Chapter twelve - Heartfelt Confessions
1542 Words
The next morning, all Mara could feel was Damien. Her skin still hummed from where he’d touched her, kissed her, claimed her like she was something worth fighting for. His scent lingered on the sheets, the pillow, on her, and she hated how much she liked that. She’d lost. She cracked first. And he knew it.
The arrogant bastard got what he wanted.
And the worst part? She wanted it, too.
She had been the one to reach for him. She’d stepped into the steam-filled bathroom like a woman possessed, like logic didn’t exist and self-preservation was just a rumor. And it hadn’t just been good. It had been unfairly, cosmically, ruinously good. Better than the first time, more raw, more real, because this time it hadn’t been a drunken slip-up or a moment of weakness.
It had been a choice.
One she couldn’t take back.
Mara had braced herself for awkward silence in the morning. For Damien to slip back into his cold, untouchable self. Maybe mutter something about a meeting and disappear behind his tailored armor.
Instead, he’d woken her up with fresh coffee and breakfast on a silver tray, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
As if he couldn’t stay away either.
She propped herself up on one elbow, watching him as he moved around their hotel suite shirtless, confident, completely at ease. She wasn’t used to this, the softness after the storm.
“You’re in a dangerously good mood for someone who kept me up half the night,” she said dryly, sipping the coffee he made exactly the way she liked it.
He smirked, not bothering to deny it. “And yet, here you are, still glowing.”
“Don’t push it.”
But there was no heat in her words. Not when her chest ached in that slow, hopeful way she hated admitting to herself.
She cleared her throat, forcing herself to refocus. “This doesn’t change the rules. We still have a contract.”
“Right,” he said, voice low, unreadable as he leaned against the doorway. “You can pretend that’s all it is.”
She met his gaze, pulse fluttering traitorously. “What if I do?”
Damien didn’t answer, not with words.
Instead, he crossed the room in three deliberate steps and kissed her again.
Slow. Deep. Like a promise he wasn’t ready to break.
And just like that, her armor started to slip, again.
She gasped when he grabbed the sheets and pulled them from her body, the cool air kissing her skin like a dare. Her laugh slipped out before she could stop it, half thrill, half warning but he was already there, his hand sliding up her bare leg, rough and reverent all at once.
She didn’t stand a chance.
Her fingers found his hair, curling in it like muscle memory, like they’d been doing this forever. His body pressed against hers, solid and warm and maddening, and her heart roared in her chest like it couldn’t decide if this was heaven or disaster.
Probably both.
She didn’t care.
Logic scattered the moment she felt him. Really felt him. The heat of his skin, the way his breath hitched when she raked her nails lightly down his back. She needed this, him, like he’d carved out space inside her without asking, and now nothing else would fit.
With a needy growl she tore his shirt off, desperate to feel skin on skin, to lose herself in the way he made her forget every reason she should’ve run from this. From him.
But Damien didn’t hesitate either. He gave as good as he got.
Better, even.
He moved like a man who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to give it to her. Slow. Sure. Intense. Like she was the only thing in the world that mattered right now.
Breakfast? Coffee?
Long gone.
All that existed was this moment. This touch. This fire. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel afraid of getting burned.
Freshly showered, wrapped in a soft robe and finally somewhat put together, Mara sank into the plush armchair by the open balcony doors. A warm mug of jasmine tea in her hand. A light, healthy brunch spread out on the table in front of her. Her body hummed with soreness in the best way—like a slow, decadent ache that reminded her exactly what had happened between those hotel sheets. Twice.
She needed nutrients. Protein. Hydration. A nap.
Possibly an exorcism.
Because Damien Blackthorn had absolutely no business making her feel this soft and this wrecked at the same time.
She sipped her tea and peeked through the sheer curtains. There he was—cutting through the pool water like some mythological creature built entirely of muscle and smug self-control.
Focused.
Unbothered.
Cool.
The complete opposite of how he’d been in bed. Or against the wall. Or—
She groaned and dropped her head back with a laugh.
Nope. Not going there again. Not until she could walk without blushing.
Still, a smug smile tugged at her lips. Damien had lost control. And not in a subtle, blink-and-you-miss-it kind of way. No. She felt it. Heard it. That groan, the way his hands gripped her hips like she was his anchor and his downfall.
It gave her a rush she didn’t expect.
He’d warned her that he was dangerous. That once she gave in, he’d ruin her for anyone else.
She hadn’t believed him.
Now? She wasn’t so sure.
The sound of the sliding door opening made her sit up straighter. He walked in, still damp from the pool, towel slung low around his hips, hair wet and messy from the water. And of course, he looked like sin wrapped in sunlight.
He smirked when he saw her.
“You didn’t come watch,” he said, grabbing a bottle of water from the minibar.
“I already saw everything I needed to see last night,” she replied breezily, taking another sip of tea.
His grin widened. “Cocky this morning, Lennox.”
“I earned it.”
He leaned against the counter, watching her. “You sure did.”
The heat between them hadn’t gone anywhere. It just waited—simmering.
And she was in so much trouble.
That night, their last at the hotel, was supposed to be simple. But nothing with Damien ever stayed simple. The restaurant was candlelit and quiet, the kind of place where whispers felt louder than they should. She wore her favorite black heels, the ones that made her feel tall and untouchable, but the moment Damien looked at her, she felt anything but.
He was playing the long game. She knew it. Every glance, every touch, every sly smile. He was wooing her. Flooding her thoughts so there’d be no room for anyone else, not even Nolan Hale and his wicked grin.
And the worst part? It was working.
She sipped her gin, letting the citrus and herbs dull the edge of nerves she hadn’t even realized she had.
“You’re so bad,” she told him, laughing as her cheeks flushed.
He grinned, leaned in. “You like it that way.”
She did. She couldn’t deny it. She liked being wanted by a man who didn’t just see her beauty—but studied her with that mind of his, like she was the most complex case he’d ever taken on.
But then, like always, the flutter in her chest turned into something heavier.
She didn’t mean to go quiet, but she did.
And of course, he noticed. Of course, he always noticed.
“What is it?” he asked, voice lower now. Careful.
She stared down at her glass for a beat too long, then met his eyes. “The way you make me feel… it terrifies me.”
She didn’t expect the words to come out so easily. But she wasn’t great at pretending with Damien. That was the problem.
His gaze didn’t waver. “Why?”
“You know why.” She swallowed. “I mean, I’ve been living with you for weeks now. And I know you didn’t stage what happened with Zoey. I know that.”
He waited. Let her say the rest.
“I feel it,” she admitted softly. “That I mean something to you. But that contract—it calms me. It gives me structure. Control. Something to fall back on if… if I start falling too far.”
There. She said it.
And she hated how true it was.
He didn’t mock her. Didn’t smirk or tease like he usually would.
Instead, he stood and held out a hand to her. Not forceful. Just… patient.
“No more noise,” he said gently. “No more dinner politics. Just you and me.”
She stared at his hand, heart hammering.
Then she took it.
And when he brushed his thumb over her fingers, a warmth bloomed in her chest that no amount of gin could compete with. As he led her through the quiet hotel, she reminded herself of one thing:
She wasn’t just afraid of falling.
She was afraid of wanting to stay.
- Writer
