touch, the little sounds she made when I pressed her against that wall.

"She does want it. She's just scared of wanting it." I turn back to face him. "Fear makes people do stupid things, like running back to what's familiar instead of embracing what could transform them."

"So you're going to overwhelm her defences?"

"I'm going to remind her that some things can't be ignored.

That some connections are too powerful to pretend away.

" I move to the small bar in the corner of my office, pouring myself a measure of whisky.

"She can go through the motions with him all she wants.

But every time she smells roses, every time she puts on lipstick, every time she breathes in that cologne, she'll think of me. "

The whisky burns as it goes down, but it's nothing compared to the fire in my chest. "I've been playing by rules that don't apply to what we have. Being patient, giving her space, waiting for her to come to me. But she's not going to take that step on her own. She's too afraid of what it means."

"So you're taking the choice away from her?"

"I'm making the choice impossible to avoid." I finish my drink, setting the glass down with deliberate precision. "She can tell herself it was just a kiss, just a moment of weakness. But when these reminders start arriving, she won't be able to lie to herself anymore."

Matthew nods slowly. "And the boyfriend? "

"What about him?" My voice hardens. "He's irrelevant. A placeholder keeping her bed warm until she admits what she really wants."

"He might not see it that way."

"Then he's more deluded than I thought." I check my watch, the florist should be preparing the roses now, ready for delivery first thing in the morning. "Damon Phillips is nothing. A mediocre man, who will eventually bore her to death. He won’t win this.”

I can already picture tomorrow morning, Saphy arriving at work to find deep red roses on her desk, the exact colour of the lipstick that marked me three nights ago. The way her breath will catch, her pupils dilate. How she'll look around the office, wondering who's watching, knowing it's me.

"The lipstick should arrive tomorrow afternoon," I continue, planning each move like a chess game. "Same delivery time as the roses were before. She'll start expecting them, anticipating them. And then the cologne tomorrow evening, when she's home and vulnerable."

"You're orchestrating this very carefully."

"Because this isn't a game anymore, Matthew.

This is war." I move to my desk, opening the file I keep on her.

Photos, schedules, everything I need to know to be exactly where she needs me when she needs me.

"She thinks she can kiss me like that and then go back to her comfortable little life. She's wrong."

The truth is, I'm done being patient. Done pretending this is anything less than an obsession that's consuming me. Every day she stays with him is a day she's denying what we both know is inevitable .

"She'll fight it," Matthew observes.

"Of course she will. That's what makes it interesting." I close the file, decision made. "But she can't fight chemistry, and she can't fight destiny. What we have is bigger than her fear, bigger than her need for safety."

I think about the way she trembled when I touched her face, the way she leaned into me despite herself. That's the real Saphy, the one buried under layers of propriety and careful choices. The one who's been waiting her whole life for someone to see past the surface.

"By the end of this week, she won't be able to think about anything else," I say with quiet confidence. "Every sense will be tied to me. Sight, smell, taste, I'll own them all."

"And if she still chooses him?"

The question hits a nerve I don't want to examine too closely. But I push the doubt away, replacing it with certainty.

"She won't. Because deep down, she knows what I know, that what we have is rare. Once you've tasted real passion, real connection, everything else feels like a pale imitation."

I pour another whisky, raising it in a mock toast. "To Saphy Jenkins. May she learn to stop fighting what she wants."

The amber liquid burns down my throat, and I smile. Tomorrow, the real campaign begins. No more patience, no more waiting for her to come to the obvious conclusion.

It's time to show her exactly what she's been missing .

And by the time I'm done, Damon Phillips will seem like the pale shadow he's always been.