Page 13 of Damon

"So are you."

He steps closer, and I can smell his cologne mixed with sweat and soap, a masculine scent that makes me want to lean in instead of backing away.

"I'm trying to figure you out," he says. “You're not what I expected.” His eyes move over my face like he's lookingfor clues. "Roberto Bonacci's spoiled princess who thinks sneaking out to clubs makes her dangerous."

"I never said I was dangerous."

"No, but you thought you were. I could see it that night, the way you moved, the way you handled those college boys. You knew exactly what you were doing."

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. "I did."

"Is that right?" He's close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. "Or were you playing dress-up in a world you don't understand?"

The question stings because it's true. I was playing at being bad, playing at being someone other than the sheltered girl my father raised me to be.

"You don't know anything about me," I say.

"I know you've never been in real danger before. I know you've probably never even been kissed by someone who wasn't screened by your daddy first."

The last part hits home because it's embarrassingly accurate. The few boys I've kissed were all from "appropriate" families, all pre-approved by Papa's standards, all completely safe and boring.

"You're wrong," I lie.

"Am I?" He reaches out and touches my cheek, a brush of his fingers, but it sends electricity shooting through my entire body. "Then why are you shaking?"

I hadn't realized it until he pointed it out, but my whole body is trembling like I'm cold, even though the basement is warm.

"I'm not shaking because of you," I say, which is another lie.

"No?" His thumb traces along my cheek. "Then what?"

I should step away. I should remember that this man is my enemy, that he's dangerous, that getting involved with him would be the stupidest thing I could possibly do.

Besides the fact me Papa would kill him if he found out.

Instead, I find myself leaning into his touch. "I don't know," I whisper.

We stand there, his hand on my face, my heart hammering. The air between us feels charged, like right before a thunderstorm.

Then Damon drops his hand and steps back. "You should go upstairs," he says.

"Why?"

"Because I'm trying to keep you safe, and that includes keeping you safe from me."

"Maybe I don't want to be safe?"

The words slip out before I can stop them, and I immediately want to take them back. Where did that come from? I don't even know this man. I shouldn't want anything from him except to go home.

Damon's eyes go dark. "Princess, you have no fucking idea what you're saying."

"Stop calling me princess. I’m not your princess. And yes, I do."

"No, you don't." He moves closer again, and this time there's something predatory in his gaze. "You think you want danger, but you've never actually experienced it. You think you want the bad boy, but you don't know what bad really is."

"Then show me."

Jesus, where did that come from?