The searing heat of Damian's grip burned into her wrist. Elodie jolted. "Weren't you... asleep?"
Damian lifted his eyelids and looked at her. There was no warmth in the gaze. His eyes were glazed with alcohol. His thin lips pressed together. He said nothing.
His stare made her skin prickle.
'If he wasn't asleep, does that mean he saw me almost touch his face just now?'
She scrambled for a distraction. "You hadn't come downstairs in a while, so I came up to check on you... Are you okay?"
His temples were pounding. His head felt ready to split open. He leaned back against the chair and asked, lazy and abrupt, "Can you give a massage?"
"A little."
"Come here."
Elodie understood what he wanted. She hesitated. "Are you sure you want me to do it?"
"Why do you always have so much nonsens
