Chapter 4. Temptation Wears His Name

By the time seven o’clock rolled around, I was pacing the small length of my apartment, torn between putting on something nice and canceling altogether.

I wasn't supposed to feel this nervous. It was just dinner. That's what I told myself repeatedly, as I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the black dress that hugged my hips a little too well.

But Damien Blackwell wasn't just anyone.

And I wasn't naive enough to believe this was just dinner.

My phone buzzed and I grabbed it, already knowing who it was before I even looked.

Damien: I'm outside.

I stared at the message, my heart hammering a little harder than it should have.

I could cancel.

But I didn't.

Instead I grabbed my coat, locked the door behind me and stepped out into the cold night air.

Damien was leaning against his car, the same sleek, black machine that practically screamed trouble.

His eyes found mine the second I stepped outside, dark and unreadable, but the slight curve of his mouth told me he likes what he saw.

“You clean up well,” he said, opening the passenger door for me.

“So do you.”

It wasn't a lie. He wore a tailored black suit that fit him like a second skin, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at the tattoos trailing down his chest.

I slid into the car, trying to ignore the way his proximity made it harder to breathe.

The soft this of the door closing behind me felt final, like i’d just crossed some invisible line.

“Are you always this quiet?” Damien asked as he droved through the city, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel.

I kept my gaze on the skyline. “I don't see the point in small talk.”

“Good,” his lips curled into something that resembled satisfaction. “Neither do I.”

Silence stretched between us but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was heavy. Charged.

I shifted in my seat, crossing one leg over the other and his eyes shifted to me briefly.

That single glance was enough to ignite something low in my stomach, something dangerous.

Your playing with fire.

I knew it.

But part of me wanted to see how close I could get before I burned.

—

Dinner wasn't at some upscale restaurant.

Instead Damien drove us to an intimate dimly-lit bar hidden away beneath a hotel in Soho.

It wasn't the kind of place you found by accident, it was exclusive, dark and oozes secrecy.

“This isn't what I expected,” I admitted as we slid into a booth near the back, away from prying eyes.

He ordered whiskey, then turned his attention to me. “What did you expect?”

I shrugged, playing with the corners of my napkin.

“Something flashy. Loud.”

He chuckled softly. “I prefer quiet.”

The waitress brought the drinks, but I barely touched mine. Damien on the other hand, sipped his like he was in no rush to leave.

It made me restless.

“So, what do you want from me?” I asked finally, unable to ignore the tension building between us.

He locked his eyes with mine, and for a second I forgot to breathe.

“You.”

The simplicity of his answer sent a shiver down my spine.

“That's not an answer.”

“It's the only one that matters.”

His fingers brushed against mine on the table, light but deliberate and I felt it everywhere.

I pulled my hand away, though the heat of his touch lingered long after.

“Is this a game to you?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended.

“No.” Damien leaned in slightly, his gaze not wavering.

“But I think you want it to be.”

My throat tightened. I hated that he was right.

—

The drive back was quiet, but this time it felt different.

He didn't try to fill the silence, and I was grateful for it.

But when we pulled up in front of my apartment, I didn't reach for the door handle.

Neither did he.

Damien shifted slightly, turning to face me.

“You can invite me up,” he said, voice low and rough. “Or you can walk away.”

I swallowed, heat curling low in my stomach.

I should have told him to leave.

I should have said goodnight and shut tw door behind me.

But when his hand traced the line of my jaw, tilting my face towards his, I knew I wasn't going to.

I kissed him first.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't careful.

It was desperate, filled with all the tension we’d been dancing around since the night we met.

His hands tangled in my hair, tugging me closer until I was half on his lap, straddling him as his mouth devoured mine.

The faint sound of the car unlocking snapped me back to reality, and I pulled away breathless.

His pupils were wide and his lips swollen from my kiss.

“I guess that's my answer,” he murmured, his thumb tracing my lower lip.

I didn't say anything as I stepped out of the car and led him upstairs.

I didn't need to.

The second we stepped inside my apartment, Damien's mouth was on mine again.

I barely had time to kick off my heels before he was backing me against the wall, his hands gripping my hips as if he couldn't stand the thought of space between us.

I moaned into his mouth, arching against him as his fingers trailed beneath the hem of my dress, pulling it higher.

“Damien,” I whispered, the sound of his name sounding like a plea.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes darkened and hooded.

“Tell me go stop,” he said, voice rough. “And I will.”

I didn't.

Instead I dragged him towards the bedroom.

Because tonight I didn't want him to stop.