Page 32

After everything between Damon and me, I still feel like I don’t even know him.

I study his side profile as his gaze sweeps the room, those lips meeting his glass as the brown liquid disappears into a mouth I have dreamt of kissing. We had done other things—intimate things—yet we still hadn’t even kissed.

Wasn’t that strange?

“You are staring at me.” Damon calling me out on my blatant perusal of him makes me blush as I whip my gaze to the dance floor.

Now I can feel him staring at me. I meet his gaze.

What was I even doing here with him? How had he, in less than three weeks, managed to weave himself not just into my life but into my mind, body, and soul?

The champagne I am drinking is making me feel a little tipsy. And a little brave. But instead of asking him why I am here with him, I ask him something else. Scared of the answer I would receive. That perhaps all I am is a momentary distraction to him.

“Were you always like this, even as a boy?” My finger points to all of him, my eye following its path.

“Like what?” Answering a question with another question.

“Self-assured. Confident. Stern.” There are so many other words I could use to describe him, but I keep those bouncing on my tongue. Alluring. Dominating. Arrogant.

“Stern. That’s a new one. A nice way of saying I scare you,” he says this, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. I think he prefers it when people are scared of him. It keeps them at arm's length.

I am scared of Damon. But not in the way he thinks. Not in the way he wants. He will never hurt me. Intrinsically, I know this. In the same way, I know that he would never let anyone else hurt me.

No. It's more complicated than physically being scared of him. I am scared of what he can do to me emotionally. There, I think he could destroy me.

“I’m not scared of you in that way, Damon.” Would he push for more?

As always, he owns the chair he sits in, like the chair has molded to him, not the other way around. So, when he leans forward in that languid way that is more dangerous than moving quickly, goosebumps erupt on my skin.

With his face inches from mine, he trails the back of his fingers upmy arm, over my shoulder, before circling the back of my neck with his hand.

“In what way are you scared of me, Sienna?” His voice is sensual and low, making me suddenly acutely aware of my body.

The vibrator I forgot about starts to make itself known, reminding me of its placement in a usually empty sport. Damon's thumb and forefinger exert pressure on my neck—not painful but purposefully inflicted to remind me of his control. The air between us, charged with electricity and his scent, pushes oxygen out of the way as my breathing becomes shallow.

He does all this with one lean forward and a touch. He aims to distract from answering the question. He doesn’t want to know the answer, but he will have it nonetheless.

“In all the ways that cannot be seen.” Quietly spoken but weighing more than a thousand thoughtless words put together. Sometimes, more is said with less.

A minute passes as he stares at me, and I stare at him, my words marinating in the air around us.

“Alors nous sommes tous les deux damnés,” he mutters these words and pulls back, his gaze on me thoughtfully.

Before I can ask what it means, he stands, his hand held out.

“Let’s dance.”

Oh shit. I haven’t danced since my wedding day. The first and only dance James and I danced, though I attended dance lessons for months leading up to it. I wanted to dance the tango, but we ended up dancing the Waltz. While we were good at many things together, dancing was not one of them. But it was something I immensely enjoyed. Even now, I would put music on some nights and dance the tango. Solo. Dancing alone was difficult, but what was a girl to do without a partner?

I take Damon's outstretched hand and rise, butterflies in my stomach. It’s just a dance—nothing to it. But as we approach the dance floor, most couples leave, bar us and four others.

Damon twirls me and pulls me close, his hand on my lower back so hot and heavy against my skin.

“Um, what’s happening?” I look around as the lights dim further, a group of people gathering around the edge of the dance floor.

“We're dancing. The tango.” My mouth drops open, and at the same time, I will my mind to be silent. That must be how he knows things. He can read minds. It’s the only logical and very far-fetched explanation as to how this is happening.

“If you don’t close your mouth, I’ll put something in it.” I snap my mouth closed and blush as my mind goes to the gutter. But the smirk on Damon’s face tells me that he is right there with me.