The restroom was dimly lit, the soft glow of the vanity lights reflecting off the marble tiles. Bella leaned against the counter, still trembling from the intensity of the moment earlier, her breaths short and uneven. She tried to steady herself, her hands gripping the edge of the sink, as if holding on to the porcelain could somehow anchor her in reality. But reality was a fleeting concept whenever Damien Blackwood was near.
The sound of his shoes clicking against the polished floor made her stomach knot. She knew that sound anywhere, knew that stride—the precise way he walked with certainty, with ownership of every space he entered. And there he was, standing in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the soft light from the gala outside.
His eyes found hers instantly, dark and consuming
