Chloe’s shove sent me stumbling a step forward, practically into Damien Maxwell’s chest. I managed to catch myself, cheeks burning hotter than the club’s overzealous smoke machine. Mortification warred with a reckless thrill. Damien simply watched, one dark eyebrow slightly arched, an almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He knew. He fucking knew Chloe was my enabler in this sudden, insane decision.
My voice came out as a squeak. “Okay.”
Just like that. One word, and I’d apparently agreed to go off with a devastatingly handsome, clearly rich stranger. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking. That was the problem. Or maybe, for once, it was the solution.
Damien’s smile widened, a slow, satisfied curve that made my stomach flip. “Excellent choice, Amelia.” His voice, that deep, velvety sound, wrapped around my name, making it sound like a secret. He extended his arm, a gentlemanly offering. “Shall we?”
My hand trembled as I placed it on his forearm. His suit jacket was made of some incredibly fine material, and beneath it, his arm was solid muscle. Warm. The contact sent a jolt straight up my arm and into my chest, where my heart gave an extra, hard thump. Electricity. Pure, unadulterated electricity. Shit. This was dangerous. His fingers lightly brushed mine as he settled my hand more firmly, a subtle possessiveness in the touch that made my breath catch.
He turned, and with me on his arm, began to navigate the pulsating crowd. It was like the Red Sea parting. People just seemed to melt out of his way, their glances a mixture of curiosity and deference. His presence was a palpable force, a bubble of calm, controlled power in the midst of the club’s chaos. I felt ridiculously small beside him, yet also strangely…protected. It was a heady, confusing sensation.
We reached the exit, the cool night air a welcome relief on my flushed skin. A sleek, impossibly black car idled silently at the curb, the kind that looked like it cost more than my entire student loan debt. A man in a dark suit stood by the passenger door, his expression impassive. Ben Carter, I'd later learn. He opened the rear door with a respectful nod to Damien, his eyes flicking over me for a brief, neutral moment.
Damien didn’t say a word about the car or the driver. He simply held the door for me, his hand lightly at the small of my back as I ducked inside. Another jolt. His touch was feather-light, yet it burned through the fabric of my dress. I slid onto the plush leather seat, the interior smelling of new leather and something faintly, expensively masculine – Damien’s scent, more concentrated in the enclosed space.
He followed me in, the car dipping slightly under his weight. The door closed with a soft, solid thud, sealing us in a world of quiet luxury. Suddenly, the vibrant chaos of the club felt a million miles away. Here, it was just the low hum of the engine and the thick, charged silence between us.
I sat stiffly, hands clasped in my lap, hyper-aware of him beside me. He was close. So close. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could see the strong line of his thigh just inches from mine. My skin tingled. If I turned my head, I’d be looking right at his profile, the sharp angle of his jaw, the way his dark hair brushed his collar.
“Comfortable?” he finally asked, his voice smoother than the car’s suspension as it pulled away from the curb.
I jumped slightly. “Yes. Thank you.” My voice was still a little breathless.
He shifted, turning slightly towards me. His eyes, even in the dim interior light filtering in from the city streets, were intense, focused solely on me. “So, Amelia,” he began, his tone casual, yet with an underlying current that made me sit up straighter. “What does an architecture student do for fun, besides gracing clubs with her presence?”
I blinked, surprised he remembered I was a student, or perhaps Chloe had broadcasted that too. “Fun?” I gave a small, nervous laugh. “Lately, ‘fun’ has been mostly stressing about my final project designs. And the Maxwell Corp internship prize.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. Damn it. Way to sound like a career-obsessed nerd.
But Damien didn’t laugh or look bored. He just watched me, his gaze unwavering. “Maxwell Corp, huh? Ambitious.” There was a flicker of something in his eyes, something I couldn’t quite decipher. Interest? Amusement? “So, the club was a… stress relief?”
“Something like that,” I admitted, fiddling with a loose thread on my cheap dress. “My friend Chloe’s idea. She thinks I need to ‘live a little’.”
“And do you agree with Chloe?” His voice was soft, inviting confidence.
I met his gaze, just for a second. The intensity there stole my breath. “Sometimes,” I whispered. “Sometimes I think she might be right.”
He leaned back slightly, a thoughtful expression on his face, but his eyes never left mine. They were like magnets, drawing me in, making me feel like I was the most fascinating creature he’d ever encountered. It was unnerving and utterly captivating. He made me want to tell him things, secrets I barely admitted to myself. The power he exuded wasn't just in his wealth or his obvious confidence; it was in this absolute, undivided attention he bestowed.
The car glided smoothly through the city streets, the lights blurring into streaks outside the tinted windows. My earlier panic had subsided, replaced by a thrumming anticipation. Where was he taking me? Every so often, his arm would brush mine when the car turned, each accidental touch a tiny explosion on my skin.
After a while, the car slowed, turning into a quieter, tree-lined street. I peered out the window, seeing glimpses of elegant, old brownstones. Then, it pulled up smoothly before one that seemed even grander than the others, a subtle statement of understated wealth. My heart began to hammer again. This was definitely not the ‘quiet lounge’ I’d pictured.
