Seven
1189 Words
Damien’s POV
After a quick shower, I dried off and pulled on my pajama bottoms, skipping the shirt—it was unbearably hot out here. I grabbed my phone and decided to call her one last time. If she didn’t answer, fine. That would be it.
I’d simply shift my attention to making her cousin’s life miserable.
Then her voice came through the line.
“I’m sorry, who’s this?”
My chest tightened at the sound of her. “It’s Dame. From the bar.”
“Who?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
“Are you sure you got the right number?”
A flicker of doubt crossed my mind. Did I just get scammed?
No. That voice—I would know it anywhere.
“I know that voice,” I muttered. “I’ve heard it begging. You can’t fool me now, baby.”
She went dead silent, but I could hear her breathing—quick, shaky.
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
So she wanted to play.
I leaned back on my bed. “Okay, prove it. Say, ‘I want to cm, I need to cm, please, Damien.’ Just so I can check if I really dialed the wrong number.”
“You’re a perv! I’m hanging up!”
A smile tugged at my lips.
“Hang up, and I’ll protest at Bianca’s wedding.”
She gasped. There it was.
“Ah, that’s right,” I added softly. “I know her.”
“What do you want from me, Damien?” Her voice shook. Not crying—but close.
Even like this, she sounded sinfully good.
I stepped out onto the balcony, letting the night air cool my skin. Waves and crickets filled the silence. No wonder Nonno left corporate life for this. It was peace. Dangerous peace.
“Your name,” I said, “and a date.”
“It’s Grace. And no.”
Grace.
It suited her. Soft, deceptively simple, tempting.
Just like she had been under me.
What the hell did this woman do to me?
“I’m not negotiating,” I warned. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”
“I don’t date. And even if I did—not you. Leave me alone.”
She hung up.
Almost immediately, I heard a thud from the room next door.
I leaned back and laughed quietly.
I never liked the chase. Women usually chase me.
I could let her go and move on with the next warm body.
I should.
But she stirred something in me—something I didn’t even know I had.
After that night with her, I tried hooking up with other girls. Nothing. I wasn’t satisfied. I even convinced myself maybe I just wasn’t in the mood for s*x.
Then I kept dreaming of her moaning.
Waking up hard because of her.
Hearing her voice in my head on loop.
I even imagined her face on someone else.
There was nothing special about Grace.
And yet she woke up something primal in me.
Even knowing she was furious gave me a hard-on.
Christ. Get it together, Damien.
~*~*~*~
I woke the next morning to voices outside my window. Nonno’s voice, and others.
“You insult me, Mr. Valentini!” a fisherman shouted. “I bring you only the best! Look—yellowfin, three days at sea I searched!”
“What do you think, Eve?” Nonno asked.
“That looks good. Do you have shellfish? Damien likes them.”
“I have seven kilos of mussels—the best on the island!”
Seven kilos.
I couldn’t help but smile and lie back down.
When I walked back inside, my maid was folding clothes on my bed.
Her scent hit me instantly—the same soft, clean smell I remembered.
“Your grandfather said we’ll be touring the island after lunch,” she said softly.
“Thanks. I didn’t catch your name. What was it again?”
She froze.
Then smiled politely. “Breakfast is ready.”
She dodged the question. Again.
Her scent lingered even after she left, and I had to shower just to clear my head.
After breakfast, Nonno entered with Madam Eve and the fisherman carrying the day’s catch.
“Good, you’re up,” Nonno said, sitting across from me and stealing my strawberry. “We leave in two hours. We’ll eat lunch on the island I’ve been telling you about.”
“Alfred, take that to the kitchen,” he added.
“On it, sir.”
“And we’ll prepare the rest,” Madam Eve said before following him out.
The dining area fell quiet—just me and Nonno.
“Is it really that great?” I asked. “You had to drag me all the way here?”
He scoffed. “You’ll see for yourself. I’m never wrong, Damien.”
There it was.
The source of my arrogance.
We laughed, talked about nothing and everything, until he pushed me up to get ready.
I walked back to my room and found her again—kneeling by my bag this time, folding my things with quick, practiced hands.
She shoved the last shirt inside the moment she noticed me.
“Everything you need is packed, sir. I’ll go now.”
“Hold on.”
She froze.
Am I that terrible of a boss? She acted like being near me physically hurt.
“My sunscreen in here?”
“Yes. One of the pockets.”
I sat at the edge of the bed, watching her stiffen.
Maybe it was being away from nightlife too long—
but I wanted to see her shake.
Cruel, yes.
Harmless. Mostly.
She balled her hand before turning around and kneeling between my legs to rummage through the bag.
“Here, sir.” She held up the sunscreen without meeting my eyes.
“Sunglasses?”
“Here.”
“Underwear? Surely you—”
“Here.” She pulled out two pairs. “Everything is in here.”
“Cigarettes?”
That made her pause. “But you don’t smoke… sir.”
“Oh, but I do. You didn’t pack them?”
Her grip on the zipper tightened. “I’ll get them. Just tell me where… sir?”
“In my nightstand.
At home.”
Her glare shot up at me—sharp, deadly—but lowered just as fast.
“Surely there’s somewhere on this island to buy a pack. I’ll ask Mr. Fidele.”
She sounded like she was threatening me.
“Don’t bother,” I replied. “We’re too far from the main city. I’ll just let Madam Eve know you forgot them.”
“Fine.” She snapped the bag shut and stood to leave.
I grabbed her wrist as she passed.
She turned—annoyed, ready to spit fire—
And the smirk I planned to give her died in my throat.
Her eyes were red.
“Damien, we’re leaving!” Nonno called from outside.
She pulled her wrist free. “Excuse me, sir.”
Then she left.
Stunned.
Jesus.
Is she—
- Writer
