CONTRACTED: His Dangerous Obsession

Our Room

Glacier Residence…

The sleek car drove into the long driveway of Damon’s residence. Phoebe was stunned at such a tall and elegant building standing tall.

The dinner at the Kingsbridge had been quiet throughout, and he spent the entire time ignoring a call that came incessantly.

Phoebe stepped out of the car when it came to a stop. She looked around quickly, but didn’t show that she was wowed.

Damon got out and walked towards the entrance where the butler and a line of maids waited, bowing slightly as they greeted them.

“Welcome back, sir.” They chorused.

Damon nodded. “Show her to her room,” he said flatly, handed his coat to a waiting servant and headed up the grand staircase and disappeared into a room.

The butler and Phoebe walked up the staircase and down a long hallway, stopping right in front of a door.

“This is your room, Miss,” the butler said with his head lowered, and then he opened the door.

Phoebe stepped inside, and she couldn’t help widening her eyes as she took in the magnificence of the room. The softness of the bed inviting.

“The bathroom has been stocked with your personal needs. If you need anything, just let me know.” He informed her.

“Thank you,” Phoebe said, giving him a polite smile.

After the butler left, she stood at the centre of the room in silence, taking everything in. Her gaze fell on a door, and her curiosity won. She opened it and saw that it was the bathroom. Then she undressed and stepped inside. The bathroom had the exact toiletries she uses at home.

“Guess they thought of everything,” she murmured and turned on the shower.

…

After a long, relaxing bath, she wrapped herself in a soft towel and stepped out of the bathroom. She walked to the wardrobe to grab some nightwear. But each one she picked had her breath hitched. They were either too delicate and lacy or too sexy and seductive for her comfort.

She pulled one out, but it left little or nothing to the imagination. Then, as if she just remembered something, she chuckled. She dropped it aside and sighed.

“These maids probably don’t understand what this marriage is all about,” she murmured.

After a long search, she finally found a simpler option. Although it still accentuated her curves and left her cleavage on full display, it was better. She slipped in and smoothed the fabric while looking at herself in the long mirror.

“This will do,” she said, letting out a deep breath and walking towards the bed.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and Damon walked in.

She froze.

He stilled.

Time seemed to stand still as they both stood there, transfixed.

Damon’s eyes darkened as his gaze locked with hers. His eyes moved downward, stopping longer at her exposed, fair cleavages. His Adam's apple moved.

Her breath hitched as she noticed where his eyes were. She clutched at the neckline of the gown, struggling to hide herself while failing woefully.

Her action brought him back, and he coughed awkwardly. “Are you…” His voice came out husky, and he trailed off as if he had forgotten what he wanted to say.

Phoebe dashed to the bed and yanked the duvet over herself as quickly as she could. She finally found her voice and snapped. “What are you doing here? Can’t you knock?”

He blinked his facial expression back to normal. “This is also my room.” He said and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“What?” she shrieked, her jaw dropping.

“Our room,” he clarified and moved towards the bathroom without sparing her a glance.

Before she could argue, he had already disappeared into the bathroom. She glared at the bathroom door as he shut it behind him. Married or not, he could've at least knocked, she thought.

She quickly wrapped the duvet tightly around her body as if it would hide her from the awkward situation.

Despite her frustration and irritation, she was quickly lulled into a deep sleep.

...

Damon emerged from the bathroom, already dressed in pyjama pants and a plain T-shirt, his gaze landed on Phoebe who was curled up on the bed, and he paused.

He stood there, admiring her for a moment before he turned off the bright lights and slipped into bed, making sure that there was enough distance between them.

He lay on his back, staring at the carvings on the ceiling. The room was dark save for the dim, warm light from the bedside lamp. He should be asleep by now. He was tired. But sleep wouldn't come.

Her image wouldn't leave his head. It had been replaying in his mind since he entered the bathroom.

He rubbed a hand over his head and closed his eyes, forcing himself to push the memory away, but it was all useless. He thought he would have forgotten that night of eighteen months ago, but seeing the way the silk nightie clung to her body this night, making it impossible not to notice her curves, made the memories from that night come flooding in.

The way her eyes widened in slight panic on seeing him, her flushed cheek, and embarrassment before she scrambled under the duvet – it had been plastered into his brain.

He shifted in the bed, trying to get comfortable, but the heat in his body refused to subside. He could still hear her sharp voice in his head.

He turned to his side, and his eyes drifted towards her. She was a bundle under the duvet with only her face peeking out. Her face was a little messy now with a few strands falling over her cheeks.

He exhaled slowly. He sat up, picked up a book, and tried to read, but her face popped back into his mind. The memory refused to burn out, and he was getting tired.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

He closed the book and lay down on his side, his gaze wandering back to her. She was still bundled tightly under the thick duvet, and now, beads of sweat had started forming on her forehead, and her breath was becoming uneven.

His brows creased. Was she uncomfortable? The night was warm, and she had cocooned herself in such a way that she would overheat.

He subconsciously tried to help her. But as he leaned forward, trying to pull the duvet down a bit to allow her some air, he stilled. What if she woke up and saw him touching her? What would she think of him? Worse, what if she thought that he was trying to take advantage of her? How would he defend himself?

But it wasn't just about what she would think. Right now, he didn’t trust himself. His self-control that he used to brag about was at stake right now, and one wrong move, it would be over.

He glanced at her again, and she shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent in her sleep; the duvet slipped down just enough to reveal her bare shoulder and enough of her cleavage. His jaw tightened as his gaze lingered for a moment too long before he looked away.

No. He couldn't risk it.

So he stood up, picked up his phone and left the room.

It was going to be a very long night, he thought.