Chapter Nine: The Warning Kiss
811 Words
Alina shouldn’t have stayed late.
The office was too quiet after hours, and she was too aware of every creak in the marble floor, every hum of the overhead lights.
But she had to finish the analysis Damon had assigned. The kind of analysis he didn’t give to just anyone.
He trusts me.
No, she corrected herself.
He’s testing me.
She slid the final report into a folder and checked the time—almost 9:00 PM.
The floor was deserted, but his office light was still on.
Of course.
Damon Voss didn’t sleep. He schemed.
Alina hesitated at her desk.
Then she grabbed the folder and walked toward the lion’s den.
She knocked once.
“Come in,” his deep voice called.
Damon sat behind his desk, his jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He looked like he belonged to the night—too sharp, too polished, too powerful.
“You’re still here,” he said without looking up.
“So are you,” she replied, placing the folder on his desk. “Finished the analysis.”
He closed his laptop and picked up the folder. But his eyes were on her, not the report.
“You’re efficient,” he said.
“I’m thorough.”
His mouth twitched. “You’re dangerous.”
She raised a brow. “Because I work hard?”
“Because you know exactly what you’re doing. Even when you pretend you don’t.”
Alina’s chest tightened. “You mean I’m pretending now?”
“I think,” Damon said, standing slowly, “you’ve been pretending since the day you walked in.”
He crossed around the desk, stopping just a foot away.
Too close.
Alina held her ground.
“If you have something to say, say it,” she challenged.
“I know who you are.”
Her breath caught.
He didn’t say it. Not yet. But the look in his eyes told her he knew.
“Then say it,” she said softly.
Damon stared at her. “You’re Leonard Cole’s daughter.”
There it was.
The air between them shifted. The pretense dropped.
Alina’s heart pounded. “And you’re the man who destroyed my father.”
He didn’t deny it.
But his voice was calm. “I didn’t destroy him, Alina. I acquired a failing company. That’s not the same.”
“My father died because of you.”
Pain flickered in her voice, and maybe even in his eyes.
“I know,” he said quietly. “And I’ve lived with that.”
She turned away.
But he caught her wrist gently, pulling her back.
She stared at him, fury and heat tangled in her chest.
“Then why did you keep me here?” she asked.
Damon’s voice was low. “Because you’re the only person who doesn’t lie to me. Except about who you are.”
Their eyes locked.
And then it happened.
He kissed her.
No warning. No hesitation.
His mouth crashed into hers like a storm breaking, fierce and wild and completely wrong.
But Alina didn’t pull away.
She kissed him back.
Because somewhere deep inside the hate, the lies, and the grief—was something else.
Something that burned.
His hands gripped her waist, her fingers curled into his shirt, and the kiss deepened—angry, messy, real.
She broke it first, gasping, stepping back like she’d been burned.
“What the hell was that?” she whispered.
Damon’s chest rose and fell slowly. “A warning.”
“A warning?”
He took a step closer, eyes burning. “That this thing between us? It won’t end clean.”
Her pulse raced. “You think this changes anything?”
“I think it changes everything.”
Alina’s voice shook. “You’re still the reason I’m here.”
“And you’re still the only one who can hurt me.”
The silence was heavy.
She turned to leave—but paused in the doorway.
“If I keep digging… if I find something that ends you—”
He met her eyes. “Then you’d better finish the job. Because I won’t go down easy.”
Outside the office, Alina leaned against the wall, her lips still tingling.
She had kissed the man she swore to destroy.
And part of her had wanted to stay in his arms.
God help me.
Later that night, Damon stood alone on his balcony, scotch in hand.
The kiss had shaken him.
Not because it happened—but because of what it meant.
He had let her in.
Worse, he didn’t regret it.
Behind him, Leo spoke from the shadows. “You kissed her.”
Damon didn’t turn. “She kissed me back.”
“You still think you can control this?”
“No,” Damon said. “I think I’m already too late.”
- Writer
