SINS UNDER THE TABLE {5}

Genevieve

The brass latch rattled violently in the frame, the metallic click reverberating through the kitchen like a gunshot. Cold sweat broke out along my spine, every nerve ending in my body screaming in high-alert panic. My heart hammered against my ribs with such force that I was certain Tristan could hear it through the thick mahogany paneling.

Julian did not flinch. With agonizing, fluid grace, he pulled his face back from between my thighs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in one swift, deliberate motion. His dark eyes locked onto mine with a look of pure, possessive victory, a dark glint lurking in their depths that proved he had thoroughly enjoyed every second of pushing me to the absolute edge of exposure. Without uttering a single sound, he stepped off to the side, melted into the deep shadows near the rear pantry, and pushed through the heavy service door. The quiet click of the latch resetting behind him signaled his complete escape into the dark back hallway just as Tristan rattled the brass handle a second time.

I slid off the marble counter, my legs trembling so violently I had to grab the edge of the cold stone to keep my knees from buckling beneath me. My lungs burned for air as I franticly smoothed down my silk gown, pulling the slinky fabric back over my bare hips and smoothing out the deep wrinkles where Julian’s heavy hands had gripped me. I reached up with frantic, shaking fingers, smoothing my loose curls, checking my reflection in the dark glass of an oven door, and grabbing the heavy bottle of Pinot Noir off the prep counter.

My core throbbed with a residual, feverish heat, a stark, terrifying contrast to the freezing kitchen air whipping against my bare legs. I pressed my knuckles against my warm cheeks, trying to force the telltale flush down.

I took a deep, steadying breath, forced my elevated heart rate down, and clicked the lock open. I pulled the heavy door inward right in Tristan’s face.

He stood in the doorway, his arm still raised toward the brass handle, a look of distinct irritation and rising suspicion clouding his sharp features. His dark eyes swept past my shoulder, scanning the dimly lit kitchen, taking in the empty stainless steel tables, the quiet corners, and the shadowed alcove by the pantry door.

"What took you so long?" Tristan asked, his voice dripping with an edge of distrust. "Why was the door locked from the inside?"

I forced a sweet, effortless smile to my lips, stepping directly into his personal space before he could move further into the room to investigate. I laid my free hand flat against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath his tailored suit jacket, letting my fingers trace the silk lapel of his coat to draw his gaze entirely onto me.

"The lock was stuck, babe," I lied smoothly, keeping my voice soft, silky, and completely unbothered. "These old brass latches on the service doors always catch when the humidity rises in the back. I was just letting the Pinot Noir breathe for a minute after uncorking it, like the sommelier suggested."

Tristan’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at me, his gaze lingering on my flushed cheeks, my slightly parted lips, and the rapid rise and fall of my chest beneath the slinky silver fabric. For a terrifying second, I thought he might push past me to inspect the pantry or glance down at the cold marble counter, but my calm, unhurried posture held him at bay. The illusion of my total innocence remained intact.

"You were in here a long time just for a bottle of wine," he muttered, though the sharp suspicion in his tone softened as my hand slowly rubbed his chest, my thumb lightly caressing his collarbone.

"I knew you wanted the best vintage opened properly for our dinner," I said, leaning up on my toes to brush a soft, lingering kiss against the sharp line of his jaw. "Now, let us get back to the table before the food gets cold."

He exhaled slowly, the lingering tension finally leaving his broad shoulders as he placed his hand over mine, pressing it against his chest. "Fine. But next time, do not lock yourself in the back. You know I do not like waiting."

"Of course, darling," I murmured, maintaining my serene smile even as my skin crawled where his fingers touched mine.

As we walked out of the kitchen hallway and stepped into the warm glow of the private dining room, my eyes immediately drifted toward our VIP booth. Chloe was standing near the doorway, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her posture rigid. Her eyes were sharp, calculating, and fixated directly on me as we approached.

She had deliberately pushed Tristan to go check on me. I could see it in the tight set of her jaw, the narrow squint of her eyes, and the unmistakable flash of disappointment across her features when she realized I had emerged entirely alone. She had expected him to catch me in the act, hoping to blow my world apart right here in the middle of the restaurant to cover up her own dirty games.

I held her gaze without flinching, offering her a cool, mocking smile as I walked past her back to my seat. I sat down on the soft velvet cushions, setting the bottle of Pinot Noir on the center of the dark wood table with total composure.

Chloe lingered by the edge of the booth, her gaze dropping to my face with intense, predatory scrutiny. She took two slow steps closer, bending down slightly under the pretext of grabbing her satin clutch so that only I could hear her words over the low hum of jazz playing through the ceiling speakers.

"Your lipstick is slightly smudged, Genevieve," Chloe whispered, her voice laced with venom and sharp satisfaction. "Did you drop something in there?"

I tilted my head up, meeting her glare with unyielding steel. "Just my patience, Chloe. But I see you picked yours right back up."

I reached into my silver clutch, pulled out my compact mirror, and opened it with a delicate click. In the small circle of glass, I saw that the rose-pink color on my lower lip was indeed slightly feathering, a direct casualty of Julian’s relentless, possessive mouth against my skin. Keeping my hand completely steady, I pulled out my lip gloss, smoothed a fresh coat over my lips, and snapped the compact shut with a sharp snap.

"See? Perfectly fixed," I said, offering her an icy smile that made her eyes narrow even further.

Tristan sat down beside me, completely oblivious to the silent war raging across the polished glass table. He gestured for the waiter to fill our glasses, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied, arrogant smirk as the dark red wine swirled into the crystal stemware.

"To a lucrative evening," Tristan declared, lifting his glass into the warm, ambient glow of the candlelight. "And to new beginnings."

"To new beginnings," Chloe echoed smoothly, her eyes locked onto mine as she raised her glass.

I lifted my glass, my fingers steady around the thin crystal stem, though the ghost of Julian’s touch still burned like liquid fire against my inner thighs. Underneath the heavy floor-length tablecloth, my bare legs brushed against the cold leather of the booth, a sharp, exhilarating reminder of how close I had just come to total ruin, and how much power I now held in this sick little game.

Across the dimly lit dining room, near the shadows of the secondary exit, a tall figure moved quietly. Julian stood near the coat check, casually buttoning his dark suit jacket, adjusting his silver cufflinks with methodical precision. He turned his head slightly, his dark, commanding eyes locking onto mine across the crowded room. He held my gaze for one long, silent second, his lips curving into a slow, dangerous smirk before he turned on his heel and vanished into the night.

My chest tightened with a sudden, intoxicating rush of adrenaline. He was gone, but the mark he had left on me was permanent.

Chloe’s gaze darted rapidly between me, my glass, and the far exit, her manicured fingers tightening around her stemware until her knuckles turned pale. She knew something had happened in that kitchen, even if she lacked the proof to convince Tristan.

"Is something wrong, Chloe?" I asked softly, taking a slow sip of the rich Pinot Noir, letting the dark fruit flavor coat my tongue. "You look a bit flushed."

"I am perfectly fine, Genevieve," Chloe snapped, forcing a brittle laugh as she set her glass down a little too hard on the wood. "Just fascinated by how well you manage to keep everything... so strictly controlled."

"It is all about knowing who holds the leverage," I replied, leaning into Tristan's side as he wrapped his arm casually around my shoulder. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Chloe’s jaw clenched, but she said nothing, turning her head away to stare out the window at the Manhattan skyline. I smiled quietly into my wine glass, feeling the warmth of the alcohol settle into my chest. The game had shifted, the stakes were higher than ever, and for the first time in three years, I was the one pulling the strings.