CHAPTER EIGHT

      Neve

      HE KNOCKED AT seven fifty-five.

      Firm. Bridled impatience. Too self-assured. Just like the man.

      No. Not totally true. I’d seen another layer of Damian today at lunch and that’d thrown me for a loop ever since I’d walked away from the table. Granted, I’d been more than irritated too.

      But that brief glimpse into his life, relayed with a whole host of new, bleak demons in his eyes, had planted something inside me I couldn’t shake off. It came uncomfortably close to compassion. Because that meant I risked seeing him in a different light. One that might lead to a further softening, even understanding the man.

      Even if he hadn’t shut me down, I didn’t want to deal with another facet of a man I found far too fascinating. Besides, I should be used to getting shut down. My mother had done that my whole life, perpetually sabotaging the link I’d promised to keep alive, one that still felt vital to me, even after all this time. Even after common sense dictated I should write it off as a failed venture and move on.

      The knock came again, more insistent.

      I took a breath, reminded myself that this was about teaching Damian a lesson in the most basic way possible.

      Sex. That was all.

      Nevertheless, my stomach flipped in excitement, mockingly contradicting my level-headedness. I pulled the full-length robe tighter around my body and secured it with the long velvet belt.

      One last glance in the mirror, and I answered the door.

      He stood square, tall and spectacular in the doorway, his brooding hazel gaze latching onto mine. It stayed for a tense minute before drifting over my shoulder into the room to probe the corners of the suite.

      ‘Looking for something?’ I knew what he was doing but enjoyed toying with him.

      ‘Just making sure you didn’t settle for an alternative while we were apart.’

      As if I would’ve wished for anything but exploring the torrid promise in his eyes after that wickedly thrilling reminder last night of what he could do with his mouth and fingers.

      I wanted him desperately. But where was the fun in letting him know that?

      ‘The night is young and I’ve learned that it’s wise to keep my options open.’

      The fire in his eyes morphed into something dangerous. A warning not to test his limits.

      ‘I’m not great at sharing, Neve. Once I step through this door, you’ll have to agree to let go of some of those options.’

      Why did I get the feeling we were talking about more than just my sex toys?

      At my lack of response, his lips flattened and he inhaled long and hard, his gaze moving slowly, feverishly in a head-to-toe scrutiny. ‘Invite me in,’ he requested thickly.

      ‘On one condition.’

      One eyebrow rose.

      ‘You come in, you abide by my rules.’

      After a charged silence, he nodded. ‘Fine.’

      I stepped back and gestured him in. An hour ago, the suite had looked incredible. Now, with strategically lit lamps highlighting the best features of the suite, it looked magnificent.

      Damian strolled inside, taking in every inch of the room before he paused in front of a green velvet chaise longue that invited the decadent relaxation I had in mind.

      Desire sizzled in my blood as I watched the suite through his eyes. Imagined him spreading me on top of the silk-covered bedspread, sweat glistening on his glorious skin as he rammed deep inside me while the moon rose high in the sky.

      The room was having an effect on him too, judging by the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he faced me again.

      We stared at each other across the space for a full minute before I reached for the remote control. It wasn’t exactly authentic but this was my fantasy, and frankly the presence of a harpist would throw a dampener on what I had in mind for Damian tonight.

      Strains of Maria Callas’s haunting tones eased through the room as Damian prowled towards me.

      ‘I’d like a glass of champagne, please.’

      He paused, that now familiar hard-edged look flitting over his face before he altered his course to where the silver bucket stood next to the chaise longue. Expertly, he worked the foil, twisted the cork until it gave a sophisticated pop.

      He poured one glass, set the bottle back into the bucket and approached me.

      I took it from him. ‘Aren’t you having one yourself?’

      ‘No.’

      Curiosity ate at me and this time it wouldn’t stay down. ‘You keep refusing my drinks. A more fragile person would have a complex by now. Care to elaborate?’

      His jaw clenched once. ‘No. I prefer to get you off in some other way than satisfying personal curiosity.’

      ‘Even if that’s my specific fantasy right now?’

      ‘Your fantasy is to dissect my life?’ The question was sharp, his face drawn into lines of displeasure.

      ‘You could’ve answered differently if you didn’t want me to probe.’

      ‘You asked a question. I gave you a truthful answer. Let’s move on to your next fantasy. Preferably one that involves discovering what’s beneath that robe.’

      I smiled despite the curious ache digging inside me. ‘It’s a secret I intend to keep a little while longer.’

      A terse smile lifted the corner of his mouth. ‘As long as it’s my hands doing the revealing, I’ll be patient. Just about.’

      Renewed heat in his eyes dissipated the little blip in our discourse. The crescendo of the music rose. I swayed towards him, swivelling