Читать книгу The Wedding Party Collection - Кейт Хьюит, Aimee Carson - Страница 31

Hours later Rebecca still couldn’t believe that she hadn’t told Damon to go to blazes. Instead she’d retreated into a dazed silence, illicit excitement fluttering deep inside her belly. On the way home, Rebecca sank back into the rich butter-coloured leather seat and closed her eyes. She felt the touch of Damon’s glance from time to time, but he didn’t speak. An oppressive, sweltering awareness filled the Mercedes.

The moment the car swept into the drive of the Asteriades mansion, Rebecca sat up, muttered her thanks and, before they’d come to a standstill, bolted from the car. Hurrying to her room, she spent the next couple of hours—until Demetra and T.J. came home—making lists of what would be needed for the wedding, calls that needed to be made about bridesmaids’ dresses, flowers, catering. Anything to keep busy and stop herself thinking about Damon’s outrageous proposition. Anything to keep her as far away from him as possible.

I am going to be your lover.

The arrogant statement still rang in her ears that evening as she helped T.J. into the bath. Contrarily, she was almost disappointed that Damon hadn’t followed up, hadn’t battered down the door to find out where she’d hidden herself all afternoon.

He was messing with her head. Why hadn’t he sought her out?

Why had he made such a passionate proclamation in the first place?

He hated her.

But he’d said he’d actually come to like her. Rebecca closed her eyes to block out the confusion that whirled round and round inside her head. Without end. When she opened them again, T.J. was staring at her, holding out a soapy sponge. She took it and started to wash him.

“Mummy,” T.J.’s piping voice cut into her dilemma. “Demetra’s going to get big, fat fish with shiny—” he hesitated “—skin.”

“Scales,” Rebecca corrected automatically. T.J. had returned from his day with Demetra happy, tired and covered in mud, showing no sign that he’d missed her at all. Rebecca had heard all about the ducks in the park pond and about the fishpond he’d helped the workmen dig out at Demetra’s soon-to-be home.

Her mind slid back into the rut it couldn’t get out of. How could Damon change from hate to something as insipid as like? And how dare she be so grateful that he actually liked her, that he wanted to get to know her better. How could she be tempted to settle for that?

Damon said he wanted to be her lover. Why?

Yet, deep in the throbbing darkness of her womb, she knew. Chemistry. This thing between them that would never rest until it was sated. Liking her, getting to know her, was nothing more than a line.

A line to get her into his bed. Somehow he’d fathomed what she wanted more than anything in the world—his respect, his admiration…to be liked by him.

Pathetic.

A splash of water brought her back to reality. T.J. giggled. She gave a mock growl and pulled his wet, wriggling body toward her. With one hand she reached for a towel and swaddled T.J., patting him dry.

What on earth was she going to do?

“And Demetra’s got a net to the pond so the birds can’t eat the fish.”

She dragged her attention back to T.J. “No, if a heron took them, that would not be good.” She started to towel T.J.’s hair.

“We fed ducks at the park. Very greedy ducks,” he said reprovingly. “Demetra said next time we’ll take two breads.”

Just a few days and already T.J. was at home here in the bosom of Damon’s family. It would be a wrench when the time came to go back home. He would feel bereft. Rebecca pressed a hasty kiss to the top of his head as misgivings quaked through her.

“Mummy, can we make a fishpond? Get some fish? And ducks? Please?”

“We’ll see.” Rebecca tried to smile. Perhaps a pond would help him adjust to the separation. T.J. was at that age where creatures and water fascinated him. He kept her on her toes during excursions, feeding ducks in the park ponds and peering into rock pools at the sea’s edge. In a couple of years she’d have to buy him a fishing rod.

That was when he was going to miss having a father. What did she know about fishing, about hooks and sinkers and bait, after all? Rebecca sighed and hung up the towel. When she turned around, she saw T.J. had put on his pyjama bottoms back to front. She moved to help him.

“No, me do it,” he said with a three-year-old’s fierce determination.

She shook her head. Her baby was growing up—too fast—with no father figure to give him guidance. But he had her. He didn’t need anyone else. And, as she had told Damon earlier, she had no reason for marrying. Ever. Especially not for sex.

And she was not going to be Damon’s lover.

The weekend passed in a rush. On Saturday, Rebecca ushered T.J. into the dining room to find Damon had discarded his corporate attire and was wearing a pair of faded Levi’s, a Ralph Lauren T-shirt in plain white…and a devastating smile aimed right at her.

Her stomach started doing somersaults.

“On Monday, I fly to L.A. on business, so I thought we might go for a picnic today.”

Her heart sank. “But I wanted to spend time with T.J. I’ve barely seen—”

“Of course T.J. will come, too.” Damon gestured to a wicker hamper she hadn’t noticed. “Jane has already filled that with treats.”

“Picnic, picnic,” T.J. chanted, jumping up and down.

“He’ll love that,” Rebecca said, wondering why Damon was doing this.

They spent the day at Goat Island, a marine reserve an hour’s drive out of Auckland. The sun was hot enough to prickle, and the sea frothed onto the curve of beach below the pohutukawa trees.

“It’s hard to believe the city is so near,” Rebecca commented as she and Damon stood in the shallows, the sea sand squishing through her toes and T.J. squealing with delight when blue mau-mau flashed between his ankles.

“When he is older, he can snorkel to the island.” Damon pointed at the rocky outcrop that gave the reserve its name and sheltered the bay from the open sea.

Rebecca laughed. “He’ll love that. He’s a real water baby.”

At noon they ate the delicious fare Jane had prepared, and afterward Rebecca lazed on a towel, her head propped against a beach bag, watching Damon and T.J. build sand castles. T.J. bubbled with joy and Damon, well, Damon took her breath away. From behind the protective cover of her sunshades she eyed the hard curves of his chest muscles, the flat abs and the muscled thighs kneeling in the sand. Her breathing picked up. She couldn’t deny the effect he had on her.

Finally she admitted the truth to herself: she wanted him. She glanced away and focused on the waves licking the beach and struggled to remind herself that Damon was downright dangerous. She’d drowned in his attraction before. Why should it be any different this time?

Yet later, when he invited her out to dinner, she called herself all kinds of fool and accepted with a flush of pleasure. That night, after T.J. had been put to bed, they paid a short visit to Soula, leaving Demetra and Savvas to babysit. Soula took one look at the layered gypsy-style skirt and off-the-shoulder top that Rebecca wore and her gaze sharpened.

“You two going out?” she asked coyly.

“We have reservations at Shipwrecks. I promised Rebecca seafood tonight—”

“We took T.J. to Goat Island for the day,” Rebecca said hastily, before Soula got the wrong idea. “I bewailed the fact that we could not fish in the reserve. So Damon insisted on taking me out for dinner.”

“I see,” Soula smiled sphinxlike, leaving Rebecca to wonder what she did indeed see.

Dinner passed in a haze. Damon was wonderful company. His eyes gleamed with appreciation when she spoke and he laughed often, his lips curving into that smile that made her knees go weak.

Rebecca had to remind herself that she had no intention of being charmed, of allowing Damon Asteriades to become her lover. Yet she didn’t want the evening to end. But she knew it would and she rather suspected she knew how he intended it to end. So she was more than a little disconcerted when he said good-night to her outside her bedroom door without even brushing his lips across her cheek.

On Sunday morning he was waiting, a trip to the zoo planned this time. T.J. was in his element. He ran around, his eyes wide as he gazed at lions, elephants, rhinos, while Rebecca spent the day trying to keep her eyes off Damon. He appeared unaware of her growing tension, laughing with T.J. at the antics of the spider monkeys and the otters, oblivious of her acute sensitivity to the lightest brush of his hand.

That evening, after T.J. fell into bed, sun-flushed and tired, Rebecca couldn’t help wondering where it was all going to end…and what on earth had happened to Damon’s declaration that he wanted her.

After a hectic day escorting Demetra to half a dozen dress designers, Rebecca was surprised to find Damon at the dinner table on Monday night. Demetra was regaling Savvas and Damon with stories about how terrible the day had been, how she’d been tangled in yards of fabric and had pins stuck into her. Rebecca started to laugh.

“It’s all your fault,” Demetra accused, her eyes sparkling.

“Admit it—you enjoyed yourself.” Rebecca sat down between Savvas and Damon. T.J. was already in bed, fast asleep.

“Much more than I thought I would,” Demetra conceded. “You knew what I would like.”

“That’s my job.” Rebecca grinned at Demetra. Then to Damon, she said, “I thought you were flying out on a business trip today.” She glanced down at the slice of melon on her plate. The last thing she wanted was Damon cottoning on to the fact that his every movement obsessed her.

“He was supposed to go to the States,” Savvas responded. “But he’s delayed it. He’s got everyone in a flap about it because he needs to meet one of our American stakeholders.”

“Next week.” Damon’s voice was short. “I told you I’ll go next week.”

“I can’t understand what’s so important that you have to be in Auckland this week.”

“Don’t worry yourself about it,” Damon said in a peculiar tone.

Rebecca shot him a casual glance and froze. He was staring at her, his eyes burning. Her breath caught. Her pulse started to hammer. And she knew.

She was the reason he’d postponed his trip. Disjointed thoughts whirred round in her brain. So why hadn’t he made a move on her? Why the outings with T.J. on the weekend and the dinner out if all he wanted was hot, sweaty sex?

She wished she could see inside his head, fathom what he was thinking.

But his intentions became no clearer with each day that followed. Each evening Damon would come home, play a little with her and T.J. and Demetra—sometimes Savvas would be there, too—and afterward he’d take her out. Once it was to see a movie she’d idly mentioned wanting to see, a couple of times he took her to dinner and on Thursday night he took her to a jazz concert. He was attentive, amusing and charming—a far cry from the hostile, critical man of the past. Rebecca was discovering a side of him that she’d never known existed. A side of him that made her crave more time in his company.

This was what she’d wanted—Damon to like her. For herself.

So that she could tell him the truth, so that he would believe she’d done what she had for the best reasons in the world, a little mischievous voice whispered. Because she’d wanted to spare him. But the man staring at her oozed confidence and power and far too much sex appeal for his own good. Her heart jolted. The blue eyes seared her, making her burn up inside and convincing her to push aside the little voice. Just a few days longer, she told herself, then she’d tell him. A few precious days to treasure this connection between them.

Because she knew it wouldn’t last.

By Friday night Rebecca was ready to crack. It had been a busy week and she’d gotten lots done on the wedding. But it wasn’t the wedding that had her in a tizz, it was Damon. Aside from the occasional hand under her elbow, he hadn’t touched her, hadn’t kissed her, and it was driving her mad.

She was confused. Out of her depth.

And she suspected he knew it.

They were meeting at seven on the deck for a drink. She’d forgotten to ask what they were doing tonight, forgotten to check if Demetra and Savvas could babysit T.J. No doubt Damon had it all under control. Like everything else in his life—including her.

Rebecca wasn’t sure if she could endure another night out with the perfect escort…leaving her uncertain and yearning for more afterward.

It was seven o’clock on the dot when Rebecca stepped out through the ranch sliders onto the spacious raised deck overlooking the long sunken pool that reflected the crimson rays of the sinking sun.

Something tightened in Damon’s chest as she paused, stilling for an instant before she stepped forward. A pair of black pants in a soft fabric swirled around her legs, and she wore high strappy sandals that made her look tall and lithe and incredibly sexy. His gazed moved up to the peacock-blue shirt that hugged her lush breasts, lingering briefly at the unbuttoned vee neckline where a blue opal set in gold dangled against her creamy skin. His brows contracted at the sight of the expensive pendant. Soon she would be his. She would wear jewellery he bought for her, not baubles from other men.

He leashed the primal wave of possessiveness that flooded him and jerked his eyes back to her face. “A punctual woman,” he drawled. “A pearl beyond price.”

She looked unsettled. Then she smiled her slow, sexy smile and heat kicked through him. He forgot about the opal, about the man who’d bought it for her.

“Old habits die hard,” she said, sitting down on the chair he’d drawn up for her and taking the glass of white wine he held out with a smile of thanks.

“Yes, I remember that about you. You always had a reputation for being professional in your business dealings.” He frowned. Her private reputation had been very different indeed.

A shadow fell across her face.

“What are you thinking?” He couldn’t rid himself of this compulsion to delve into her thoughts, crawl under her skin to find out what made her tick.

“Nothing,” she said. She touched the opal at her neck.

“Tell me.”

She drew a breath. “It was Aaron who drilled the importance of punctuality into me. Your comment made me remember how much he taught me.”

Damon forced himself not to glance at the pendant. He didn’t want to think about her dead husband any more than he wanted to think about his dead wife. He didn’t want the past or the future intruding. All he wanted was tonight—and the intriguing woman sitting beside him.

His woman. From tonight.

Until he tired of her. As he knew he would. It couldn’t be otherwise.

He moved his chair closer and changed the subject. “What do you think of the wine?”

Rebecca lifted the glass to her lips. “Mmm. Buttery. Like a good Chardonnay should be.” She held the glass up against the last rays of the evening light. The liquid turned to pure gold. “Good colour, too.” Another sip. “Chilled. There’s a hint of something else there…something slightly sweet.”

“Melon? Pineapple?” Damon found he enjoyed teasing her.

She slanted him a wry look. “Honey, I think.”

“Honey?”

Honey reminded him of that too-brief kiss they’d shared at lunch the other day. She had tasted of honey. Sweet. Addictive. He could feel his eyes darkening, could feel the heavy languor in his limbs as he remembered the desire that had forked through him.

Rebecca had gone utterly still, caught in the same intense thrall that ensnared him. She gave a shiver and rubbed her arms.

“Cold?” he asked softly. But he knew it wasn’t cold that had caused the rows of goose bumps that disappeared under the sleeves of her shirt. It was excitement. The same raw excitement that writhed within him.

She shook her head.

“Rebecca—”

“Where’s Demetra?” she interrupted. “Where’s Savvas?”

He sat back, forced himself to relax, to take it slowly. One step at a time. “Demetra said she wanted to see glowworms, so Savvas whipped her away to Waitomo. They plan to go blackwater rafting as well. They won’t be back until Sunday afternoon at the earliest.” He grinned wickedly. “There’s no need to wait up for them.”

“What about Jane? I’d hate to think she’s waiting for us to eat.” Rebecca sounded rattled. She took another quick sip of wine, leaned forward to set her glass down on the patio table.

He moved closer, enjoying her loss of composure. He wanted to see her abandon her cool, her poise. “Jane left about half an hour ago for the weekend. She prepared a cold spread. We’ll eat when you’re ready. The night is still young.”

“And Johnny?”

“Johnny’s gone to tea at his daughter’s—he is a grandfather twice over now. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

He waited.

She didn’t disappoint him. Her eyes widened, darkening as the import of his words struck her. “That means…” Her voice became husky, trailed off.

“That we are alone.”

She stared wordlessly at him, her eyes huge, dark and velvety.

He placed a hand over hers. Her fingers were icy. “Except for T.J.—”

“He’s…he’s sleeping,” she stuttered.

“Then, yes, we are alone.”

She shuddered convulsively.

He let his fingers stroke over the back of her hand, softly, over her pale bare wrists, up her arm. The sleek, silky material of her sleeve clung to his fingers. His hand rested against the soft skin of her throat and then he placed his index finger under her chin. Her head tilted up.

Her lovely eyes were wary, but beneath the uncertainty there was a flare of fire.

“You know what I plan to do, don’t you?”

“Yes.” A whisper.

But it was enough for Damon. He bent forward until only an infinitesimal space separated them. “I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured.

He brushed her lips.

Lightly.

It was a kiss meant to tease. Except it backfired on him. Instead of teasing her, it made him want more. Much, much more.

When Rebecca sighed, her lips parting, Damon could wait no longer. With a hungry groan he took her mouth, possessing it. He forgot to take it slowly, he forgot to be patient, he forgot about courting her. His tongue swept in to taste her sweetness. Like honey, wild and golden. And then he forgot everything as the hot fury of passion rushed over him.

He pulled her toward him, onto his lap.

Her body was soft, feminine against the hard planes of his, he was aware that she was moaning, and the sound spurred him on. To taste deeper. To kiss wilder.

After a while—he didn’t know how long—he lifted his head. His hands were shaking. He struggled with the button at her neckline. It gave. He slid his hand in and cupped her breast. Heard her breath catch.

The tip was hard against his fingers. He caught it between his fingertips, caressed it softly, circling the sensitive bud.

She gasped again. He covered her mouth. Devoured her. This time her tongue was wild against his, rubbing, playing, arousing.

He touched her, working the nipple, feeling the frantic bursts of shivers that ripped through her. He was hard under his jeans. Every time she wriggled her bottom in his lap he moaned, growing hotter and hotter.

His breathing was ragged when he forced himself to pull back.

Unbelievable. The desire that surged made him feel like a boy. Hasty. Impulsive. Out of control.

“Come.” He rose to his feet, letting her slide down the length of his chest, aware of every soft curve of her pliant body. Taking her hand, he led her toward the open ranch sliders, where voile curtains billowed.

“Where—?”

“It will be warmer inside, the sea breeze is rising.”

“What—”

Her eyes were wild, blind with passion.

“Tonight…I’m going to become your lover.”

She gaped at him.

He wanted her to know, to know who he was and what was going to happen between. “Your lover, Rebecca.”

“Yes.”

That was what he’d been waiting for. Her capitulation. Her total commitment. He wanted her willing, he wanted her wanton. Because he intended to make her lose every vestige of control, he wanted to see the woman under the facade. The woman none of her other lovers had seen.

He wanted her as far out of control as he was.

“Your skin is so soft.” His touch was surprisingly tender as he parted the final buttons of her shirt. He drew an exploratory finger across her torso, under her breasts, and a line of fire followed.

Rebecca lay on his bed fully clothed, only her sandals kicked off…and the necklace that Damon had removed with impatient, shaking fingers. Her head spun from the kisses he’d pressed on her mouth, her cheeks, her neck. Yet nothing had prepared her for this…

His touch.

The fire.

She caught her lip between her teeth, fought the wild sensation that arced through her.

“Tell me what you like, what turns you on. I want to know everything about you.” His hand slid under her bra, brushed across the nipple. She stopped breathing.

“You like that?” Something akin to triumph glittered in his eyes.

She suppressed the urge to nod and stared at him, hoping her eyes didn’t reveal what he was doing to her or how much she’d craved his touch.

But her body gave her away.

“You love it!” He drew that teasing finger back over the dark tip, and the nipple tightened, bringing a prickle close to pain. Rebecca groaned.

Damon pushed her shirt aside, off her shoulders, slid his hand behind her and then her breasts were free. “Beautiful. Such fullness, such softness.” He touched the curves with strong hands that were oddly gentle.

Against her will, her back arched, pushing her breasts into his hands. Damon stared as if transfixed, then his head dropped and his mouth closed over the peak.

The sensation that exploded within Rebecca was like nothing she’d ever felt before. It flashed through her belly, between her legs, heating her, setting her on fire.

A groan burst from her as his tongue flicked. Another flick. Another flash of fire.

A groan tore from her throat.

He lifted his head, and the expression on his face caused her mouth to dry. Desire stretched his face into a pagan mask. His eyes gleamed and the curve of his mouth was softened by passion. His whole attention focused on her.

Nothing but her.

This was the man she’d always craved.

She twisted her hips, and he seemed to know exactly what she wanted because he shifted so that his weight covered her, heavy and erotic.

The hardness of his erection filled the cradle between her legs as if it belonged, the other half of her. Heat ignited. She leaned forward, kissed his cheek hungrily, following the line of his jaw to nuzzle behind his ear, heard him moan and let her lips open against his neck. He tasted salty, male. She licked him, eager to taste more.

His big, strong body shuddered against her. He moved against her, the hardness beneath his jeans sliding against the soft mound covered by her satin black pants.

She felt the zip give, then his hand was moving in wide sweeps and her pants and panties were gone. A rasp of a second zipper and his jeans and shirt followed suit. Their bare legs tangled, his male and muscled against the softness of her thighs.

Her legs jerked apart. Instantly he edged into the space. The maddening friction notched higher, driving her wilder and wilder, up and up, heat and want and a ceaseless pressure spiralling within her.

Restlessly she spread her legs wider still.

“You’re hot for me.”

She didn’t speak, didn’t respond to his harsh statement, simply rotated her hips against him and tried to get closer, closer, so that he could touch the heart of her.

“You want me, don’t you?”

Something in the insistence of his tone brought her down a little. Opening her eyes, she found his face above hers, his blue eyes boring into hers.

“Say it, Rebecca! Tell me how much you want me.”

“I want you….”

“I want more. Tell me more.”

More? She shook herself. What did he want?

His face was taut, sweat glowing on his cheekbones. There was no hint of softness. No tenderness. No l—

Surely Damon couldn’t be waiting for her to tell him she loved him. Or could he? Could she expose herself to him? Give him that kind of power over her?

Dare she risk it?

She tilted her pelvis, firming the taut connection between them. He gasped, closed his eyes, threw his head back.

“God, what you do to me!”

Exhilarated, she moved again.

“Why, dammit? Why you?” The cry was filled with ecstasy and agony. And revealed a vulnerability that she knew he’d never have shown any other time. A vulnerability she was certain he’d regret revealing later.

Suddenly Rebecca knew what he wanted. Snaking her arms around his neck, she pulled his head down to hers. “It’s mutual. I want you, too, Damon, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone,” she whispered.

“Anyone?”

“Anyone,” she vowed.

“Much more?”

“Much, much more,” she affirmed, her arms tightening fiercely.

He gave a hissing sigh and sank into her.

Rebecca cried out.

She told herself he cared for her. He wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t. Not like this. He wouldn’t be so determined that it should be…more…than ever before if it meant nothing to him.

This was something he’d never felt before. She had to believe that. Otherwise…

He started to move. She shuddered, opened herself wider, forcing the junction of her thighs close to him, trying to become one with him.

He lowered his torso, the contact sensitising her breasts until she almost cried out again. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, wildly conscious of the heat rising deep within in her.

The pressure where their bodies joined was growing…growing…the heat rising higher. She could bear it no more. She ground herself against him, heard him gasp, felt his shudders.

“I can’t hold back,” he panted.

“Come,” she whispered. “Come with me. Stay with me. Always.” He opened his eyes. She read confusion. She moved, slow and sinuous, and the confusion vanished. There was passion and heat in the blue depths…and something deep and unfathomable.

And then all rational thought vanished and the shivers seized her. She fell through layers of sensation, felt his body freeze, then release into pulsing convulsions as he came deep within her.

Afterward they dozed for a while. When Rebecca woke, the red digital numbers on Damon’s bedside clock revealed that it was after midnight.

“T.J.” She leaped from the pile of scattered bedclothes.

Damon caught her hand. “He’s still sleeping, I checked. Stay.”

The heat in his eyes, the hoarseness in his voice told her what he intended.

“I can’t.” She looked away. And she felt herself weakening, but guilt ate at her.

“Rebecca, I want you.” His admission caused her to melt. She turned to him. No words were necessary. Before she’d lain down, he fell on her. This time their loving was wild, uncontrolled. There were no barriers between them. No past. No future. Only the present.

Yet she knew that soon a new day would dawn. Tomorrow…tomorrow they would talk. She could delay no longer, she had to tell him the truth.

When the first pale strands of daylight slid into the room Rebecca rose and pulled on her clothes. Damon slept, his breathing deep and rhythmic. Standing beside him, she resisted the urge to kiss the shadowed groove under his jaw and touch the smooth curve of his shoulder. Instead she picked her pendant off his bedstand and, leaving her feet bare, padded to the door, sandals in hand, and quietly shut the door behind her.

Once in her room, she crossed to the adjacent dressing room. The dawn cast a soft pink glow across the walls. T.J. had tossed the bedclothes off and lay on his stomach, his face turned to the door. She bent and brushed a kiss on his brow, whispered “I love you,” then pulled the blankets up to cover him.

She didn’t go to bed immediately but stood at the open window of her room staring at the rosy streaks lightening the darkness, the pendant clutched in her hand. Something in Damon’s eyes had told her that he didn’t care for the pendant. She would not wear it again. It was time to say goodbye to Aaron, to think about the future.

And Damon.

Last night had been the most tender, the most passionate, the most incredible experience of her life.

She’d gone wild in Damon’s arms. She feared she’d revealed too much. How would he react when he next saw her? Oh, God. How was she going to tell him what she knew she had to? He was going to hate her. After last night, she didn’t know how she could go back to that half-life where he despised her.

She turned from the window. Carefully she placed the pendant in the jewel box on her dressing table and closed the lid. The rasp of the hasp sounded so final. Rebecca placed a kiss of her fingertips and let them linger for a moment on the carved lid.

After a brief sojourn to the bathroom, Rebecca donned her nightgown, aware of her body aching in unaccustomed places. A pleasurable ache. Her thoughts shifted to Damon. She could barely believe what had taken place between them.

The passion. The frenzy.

Yet there had been gentleness, too. She slipped between the Egyptian cotton sheets and let herself remember. The first time his touch had been so careful, tender even. So far removed from how he’d treated her in the past. Whether that tenderness would still be there after they talked, she was too scared to even think about.

Tomorrow would come soon enough.