href="#ufbfc2869-e832-5785-844f-ee7cfe8c8939">CHAPTER NINE
Neve
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
