Chapter 3
CALLA
Damien’s hand brushes mine. It’s not an accident this time.
The warmth of his skin sends a pulse of energy through me, like static, but deeper, heavier. I feel it in my chest, in my pulse, in that strange flutter low in my stomach that hasn’t stopped since I met him.
The music shifts, slow and smoky. Couples drift toward the dance floor, and for a second, I think he’s just watching them. Then his fingers slide between mine, firm but gentle, and he rises to his feet.
“Dance with me,” he says.
It isn’t a question.
Before I can come up with an excuse, he’s already tugging me up. My drink’s still on the table, my heart somewhere back in my chest, and I just let him lead me because… what else can I do?
His hand settles on my lower back as he guides me through the crowd, weaving easily until we reach the center of the floor. The room feels dimmer here, the music louder but somehow distant.
He turns to face me, one hand finding mine again, the other resting lightly against my waist. His palm is warm, so warm it feels impossible.
“You don’t have to be nervous,” he murmurs.
“I’m not,” I lie.
He smiles, like he knows I’m bluffing. “You are.”
When he pulls me closer, it isn’t rough or demanding. It’s slow, deliberate, the kind of closeness that feels inevitable. My chest brushes his, and I swear he inhales like he’s breathing me in.
The air between us changes, thicker, softer, dizzying. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.
“You’re staring again,” I whisper.
He leans down, his breath ghosting my ear. “I told you. You’re difficult to ignore.”
A shiver runs down my spine.
We start to move, not quite dancing, more like swaying. The music folds around us, low and hypnotic. He leads effortlessly, like he’s done this a thousand times. Maybe he has. He feels timeless in a way I can’t explain, old and new all at once.
I rest my hand on his shoulder for balance. He’s solid, every muscle beneath my touch coiled but steady. When I glance up, he’s already looking at me, his expression unreadable except for the faintest trace of something fierce.
Something hungry.
It should scare me, but it doesn’t. It just makes my heart stutter harder.
“I don’t even know you,” I whisper, breathless.
“Not yet,” he says softly. “But you will.”
My breath catches. “You sound sure of that.”
His lips curve into a faint, dangerous smile. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
We keep moving, slow and easy, the crowd melting around us. His thumb strokes small circles against my back, each one setting my nerves on fire.
I should step away. I should remember that I barely know this man. But it feels like I’ve known him forever, like my body’s been waiting for this, for him.
I don’t understand it. I just don’t want it to stop.
He leans closer, his lips near my ear. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
I don’t trust my voice, so I nod.
He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath for centuries.
And in that moment, surrounded by strangers, wrapped in his arms, I realize that somehow, against every ounce of logic, I’ve stepped straight into something I’ll never come back from.
The music melts into something slower, darker, like it was written just for this moment. For us.
Damien moves with a kind of grace that doesn’t feel learned. It feels remembered. His hand never leaves my waist, guiding me easily through each soft turn, my body following his as if it’s always known how.
The rest of the ballroom fades to a blur of color and sound. All I can see is him, his dark eyes, the curve of his mouth, the way he’s watching me like I’m the only real thing in the room.
My heart beats too fast. Every brush of his hand sends sparks through me.
“Calla,” he murmurs, his voice so low I almost don’t hear it.
“Yeah?” I breathe.
“Breathe,” he whispers.
I try. I really do. But then he slides his hand up my back, fingers tracing the edge of my spine, pulling me a little closer.
His lips hover near my ear when he says, “That’s better.”
My pulse stutters. I can feel it everywhere, my neck, my wrists, my chest pressed against his.
We sway, and I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly his face is close enough that his breath grazes my skin. The scent of him, clean, faintly spiced, something wild underneath, wraps around me.
He tilts his head slightly, and before I can think, before I can decide whether to step back or lean in, his lips brush the side of my neck.
It’s barely a kiss, just the ghost of one.
But my entire body reacts like it’s been struck by lightning. I gasp, my fingers clutching at his jacket. My knees nearly give out, and he catches me easily, holding me steady.
“Damien…”
“Shh,” he whispers, his voice rough now, a low growl that vibrates through me. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.”
My breath comes out shaky. “You, You can’t just, ”
“I know.” He pulls back enough to look at me, his eyes darker now, almost black in the candlelight. “Forgive me.”
I should say no. I should be furious. But I can’t think straight with the way he’s still holding me, his thumb tracing slow circles against my waist, his breath still warm against my skin.
“I don’t, ” I start, but the words falter.
He searches my face, gaze flicking between my lips and my eyes. “Tell me to stop.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
He exhales slowly, closing his eyes like he’s fighting something inside himself. “I don’t want to scare you.”
“You’re not,” I whisper, though maybe I should be.
He presses his forehead gently against mine, both of us still swaying to the faint hum of the music. “Then I’ll be careful,” he murmurs.
I nod, breathless, caught somewhere between wanting to run and never wanting to move again.
His hand stays at my waist, firm and steady, as if he’s anchoring himself there, like if he lets go, the world might end.
The song fades into another, and I’m still wrapped up in him, his hand at my waist, the soft brush of his breath against my hair. I’m trying to breathe like a normal person again when the crowd suddenly shifts around us.
“Calla? Holy, wait, that is you!”
I jolt back slightly, startled, and turn toward the familiar voice. Maya stands there in glitter heels and a black cat-ear headband, eyes wide with delight. Tina’s beside her, holding a drink in each hand and looking me up and down like she just stumbled into prime gossip.
“Oh my God,” Tina says, grinning. “We didn’t even recognize you. Look at you, sunshine! You clean up real nice.”
My cheeks go hot immediately. “Thanks,” I mumble, trying to pull myself together.
They glance between me and Damien, who’s still standing close, too close. He hasn’t moved, and his hand is still lightly resting at the small of my back. Maya’s eyes flick down to it, and she smirks.
“Ohhh,” she says, dragging the word out. “Well, well, well. Who’s your tall, dark, and broody friend?”
Tina laughs into her drink. “Please tell me this is the reason you finally agreed to come out tonight.”
I shake my head quickly. “I, no, I just met him.”
“Lucky you,” Maya mutters.
Damien’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s polite, composed, though I can feel that quiet tension still radiating off him, like he’s trying not to bare his teeth at anyone who interrupts.
Maya finally looks back at me. “Hey, have you seen Brooke? We lost her the second we got here.”
I’m grateful for the subject change. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “She made a beeline for the bar as soon as we walked in.”
“Classic Brooke,” Tina sighs. “Guess we’ll find her when she runs out of tequila or starts a conga line.”
They both laugh, and I try to join in, but I can feel Damien’s gaze on me, quiet, steady, grounding and disorienting all at once.
Maya nudges me gently. “Alright, we’ll leave you to… whatever this is.”
Tina winks. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”
“That doesn’t narrow it down,” I mutter, but they’re already vanishing back into the crowd, giggling.
The second they’re gone, I let out a shaky breath. Damien’s hand slides from my back but doesn’t move far, his fingers brushing against mine again.
“Friends of yours?” he asks, voice smooth as velvet.
I nod, smiling a little. “Coworkers. ER nurses.”
He hums softly, as if that tells him something important. “Good people, then.”
“Mostly,” I tease, glancing up at him. “They mean well, but they’re relentless.”
His smile is faint, but it softens the sharpness in his face. “They’re protective of you.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Guess I’m kind of the responsible one.”
“I can see that,” he murmurs, stepping a little closer again. “Though I’m starting to think you’re not nearly as cautious as you pretend to be.”
I tilt my head, my voice barely a whisper. “And what makes you say that?”
He leans in just enough that his next words brush my skin. “Because you’re still here, sweetheart.”