Lines crossed …9
876 Words
Claire didn’t know what she expected when Damian sent a message through his assistant asking her to meet him at his residence for a late evening review of the Empire Tower project.
She double-checked the address. It wasn’t the office. It wasn’t even one of the corporate lounges they sometimes used for brainstorming. It was his home.
She hesitated before replying. For a long minute, she just stared at her screen.
Then, with slightly trembling fingers, she typed back a polite confirmation.
Now, here she was—standing in front of a sleek black door in an upscale neighborhood tucked away in Empire City. Her coat was pulled tightly around her, but not because of the cold.
The door opened before she could knock a second time.
“Claire,” Damian said, his voice softer than usual, his tie slightly loosened, sleeves rolled up just like he always wore them when deep in thought. “Come in.”
She stepped inside. The interior was minimalist and modern, but warm. Not sterile like she imagined. It smelled faintly of cedarwood and something that reminded her of late nights and expensive whiskey.
“This way,” he said, leading her to an open living space where blueprints and renderings were spread across a long marble table. Her designs. Her heart.
They worked in near silence for almost thirty minutes, their conversation focused—at first—strictly on revisions. Layout adjustments. Lighting concepts. Logo placements.
But the tension?
It hung thick in the air. Tangible. Crackling.
At some point, Claire glanced up and found him already looking at her. He didn’t look away this time.
Their eyes locked. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.
Something shifted.
The next few seconds blurred. One moment, she was gathering her notes. The next, Damian was beside her. Close. Too close.
She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but then his hand brushed a strand of hair from her face, and it was like a match struck against glass.
He leaned in.
And kissed her.
It started slow, almost hesitant, like he was giving her a chance to pull away. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Her lips moved against his in sync, like they’d been waiting for this exact moment without ever admitting it.
His hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer. She felt the strength of his body press against hers, the urgency rising as his mouth deepened the kiss. Fingers trailing the curve of her back. Her own hands found his shirt, clutching it, unsure whether she was grounding herself—or falling further in.
He backed her gently against the table, not breaking the kiss, one hand on her hip, the other gliding over her lower back, slow and deliberate. There was no one else. No noise. No past. Just his mouth on hers, his hands telling stories her body hadn’t heard in a long, long time.
But then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped.
Damian pulled back like he’d been burned, eyes wide, breathing uneven.
“Claire…” His voice was rough, strained. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
Her breath hitched as the cold air returned between them.
He stepped away from her, raking a hand through his hair. “That was a mistake.”
Claire felt like she’d been doused in ice water. Every part of her wanted to argue. To ask why it felt so real if it wasn’t supposed to be.
But she didn’t.
She gathered her folder, lips still tingling, heart thudding like a traitor in her chest.
“I’ll call you a car,” he said stiffly.
“I don’t need—”
“I’ll drive you.”
And he did.
The ride was silent. Awkward. His hand gripped the wheel like it was the only thing tethering him to control. Claire stared out the window, trying to slow her thoughts, to remind herself why she should be grateful for the distance.
When he pulled up to her building, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at her once—softly, like he regretted everything and nothing all at once.
Claire opened the door slowly. Paused.
Thank you for the ride,” she said quietly.
Damian’s eyes met hers, conflicted. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He exhaled slowly. “Claire… I’m sorry.”
She nodded once, uncertain what else to say. Every nerve in her body buzzed with what had just happened—and what it meant.
“I should go,” she whispered, stepping out into the cool night.
He reached for the door handle, then let his hand drop. “Good night.”
Claire closed the door behind her and stood on the sidewalk, heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
After a moment, she walked inside.
⸻
In her apartment, she leaned against the closed door, sliding to the floor. The kiss replayed in her mind—his hands, his mouth, the way he’d held her like she was the only thing that mattered. And then the abrupt end. The apology. The drive home in silence.
It was everything she had both wanted and feared.
She pressed her hand to her lips, tasting the phantom of his kiss.
- Writer
