Page 12
Story: Sold to the Beret
Just the way I like it.
My gaze returns to Damien as he deftly chops veggies. To his left is a platter of toast and bacon, perfectly cooked and inviting. I watch him silently for a while, taking in the steady movements of his hands and the way his muscles bulge sexily. He should look out of place here, but he doesn’t, as if he’s done this many times.
“I can’t believe you know how to cook,” I blurt, unable to hold in my thoughts.
Damien looks up and chuckles at my shocked expression. “Why do you say that, princess?” he asks.
I put down my coffee and shrug. “You just don’t seem like the type,” I reply, then giggle as he grabs his chest in mock shock.
“Shots fired, baby,” he gasps, coming to stand between my legs, grabbing my waist. “What do you think a man who cooks looks like?” he asks with an arched brow and a wide grin.
I giggle softly and pointedly eye him. “I don’t know, but not like you.”
Damien laughs and hugs me close, leaning in to seize my lips in a slow, lingering kiss that ends as quickly as it started. He places a firm kiss at the corner of my mouth before letting go, leaving me a needy mess. My gaze follows him as he washes the pan and heats it up. His muscles strain and flex beneath his rolled-up sleeves, heightening the growing need inside me.
“I’ll have you know that I’ve been cooking since I could remember,” he says, then looks up to hold my gaze before he turns back to frying the eggs. “I had a pretty normal childhood. My parents loved each other and were the best parents any child could ask for. My dad was in the army for most of his life, until he died in the war.”
My arousal dies down at his words. “Oh, Damien. I’m so sorry,” I exclaim softly, feeling a wave of sympathy at his loss.
“Thank you, princess,” he replies. “It was a long time ago. My mom and Tessa, my older sister, enjoy cooking. They taught me after we lost my dad and I needed to help my sister whenever mom was at work. Then it became a family tradition to cook together on weekends until I turned eighteen and joined the army. After I left the army and got my license as a private investigator, I haven’t cooked for anyone else except my mom and sister, until now,” he says simply.
I smile at him, feeling special, but I can’t help the pang of loss I feel at the difference in our backgrounds. “What about your mom and sister? Do they live close?” I ask, hoping to shift attention away from sad thoughts.
Damien looks up after pouring out the scrambled eggs from the pan. He shoots me a soft smile and I swoon inwardly at the way it transforms his face. “They live in Chicago. Tessa is married with two boys, and my mom enjoys being a grandma,” he says absentmindedly as he plates our food.
“What about you? Tell me about your childhood.”
I stiffen slightly at the question, and Damien looks up just in time to see my unease. He closes the space between us and settles his hands on my waist. “Are you okay? If you don’t want to talk about it, we can talk about something else,” he assures, soothingly rubbing his hands on my sides.
His concern pushes away the depressing thoughts that invade my mind. He makes it hard for me to wallow in my memories. “No. I’m fine. I was just taken aback by the question. I’m okay. Please go ahead with breakfast,” I urge.
“Okay, baby. Just know that you don’t have to say anything,” he says, and goes back to plating the food.
“I know,” I reply, then sigh softly. “I was just a bit sad hearing how wonderful it was for you growing up. My childhood was kind of the opposite. My parents loved each other too, but I think they loved growing their fortune more. I remember waiting up with my nanny for my parents to come back from work. Sometimes I got to see them, but most times I would fall asleep before they could arrive. They weren’t bad parents, they were just…busy.”
I bite my lip, my heart hurting at the memories. “When I turned six, Daddy traveled for a meeting and his plane crashed. He died, and it felt like my mom just…withered. She threw herself into work, and hardly had time for me. When my mom met Jared, I could tell he made her happier…at first. I remember when she introduced me to him and he asked me if he could marry my mom.”
I chuckle in disbelief at the thought and turn to look at Damien, whose attention hasn’t wavered from mine. Anger and irritation swirl in his dark, intense gaze and for some reason, it groundsme. “I knew something was wrong about him, but I didn’t want to disappoint my mom. Maybe I should have said something.”
Damien shifts closer until his warmth cloaks me, reminding me that Jared could never find me. “You were a kid, princess. It wasn’t your decision to make anyway,” he says gruffly, his gaze tender and immovable.
“You’re right, it wasn’t. Still, I wonder if my mom would have married him if I’d rejected him. I don’t think I could have, though. Seeing my mom happy and knowing he was the reason was enough for me to accept him.”
I tell Damien how Jared gradually made me feel unsafe in my home, turning me into a shell of myself. And I watch the growing anger and cold rage in his eyes at every word.
When I’m done, he closes his eyes and inhales deeply until the bulk of his rage subsides. Then he opens his eyes and meets my gaze. “You know, that asshole could be dead by morning,” he says, his voice a soft, menacing growl. “You only have to say the word.”
I sigh, allowing a sad smile. “I don’t want him dead.”
Damien leans over, touches his forehead to mine, and holds my waist. “You’re awfully kind, princess,” he says, and his warm breath fans over my lips. “But I’m not sure I can extend such grace.”
I frown. I’ve always known Damien isn’t a simple person, given the circumstances of how we met, but still I don’t want him involved with Jared. So, I close my mouth over his in a distractingly slow, deep kiss. I release his lips and whisper, “Let’s eat breakfast before it gets cold.”
Damien scoffs, blinking at me like I’ve suddenly grown a second head. “You expect me to eat afterthat?” he growls.
“Then I’ll eat for us both,” I tease, giving in to the urge to kiss his brows.
Damien chuckles and the sound fills me with warmth. I watch his eyes crinkle at the corners, and I can’t help but grin in response. He lifts me in his arms effortlessly, and I’m so used to his caveman ways that I melt into his arms, hugging him close. Then he takes a few steps, pulls out a kitchen chair, and sits down, placing me gently in his lap.
My gaze returns to Damien as he deftly chops veggies. To his left is a platter of toast and bacon, perfectly cooked and inviting. I watch him silently for a while, taking in the steady movements of his hands and the way his muscles bulge sexily. He should look out of place here, but he doesn’t, as if he’s done this many times.
“I can’t believe you know how to cook,” I blurt, unable to hold in my thoughts.
Damien looks up and chuckles at my shocked expression. “Why do you say that, princess?” he asks.
I put down my coffee and shrug. “You just don’t seem like the type,” I reply, then giggle as he grabs his chest in mock shock.
“Shots fired, baby,” he gasps, coming to stand between my legs, grabbing my waist. “What do you think a man who cooks looks like?” he asks with an arched brow and a wide grin.
I giggle softly and pointedly eye him. “I don’t know, but not like you.”
Damien laughs and hugs me close, leaning in to seize my lips in a slow, lingering kiss that ends as quickly as it started. He places a firm kiss at the corner of my mouth before letting go, leaving me a needy mess. My gaze follows him as he washes the pan and heats it up. His muscles strain and flex beneath his rolled-up sleeves, heightening the growing need inside me.
“I’ll have you know that I’ve been cooking since I could remember,” he says, then looks up to hold my gaze before he turns back to frying the eggs. “I had a pretty normal childhood. My parents loved each other and were the best parents any child could ask for. My dad was in the army for most of his life, until he died in the war.”
My arousal dies down at his words. “Oh, Damien. I’m so sorry,” I exclaim softly, feeling a wave of sympathy at his loss.
“Thank you, princess,” he replies. “It was a long time ago. My mom and Tessa, my older sister, enjoy cooking. They taught me after we lost my dad and I needed to help my sister whenever mom was at work. Then it became a family tradition to cook together on weekends until I turned eighteen and joined the army. After I left the army and got my license as a private investigator, I haven’t cooked for anyone else except my mom and sister, until now,” he says simply.
I smile at him, feeling special, but I can’t help the pang of loss I feel at the difference in our backgrounds. “What about your mom and sister? Do they live close?” I ask, hoping to shift attention away from sad thoughts.
Damien looks up after pouring out the scrambled eggs from the pan. He shoots me a soft smile and I swoon inwardly at the way it transforms his face. “They live in Chicago. Tessa is married with two boys, and my mom enjoys being a grandma,” he says absentmindedly as he plates our food.
“What about you? Tell me about your childhood.”
I stiffen slightly at the question, and Damien looks up just in time to see my unease. He closes the space between us and settles his hands on my waist. “Are you okay? If you don’t want to talk about it, we can talk about something else,” he assures, soothingly rubbing his hands on my sides.
His concern pushes away the depressing thoughts that invade my mind. He makes it hard for me to wallow in my memories. “No. I’m fine. I was just taken aback by the question. I’m okay. Please go ahead with breakfast,” I urge.
“Okay, baby. Just know that you don’t have to say anything,” he says, and goes back to plating the food.
“I know,” I reply, then sigh softly. “I was just a bit sad hearing how wonderful it was for you growing up. My childhood was kind of the opposite. My parents loved each other too, but I think they loved growing their fortune more. I remember waiting up with my nanny for my parents to come back from work. Sometimes I got to see them, but most times I would fall asleep before they could arrive. They weren’t bad parents, they were just…busy.”
I bite my lip, my heart hurting at the memories. “When I turned six, Daddy traveled for a meeting and his plane crashed. He died, and it felt like my mom just…withered. She threw herself into work, and hardly had time for me. When my mom met Jared, I could tell he made her happier…at first. I remember when she introduced me to him and he asked me if he could marry my mom.”
I chuckle in disbelief at the thought and turn to look at Damien, whose attention hasn’t wavered from mine. Anger and irritation swirl in his dark, intense gaze and for some reason, it groundsme. “I knew something was wrong about him, but I didn’t want to disappoint my mom. Maybe I should have said something.”
Damien shifts closer until his warmth cloaks me, reminding me that Jared could never find me. “You were a kid, princess. It wasn’t your decision to make anyway,” he says gruffly, his gaze tender and immovable.
“You’re right, it wasn’t. Still, I wonder if my mom would have married him if I’d rejected him. I don’t think I could have, though. Seeing my mom happy and knowing he was the reason was enough for me to accept him.”
I tell Damien how Jared gradually made me feel unsafe in my home, turning me into a shell of myself. And I watch the growing anger and cold rage in his eyes at every word.
When I’m done, he closes his eyes and inhales deeply until the bulk of his rage subsides. Then he opens his eyes and meets my gaze. “You know, that asshole could be dead by morning,” he says, his voice a soft, menacing growl. “You only have to say the word.”
I sigh, allowing a sad smile. “I don’t want him dead.”
Damien leans over, touches his forehead to mine, and holds my waist. “You’re awfully kind, princess,” he says, and his warm breath fans over my lips. “But I’m not sure I can extend such grace.”
I frown. I’ve always known Damien isn’t a simple person, given the circumstances of how we met, but still I don’t want him involved with Jared. So, I close my mouth over his in a distractingly slow, deep kiss. I release his lips and whisper, “Let’s eat breakfast before it gets cold.”
Damien scoffs, blinking at me like I’ve suddenly grown a second head. “You expect me to eat afterthat?” he growls.
“Then I’ll eat for us both,” I tease, giving in to the urge to kiss his brows.
Damien chuckles and the sound fills me with warmth. I watch his eyes crinkle at the corners, and I can’t help but grin in response. He lifts me in his arms effortlessly, and I’m so used to his caveman ways that I melt into his arms, hugging him close. Then he takes a few steps, pulls out a kitchen chair, and sits down, placing me gently in his lap.