I watched as Damien moved with an easy grace to a sleek, dark wood bar tucked into an alcove of the vast living area. His shoulders were broad under the expensive cut of his jacket, his movements fluid and purposeful. He selected a heavy crystal decanter, the amber liquid inside catching the soft light, and two matching glasses. Even the sound of him pouring the whiskey seemed decadent, a quiet clink of crystal against crystal that echoed slightly in the immense space.
He returned, holding a glass out to me. His fingers brushed mine as I took it, a fleeting contact that sent a jolt straight up my arm. “Thank you,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper.
He didn’t sit opposite me, as I half expected. Instead, he settled onto the plush sofa right beside me. So close. My entire body tensed. His thigh brushed against mine, a firm, warm pressure that seemed to brand itself onto my skin through the thin fabric of my dress. A shiver traced its way down my spine, despite the comfortable temperature of the room. Shit. I took a nervous sip of the whiskey. It was smooth, smoky, so much better than anything I’d ever tasted. It warmed its way down my throat, but did nothing to calm the frantic fluttering in my stomach.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy with unspoken things. All I could hear was the thumping of my own heart and the faint sounds of the city far below. I could feel his eyes on me, though I kept my gaze fixed on the mesmerizing city lights. It was a possessive gaze, intense, like he was trying to see right through me. My skin prickled under the scrutiny. The air between us vibrated, charged with a raw, almost suffocating energy. Pure, unadulterated lust. My thighs tingled with an unfamiliar heat.
Slowly, I turned my head to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, hooded, but a spark glinted within them. He was watching me with an unnerving focus, like a predator assessing its prey. But there was something else too, a flicker of something that looked almost like… anticipation?
He reached out, and I instinctively flinched, but his movement was slow, deliberate. His fingers, warm and surprisingly gentle, came to rest on my jawline. He tilted my head up slightly, forcing me to fully meet his hypnotic gaze. His thumb stroked softly along my skin, just beneath my ear, sending a cascade of shivers through me. Every nerve ending was on fire. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. There was only him, his touch, his intoxicating male scent filling my senses.
“You’re even more beautiful up close,” he murmured, his voice a husky caress that vibrated deep in my chest. My breath hitched, caught somewhere between my lungs and my lips. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
He leaned in, slowly, ever so slowly. His eyes never left mine, dark pools drawing me in. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, see the faint stubble on his strong jaw, the curve of his lips. Oh god, those lips. He was going to kiss me. Here, in this impossible penthouse, this stranger who exuded power and danger was going to kiss me. And the terrifying part? I wanted him to. Desperately.
His lips ghosted mine, a breath away, a feather-light touch that promised so much more. My entire body trembled, a mix of fear and an electric anticipation I’d never known. Every rational thought had fled. My world narrowed to this single, intense moment, the space between his lips and mine, charged with an unbearable tension. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, enveloping me.
“Tell me, Amelia…” his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, a low rumble that seemed to curl around my insides and tighten. “…what do you truly want tonight?”
My mind was a blank canvas, wiped clean by the sheer force of his presence, the intoxicating promise of his mouth. What did I want? I wanted this. I wanted him. I wanted to feel those lips on mine, to know what it felt like to be kissed by a man like Damien Maxwell. But the words wouldn’t come. I could only stare at him, mesmerized, my lips parted slightly, waiting.
Just as I was about to stammer out something, anything, a nervous squeak or a jumbled mess of desires, his eyes darkened further, a sudden, chilling intensity in their depths that both terrified and thrilled me to my core. His hand, still cupping my jaw, shifted. His fingers slid with unnerving precision from my jawline to my throat, his thumb coming to rest with a light but undeniable pressure at the hollow. My breath caught, trapped. It wasn't painful, not at all, but it was… a claim. A warning.
“Because what I want…” he continued, his voice a low, deliberate growl that vibrated against my skin where his thumb pressed, stealing the very air from my lungs, “…is to hear you say yes.” He paused, his gaze burning into me, pinning me in place. “To everything.”
