Читать книгу The Dare Collection June 2019 - Rachael Stewart, Faye Avalon - Страница 21

GENTLE HANDS BRUSHED the hair off my face, tucking strands behind my ear.

‘So now you’ve fully experienced it, do you love it?’ The low, growly voice whispered.

For a moment my mind blanked.

He was asking about the suite. Talking business. Whereas I was firmly back in bliss-land.

‘Water. I need water,’ I croaked through a throat sore from having screamed so many orgasms I could barely count. Thirst aside, an urgent need to avoid the eyes probing mine, sinking beneath my skin, powered through me. I attempted to dislodge him under the pretext of reaching for the crystal carafe of fresh water placed on the bedside table.

‘Wait. I’ve got it.’ Damian curled his fingers around my wrist, and even that gesture felt too intimate. Which was ridiculous after every debauched thing we’d done to each other since he walked into the suite.

I tugged myself free, avoiding his slight frown as he moved away, poured a glass of water and handed it over.

I drank deeply, aware of his eyes on me.

‘You want some? Or something stronger? You look thirsty.’ I’d meant to tease, but the abrupt shake of his head told me the joke had missed its mark.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

I frowned. ‘You’re set on giving me that complex, aren’t you?’

His lips flattened. ‘It’s not you. It’s me.’

My fingers tightened around the glass. ‘Seriously?’

He grimaced. ‘I can’t... I don’t want to talk about it.’

The thinnest blade of anguish sliced through the terse reply, making my insides tremble and threatening to disintegrate that stone of retribution I was so desperate to hang onto.

It scared me. But it didn’t shake the need to understand him.

‘There’s nothing wrong in admitting a drinking problem, Damian.’

His bark of laughter was pure bitterness. ‘I’m not an alcoholic, darling. Not even a recovering one. In fact I have zero problems with booze.’

‘Then what is it? Did something happen?’

‘Jesus, you’re like a dog with a fucking bone, aren’t you?’

I flinched. He saw it and sighed. ‘Neve—’

‘It’s late.’ I set the glass down with a loud click. ‘It’s time we call it a night.’

‘You’re not staying here till morning? Or are you kicking just me out, again?’ Grim amusement twisted around his bitterness.

But I was done laughing. Somehow Damian kept hurling me back to a default setting of compassion and caring I couldn’t control.

Despite all my reservations.

Despite all the hard, harrowing rejections I’d been subjected to from my mother.

I slid towards the side of the bed opposite to where he now stood, gloriously naked and infinitely jumpable. ‘I have an early start in the morning,’ I stressed, probably more for myself. Because my heart was doing that lurching, clenching thing again. The one that resembled loss and missing even though this man wasn’t mine in any way. Even though this was meant to be a clinical exercise.

I stood. And wobbled like damn Bambi on ice. Damian was on me before I could take a step.

‘You okay?’ His hands drifted down my arms to cup my elbows.

That compulsion I couldn’t fight made me glance into his too-handsome face. To the concern etched in his eyes. Dear God, he was a master at playing hot and cold.

‘I’m fine,’ I snapped.

Concern only deepened. ‘We don’t have to leave, Neve.’

I hesitated, seduced by the idea of sliding back into the warm bed, with an even warmer promise of having Damian slide in with me, holding me close into the night, falling asleep in a boneless heap with him.

Waking up with him.

A deep yearning for all the above shook through me further, unseating my goals. ‘The hotel is at ninety per cent capacity. This suite needs to be converted back to its original state, ready for new guests on Monday. I need to vacate so that can happen.’

Despite us both knowing that wasn’t the main reason, he didn’t argue. After a short stretch he nodded and stepped back.

My limbs felt shaky and drained as I headed to the closet, conscious of his gaze sliding over me. Despite my many orgasms, my body started to heat up again, my clit swelling at the thought of sex.

With more than a little desperation I pulled on my clothes and slipped my feet into heeled sandals. A quick glide of my fingers through my hair to mitigate the mess, I turned around.

Damian was dressed, although his shirt was only half buttoned. In his hands he held my French bustier, robe, stockings and shoes. The blaze in his eyes as his gaze met mine nearly flayed me. Slowly he advanced towards me. ‘You’ll need these back, I think, unless you want to scandalise Housekeeping?’

I rescued the tote bag containing the toys I never got around to using from the closet and snatched the clothes from him. About to shove them away, I noticed one vital missing piece. ‘Where are my panties?’

‘No idea.’

For some absurd reason, his shameless pilfering made me want to smile. ‘Seriously?’

He held his arms aloft. ‘Feel free to frisk me,’ he invited.

The temptation to do just that, in the most thorough way possible, made me grip the tote harder.

God, what was wrong with me? I was grappling with answers I didn’t want to when he tugged the bag out of my hands.

‘Shall we?’ He nodded at the door.

Protests rose and died on my lips as warmth suffused me. The feminist inside me wanted to vehemently deny that I needed him to do something as mundane as walking me out of a hotel room.

But for once, I wanted to experience the art of walking out with Damian, rather than watching him exit.

In silence we walked out of the east wing, down the winding stone paths that led to the main building separating the three parts of the hotel. My feet slowed as we reached the diverging paths. We’d never parted on cordial terms. I wasn’t even sure this counted as cordial but I cleared my throat nonetheless to dispel the awkwardness assailing me.

‘Umm... I’m headed this way.’

Expecting him to walk away, I froze when he nodded and adjusted his course.

‘Your suite is that way, Damian.’

He placed his hand on my back and nudged me forward. ‘I’m aware. I don’t care what your safety record is around here. It’s after midnight. I’m walking you home.’

Again I opened my mouth to protest. Again I closed it.

Because I liked Damian’s hand on my waist.

Because I liked the warm body so close to mine that smelled of aftershave and sweaty sex.

Because I am a raving sex maniac who needs her head examined?

‘So how come you inherited this place from your grandparents?’

I jumped, startled by the direction of the conversation. ‘What?’

He shrugged. ‘I had a little time on my hands after you kicked me out last night. I did some research. There were a couple of paragraphs about your grandparents on the history of this place. It mentioned one child, a daughter, so I’m guessing they were your maternal grandparents?’

I frowned. ‘Yes.’

‘It’s not a secret, is it?’

A little dazed by his interest, I shook my head. ‘No.’

He nodded and we walked in silence until, ‘So why not your mother?’

Maybe it was the warm hand in the small of my back. Maybe it was the smooth, deep interest in his voice. Whatever it was, I found myself replying.

‘Because she hated this place. Told me she couldn’t wait to leave when she turned eighteen. She never looked back, didn’t bother to get in touch with her parents unless she needed something. She didn’t even tell them when she had me. I think that’s what hurt them the most. The first I knew of them was when she packed a weekend bag one Saturday and told me we were coming up here to visit my grandparents. It was the best weekend of my life. After that, whenever she’d had enough of me—which was often—she’d dump me here.’ I stopped, the dull pain of rejection still potent enough to leaden my heart. Damian’s hand squeezed my waist and I wanted to lean into him, draw on his solid strength.

This time brushing that need away was more difficult. ‘Anyway, my mother and grandparents were back to being estranged by the time we left, but I’d fallen in love with this place. With how much my grandparents loved it. They poured their hearts into that little B & B. So...suddenly I had family I never knew about and a clear idea of what I wanted to do with my life. It was win-win for me.’

I could feel his stare boring into me, his interest almost too intense, but I kept my gaze on the path.

‘How did your mother feel about you getting this place?’

Pain scythed through my warm feeling. ‘She was far from thrilled. She still hates it here. But I promised my grandparents I would look after it...and her...so...’

He nodded. As if he understood. As if he empathised.

I quickened my step, almost afraid of accepting his compassion. Of giving into that softening again. I breathed a sigh of relief when we skirted the north wing.

Beyond that, up on a little rise, was my house.

The cottage my grandparents had lived in for over forty years was straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting by day. By night it was even more magical, with soft lights glowing from the windows, a wrap-around porch and a white picket fence promising tranquillity.

I stopped in front of the gate, reluctant to go any further. Reluctant to invite Damian into my sanctuary. The only place I’d known love and acceptance. He stared down at me for a long moment before he glanced over at the house.

‘Charming place.’

‘I like it,’ I said, a little too defensively.

He merely smiled. ‘You never answered me earlier. Did you enjoy your Fantasy Room experience?’

My head spun with yet another change of subject. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. Then you’ll come to France.’

I froze, which was a curious reaction because everything inside me wanted to scream, yes. Perhaps my self-preservation was kicking in. At last. Except not a single part of me rejoiced.

At my continued silence, Damian’s eyes narrowed. ‘We have an agreement, Neve.’

Something heavy in my chest sagged in disappointment.

Agreement. Business.

Reminders that should’ve put me back on an even keel. Yet all I wanted to do was stumble away, hide out in my house and dissect my confusing feelings.

‘The only way you get this deal done is after I give my seal of approval, Neve,’ Damian pressed.

As much as I wanted to think I had the upper hand, I would have no hand at all if Tyler and Sam decided I wasn’t a good bet. And a sure-fire way of ensuring that was to stall for no apparent reason other than I was terrified of how much I wanted to experience another Fantasy Room with Damian.

Firm fingers cupped my nape, then spiked into my hair. His thumb brushed my jaw before nudging my chin up. Our gazes clashed. His fiery expression warned he was prepared to fight me on this.

I surrendered because...because...

‘I’ll clear my schedule for France.’

Triumph blazed bright and unabashed in his eyes. He pulled me forward and I fell into his torrid kiss, unable to help myself. Hell, I more than fell. I drowned, clinging to him for what little stability I could find as he devoured me right there on my Norman Rockwell doorstep.

I was moaning when he lifted his head. ‘I’m dying to push my luck and ask you to invite me in but I’m going to quit while I’m ahead.’ He stepped back and handed over my tote. ‘Goodnight, Neve.’

I’d lost the power of speech, so I nodded.

He waited until I climbed my porch and unlocked my front door.

Then Damian walked away.

* * *

He’d left by the time I arrived in my office at eight a.m. I flatly refused to accommodate the spiky disappointment knotted in my gut as I sipped my coffee and perused my emails.

My foolish heart leapt when I saw one sent half an hour earlier from Damian.

Returning to the city to take care of a few urgent matters. The producers think two full days of shooting will wrap up Raiders so I’ve arranged for us to fly out to Bordeaux on Wednesday morning.

Clear your schedule for four days. Separate travel arrangements will be made for our business partners.

See you on Monday.

Damian

Straight. To the point. Yet I found myself rereading it, dissecting every word. Was there something to be gleaned from the way Damian kept referring to Sam and Tyler as our business partners when in essence he was merely a consultant? And why did that word no longer grate as sharply?

Also...separate travel arrangements for them meant we would be alone, with no distractions for over eight hours... I slammed my laptop shut before the rush of giddiness storming my system could shame me.

But it was too late. I already craved him with a need bordering on rabid and an emptiness inside me I wasn’t sure just sex would fulfil.

The scary thought propelled me out of my office.

Tyler and Sam were at a table in the dining room enjoying their breakfast.

They looked up with expressions of anxiety and hope as I approached. Smiling, I put them out of their misery. ‘The demonstration was everything I hoped for. You did a brilliant job. I’m on board.’

A quick toast later, I outlined my vision.

It quickly became clear that Sam, although a design major, was more the brains of the business, while Tyler was the artistic heart.

His passion shone in his expression, his ideas effusive and robust. As a team, they were an excellent pairing and I concluded our meeting even more excited for the future.

‘Mr Mortimer wants us on a flight to France tonight with our team. We hit the ground running tomorrow,’ Tyler said.

I blinked. ‘But we won’t be in France till Wednesday night.’

‘He’s sending us the specs later but I get the feeling it’s more than one room,’ Sam said, unable to stem her excitement.

We parted ways shortly after, my intrigue building through the day. Many times I was tempted to call Damian, find out what he was up to. Instead I buried myself in work, thankful that I employed the kind of manager I could leave in charge with zero anxiety.

* * *

My heart was thumping wildly in my chest when I walked into the Raider’s Den production warehouse on Monday morning.

As usual, Damian was already in despite my arriving half an hour early. It was as if he couldn’t resist showing off. I tried to summon irritation and failed. Instead my gaze raked feverishly over him, and in a rush of surrender I accepted that I’d missed seeing him.

After a mere twenty-four hours...

Dear God.

He lifted his head and pierced me with hot hazel eyes.

I’d chosen another suit with a tight but flirty skirt and I watched his hungry gaze linger on my legs before rising. ‘Morning, Neve.’

‘Did you get whatever it was taken care of?’

The light in his eyes dimmed. ‘Not all of it. But it’ll get done by hell or high water.’

My breath caught at the brusque pledge but before I could comment, he tapped my chair. ‘The others are arriving. Let’s get this show on the road, hmm?’

I wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or disappointed he’d made no reference to our night together. Once filming got under way, it was all business.

Sadly the pitches that rolled in were less than stellar.

The Auto-Waiter app programmed to mix sixty-nine different cocktails in your hotel room drew a raised eyebrow from Damian and ribald jokes from Gary I was sure would be cut during editing.

I was relieved when we broke for lunch, tucking into my sushi as Damian chatted with the producers. Afterwards, I headed to the bathroom to refresh my make-up and was at the vanity when the door opened.

Damian entered, his gaze darting to the empty cubicles before he nudged the door shut with his foot. My heart leapt into my throat when he turned the lock.

‘You can’t be in here,’ I said a little too breathlessly.

‘I can if you promise not to scream when I make you come,’ he replied, reaching for me. He parted my jacket and cupped my breasts, mercilessly teasing my nipples before he began tackling my buttons.

‘Damian—’

‘Shh.’ He pinned me against the vanity and kissed me hard and fast. ‘We can waste time arguing about this or you can shut up and let me fuck you. Which would you prefer, Neve?’

I looked into eyes blazing with desire, at the flare of colour across his cheekbones, before taking in the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He wanted me, just as badly as I wanted him. Why deny it?

‘I want you to fuck me.’

‘Bloody good choice, darling,’ he responded gutturally.

Words ceased as he hiked up my skirt and dragged my panties down my legs. The moment I stepped out of them, he dropped to his knees and yanked one leg over his shoulder. I bit my lip to stop from making a sound as he buried his face in my pussy and drew my clit firmly into his mouth. Flicking and rolling his tongue over the nub drove me from zero to a hundred in seconds. I scrambled to stay upright as my leg gave way. Damian wrapped his hands around my thighs, supporting me easily as he continued to eat me with unapologetic alacrity.

I came in a fierce rush, my fist jammed against my mouth to smother my screams. Through the haze of my orgasm, I felt Damian rise to his feet, pull his zipper down and free his cock. I had only a moment to blindly reach for him, caress his thick length before he was knocking my hand out of the way and sliding on a condom.

Demanding hands jerked my hips to the edge of the vanity, and this time he used his mouth to smother my scream as he impaled me in one ferocious thrust. I threw my legs around his waist, eager to get him closer, deeper for the next thrust. When it came, I cried out again.

‘Christ, do you know how much I’ve been dying to fuck you again? I think I’m getting seriously addicted to you,’ he groaned against my lips.

My heart lurched, filled with a buoyant sensation that threatened to carry me away to a thrilling and dangerous place. A place with pitfalls and minefields all pointing to emotional danger.

And yet... ‘Show me,’ I whispered urgently. Recklessly. Because I was desperate to know that I wasn’t alone on this slippery slide to somewhere other than just sexual gratification.

He grunted something incoherent, curled his hands beneath my bottom and lifted me clean off the vanity. With his gaze fused with mine, Damian fucked me with raw, unfettered urgency that emptied my mind of everything but him, possessing me, turning me inside out.

Making me...different. Somehow.

‘God... Neve.’ His voice was tinged with that same bewilderment slithering through me. But that couldn’t be, because it would mean...

That single thought shattered as he slammed home one more time and held himself deep inside me. My muscles clenched around him as I felt him pulse within me.

‘Come for me, darling,’ he ordered in his perfect English accent.

I came with a long, tortured moan he devoured for endless seconds before he threw his head back and hissed his own release.

Damian’s head dropped to my shoulder and I held him to me as we caught our breaths. All too soon he pulled out, then set about adjusting my clothes before taking care of his. When he was done, he brushed a soft kiss on my lips, his gaze searching my face.

‘I missed you. Did you miss me?’

I shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

He laughed, the sound low, pleased and pleasing. ‘I’ll see you outside in five minutes, okay?’

Still caught in a post-orgasm haze, I nodded and watched him saunter towards the door. Then I scrambled to my feet, frantically searched the floor and came up empty. God, he didn’t... ‘Damian!’

He paused with one hand on the door. ‘Yeah?’

‘Give me back my panties,’ I demanded in a fierce whisper.

He raised one haughty eyebrow. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, darling. Now shift that delicious arse or you’re going to be late.’

He stepped out with the easy confidence of a man who didn’t give a damn who saw him walk out of a ladies’ restroom.

And I knew I was in deep trouble when I turned around and caught my wide, bright smile in the mirror.

Filming wrapped up late evening on Tuesday, a high-spirited post-production meeting marking the end of the segment. When the senior producer indicated that he would love for me to return for the next season, I politely declined.

My objective had been achieved—Damian Mortimer under my sexual control.

He might be his own man in every other area of his life but with every look, every subtle touch, he was mine sexually.

But for how long...?

This project was almost over. I’d landed the deal that with careful, clever marketing would put Nevirna on the international map.

After France, there would be no valid reason to keep seeing Damian. No reason to keep him in my bed.

This time the pain in my heart was sharp. Acrid.

Altered in a way I couldn’t pinpoint exactly but felt deep inside.

* * *

The helicopter ride from Bordeaux-Merignac Airport to Damian’s chateau on the edge of the Garonne valley was swift and exhilarating. And passed in almost as much of a blur as leaving Manhattan and experiencing Damian’s incredible private jet and all the extravagance that both had to offer.

‘We’re flying over the property now,’ Damian said through the mic attached to his headphones.

The view below was breathtaking. Rolling green hills, farmland and endless copses of trees were intersected by a large winding stream. But none of it compared to the majesty of the classic rectangular French chateau standing proudly on its own hill. Set on three floors and made of stone that gleamed white gold in the bright sunshine, the frontage boasted arched windows, with two slate-roofed turrets jutting out from each corner.

‘Welcome to Chateau des Nuages,’ he said as the chopper set down gently on its own helipad.

I stepped out, looked around and the scene was so magnificent, I was almost afraid to breathe. Almost afraid to fall in love with a place that wasn’t Westport, Connecticut.

Almost afraid to...fall in love.

No. No, no, no.

‘Nuages means...?’ I asked hurriedly as if words would halt the chaos happening inside.

‘Clouds.’ He pointed to the west turret almost ablaze in the setting sun. ‘On stormy days it feels like you’re floating on a bed of clouds when you’re up there.’

For a single moment I wished we weren’t surrounded by clear dusk. That the sky was filled with fat fluffy clouds so I could experience that magic with Damian.

I shook myself free of the fantasy as we headed towards the chateau. ‘How long have you had this property?’ I asked, just for something practical to drag my head out of the clouds.

‘A few years. I look in on it once or twice a year.’

‘Other than that it just sits idle?’

He shrugged.

I looked at the spectacular structure looming up before us. ‘How many rooms?’

‘Twenty bedrooms. Nine reception areas. Assorted outhouses and stables.’

‘That seems...excessive.’

He gave me a tense little smile as he opened a set of French doors and ushered us into a vast hallway with gleaming herringbone parquet floors and two immense stone fireplaces. ‘I’m a Mortimer. I’m conditioned to do everything with my family in mind, whether I want to or not. Right this minute Gideon is buying an almighty great yacht big enough to fit the whole Mortimer clan even though we all hate each other.’

‘Because like you, he hates failing too?’

He tensed, then faced me at the foot of a grand, sweeping staircase. ‘Perhaps I’m practising what has been ingrained in me since I was old enough to understand.’

My heart banged against my ribs, fleeing whatever he was about to say. ‘Which is?’

His eyes were hard. Piercing. ‘That everyone has an agenda. And that it’s rarely selfless.’

A chill crawled over my skin, sank deep into my blood. I wanted to reject that allegation but...how could I? I wanted to demand what his agenda was, but again...how could I?

We were here because I had an agenda of my own. One that seemed to grow more nebulous by the second.

Confused emotions roiled inside me, rending me speechless.

Footsteps approached, as if summoned by some unknown signal to interrupt that exact moment. The slim elderly woman who appeared was simply but impeccably dressed. Damian chatted to her in flawless French before he turned to me.

‘This is Margret, the housekeeper—’ He stopped when his phone buzzed.

He pulled it out, stared at the screen and exhaled angrily. The gaze he flashed me was distracted. ‘I have to take this, Neve. Margret will show you to your room. Feel free to explore on your own but stay away from the second floor. I don’t want the surprise ruined.’

I realised I was staring at his departing figure when Margret cleared her throat. ‘Would mademoiselle like a quick tour?’

I wanted to say, no, mademoiselle would like to know what had just happened. Instead I summoned a smile. ‘Yes, please.’

Then came the progression through stunning room after stunning room, each with an identity of its own but somehow melding in perfect symmetry with the whole. Crown mouldings blended seamlessly with hand-painted mosaics. Stone archways invited exploration of beautiful rooms with spectacular views.

By the time I was shown into my suite on the third floor, Chateau des Nuages owned a piece of my heart.

Just like its owner?

I leapt back from the question, but it haunted me into sleep and still lurked, insidious and terrifying, when I woke from my nap an hour later.

The more I tried to push it away, the faster my weighty emotions churned. Going where I didn’t want them to go. Towards Damian Mortimer, and the suspicion that the plan I’d hatched during the pre-production meeting two weeks ago had indeed altered.

That I wasn’t in complete control.

Margret’s arrival with a tray of the most exquisite seafood bisque and crusty bread I’d ever tasted, followed by a mouth-watering crème brûlée, distracted me for a blessed half an hour.

I was fresh out of the shower when she returned to clear away the dishes, and I stopped in surprise as she wheeled in a clothes rail on which hung an expensive-looking garment bag. ‘Monsieur asked me to give you this.’ She handed me a note.

I waited till she left before I opened it and read Damian’s bold scrawl.

See you in an hour. Wear the red ensemble. My fantasy. My rules.

I’d accepted that Damian’s fantasy might require its own unique accoutrements. The evidence of it sent decadent shivers down my spine as I went to the rail and slowly pulled down the zip of the garment bag.

The red dress was stunning, complete with a plunging neckline and an honest-to-God sweeping train. Sky-high strappy red-soled shoes with sparkling diamanté buckles winked at me from the bottom of the bag. I was so absorbed with the shoes I almost didn’t spot the black satin bag hanging to the side.

With fingers that trembled like a schoolgirl’s, I opened the bag. A pair of long red silk gloves spilled out. The bag still felt weighted. I reached in and gasped as my fingers encountered cold stone.

The diamond necklace was beautiful, its sparkle flawless.

I sucked in an uneven breath, not entirely sure why this fantasy I wasn’t even fully aware of intensified my heart’s tremble. Attempting to ignore the puzzling sensation, I reached into the bag for the last items. Bra. Garter belt. Stockings. No panties.

Shaky laughter ripped from me as I started to dress.

I was securing the necklace when he knocked. With a quick exhale, I swayed to the door and opened it.

No other man looked better than Damian in a tuxedo, I was convinced. I forgot to breathe as I took him in from slicked-back hair to shiny handmade shoes.

It took him longer to return the scrutiny, and the heat in his eyes made me tremble all over again. ‘Neve. You look...’ he stopped and visibly swallowed ‘...breathtaking.’

‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ I replied huskily.

After another heated appraisal, he held out his hand. ‘Shall we?’

I slipped my gloved hand in his, noting the ease of the action, the giddy lightening of my heart, the fit of our fingers.

He kissed the back of it before tucking it into the crook of his arm.

Our progress down the hall to the grand staircase was unhurried, giving me time to study him, to note that he wasn’t as relaxed as he made out. There was an edgy set to his jaw and a little strain around his eyes.

‘Is everything okay?’

He turned his head and I glimpsed a stern little light in his eyes before he visibly shook it off. ‘I won’t let anything ruin our evening,’ he replied cryptically.

We’d reached the top of the grand staircase by then. I needed to concentrate before I fell on my ass so I let him guide me down the stairs to the second floor and along the west hallway.

The room we entered was immense, a grand ballroom transformed into a miniature early century opera house, with elegant drapery on the walls and a raised platform for a performance.

A large mezzanine overlooked the ballroom.

‘I wanted to see what Sam and Tyler could do with a larger area than just a suite—to see if there are more possibilities to the business plan. We’re going up there.’ Damian led me up a spiral staircase to the mezzanine where two elegant armchairs had been placed near the balcony. It gave a perfect view of the stage and on each chair lay an embossed programme. At the far end, something large and shrouded stood at the back of the room.

I didn’t ask what it was, sure it would be revealed in time. I sat down, then froze as Damian lifted a bottle of champagne from a nearby ice bucket. His gaze met mine as he manoeuvred the cork, popped it and poured out two glasses.

‘Why now?’ I asked when he handed me a glass.

His lashes swept down for a long moment before he exhaled. ‘Because...it’s you,’ he said simply.

That shifting and shaking inside me intensified. Almost too late I recognised it for what it was. An emotional earthquake, shifting my axis, rearranging my preconceptions and goals in a way that shocked and awed.

‘Ready?’

With a nervous swallow that had nothing to do with what was about to happen and everything to do with the metamorphosis occurring inside me, I nodded.

He sat down and pressed a button.

The stage lit up as the area around our seats dimmed.