Chapter 15
1363 Words
“Come,” he said. Voice low. Steady.
He led her to the living room. Floor lamps provided pools of light. There was a small fire burning in a very modern fireplace that hadn't been visible from the doorway initially.
He sat on the wide leather sofa. Pulled her down beside him.
She didn’t resist.
For a long moment, they just sat there, thigh to thigh, his arm along the back of the couch behind her shoulders.
“You're safe here,” he said softly.
She stared at him. Looked at him.
His eyes were softer in the firelight, less storm, more midnight.
“I know,” she whispered.
He reached out and took her hand. Turned it over. Traced the lines there with his thumb.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said. ‘Not ever.’
She believed him.
She shouldn’t have.
But she did.
He raised her hand to his lips. He kissed her knuckles. One by one.
Then her wrist—right over the bracelet.
She took a shaky breath.
He leaned in closer to her. He reached around with one hand to the back of her neck. His other hand settled on her thigh, warm and possessive, but still.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured.
She swallowed.
“Touch me,” she says. Whispering, not much above a whisper.
He smiled—small, satisfied
His hand moved higher on her thigh. Not between. Just on the outside of her jeans. Tracing circles.
She leaned into him.
He kissed her, gentle at first, then harder. His tongue tickled hers until she opened up to him.
She moaned softly.
His hand shifted to her waist, and again, under her sweater, was skin on skin.
He traced the curve of her spine. Up. Down. Up again.
She arched.
He placed her on his lap.
She straddled him, knees on either side, hands in his hair.
He groaned against her mouth.
His fingers were digging into her hips. Not hard, just enough to hold her in place.
Once, she rocked against him—instinctive
He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against hers.
“Slow,” he rasped. “We go slow.”
She nodded.
He kissed her neck, sucked lightly on the pulse point there. She whimpered.
His hands slid under her sweater again. This time they were a little further up. His palms rested on her ribs, thumbs brushing just under the edge of her bra.
Not crossing the line.
But close.
So close.
She trembled.
He stepped back.
Looked at her and saw that her eyes were dark and
“You’re beautiful,” said the man. “And you’re mine
She nodded.
He kissed her forehead.
Then her nose.
Then her mouth—gentle this time.
When at last he removed her from his lap, she was dizzy. Aching. Alive.
He stood. Offered his hand.
“Come to bed," he said. “Just to sleep. Nothing more. Not tonight.”
She took his hand.
Let him take her down the hall.
Into a bedroom that smelled like him, dark sheets, huge bed, city lights on the ceiling. He pulled back the covers.
She slipped in—still clothed.
He followed. He pulled her against his chest.
One arm around her waist.
The other under her head.
She felt his heartbeat—steady, strong.
Safe.
Terrifyingly safe
He kissed the top of her head.
“Sleep,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes.
And yet, for the first time in years, she hadn’t dreamed of being alone.
She dreamed of him.
Of shadows that felt like home.
And when she woke up in bed, in the middle of the night, his arm still around her, his breath on her neck, she didn’t pull away.
She moved closer again.
And let herself fall a little deeper. Elena woke to the smell of coffee, and something sweet, maybe cinnamon or vanilla.
She blinked out at the dawn lighting up the penthouse. The bed was empty beside her, the sheets cool and untouched. Damian had obviously gotten up some time ago.
She stretched, enjoying the delicious ache in her muscles from the previous night’s kisses and curl-ups. No regrets. Not yet.
She put on one of his shirts—a black one, soft, and way too large—and walked barefoot down the hall.
The kitchen was open to the living room. Damian was standing at the island, sleeves rolled up, pouring coffee into two mugs. He glanced up as she came in.
“Morning,” he said. His voice was low, warm, as if he'd been waiting for her to walk in.
She stood in the doorway. “You cook?”
“I don’t burn things.” He moved a mug across the table. “Sit.”
She did. The shirt had ridden up her thighs when she sat perched on the stool. His eyes dropped to her legs—swiftly, intensely—and then back to her face.
He put a plate down in front of her: French toast sprinkled with powdered sugar and fresh berries on the side.
She raised an eyebrow. “This is…domestic.”
He edged closer across the island. “I think you’re trying to keep me here.”
He smiled—slow, dangerous. “Is it working?”
She said, “Maybe.” She took a bite. Closed her eyes at the taste.
He rounded the island. He stopped, his hands braced on either side of her, caging her without touching her.
“Finish eating,” he murmured into her ear. “Then we play a game.”
She swallowed. "What kind of game?"
“The kind where you try to leave this apartment. and I try to convince you to stay.”
Her pulse raced.
He kissed the side of her neck, teasing.
“Rules are simple,” he went on. “You get a ten-minute head start, and you can go where you want in the building, lobby, gym, rooftop garden, pool.” He nipped her earlobe lightly. “But if I catch you before time runs out.you do the rest of the day however I decide.”
She turned her head. Looked at his eyes.
“And if I win?”
He grinned even more widely. “You won't
“She laughed, breathless, defiant. ‘
He stood upright. He set a timer on his phone. Ten minutes.
He kissed her once-hard, claiming-then stepped back.
“Run, little bird.”
She bolted.
Barefoot, heart racing, she sprinted to the private elevator. It opened instantly—of course he would have already programmed it for her
She hit the button for the rooftop garden.
The doors closed.
She grinned at her reflection in the mirrored wall. Adrenaline buzzed under her skin. This was insane. Reckless. Perfect.
The elevator ding-ed.
She stepped out onto the roof, the wind whipping her hair, the sprawl of the city below her like a glittering map. Potted trees, lounge chairs, a small infinity pool reflecting the sky.
She hid behind a tall planter, counting seconds in her head.
Eight minutes remaining.
Again, she heard the elevator.
He was coming.
She ran-light, quiet-across the roof to the stairwell door. Slipped inside. Down one flight. Into the gym level.
Empty. Perfect. She stepped back behind a series of treadmills. Heart pounding away. Looking like an i***t.
She listened intently to footsteps—slow and deliberate—echoeing through
He was close.
She looked.
He walked into the gym. Took a look around. Smiled as though he knew where she was.
“Seven minutes,” he said softly. “You’re making this too easy.”
She clicked her teeth shut to keep from giggling.
Then she moved—quick, silent—toward the pool area on this level.
She went behind the glass partition. Backed against the cool tile.
Stopped his footsteps.
Silence.
Then his voice, right behind her.
“Found you.”
She spun.
He was only a mere inch or two away. Eyes, dark,
She laughed, breathlessly. “You
‘I played to win.’
He grabbed her waist. Pulled her against him.
She put her arms round his neck.
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