Chapter 5 Daisy
With a muted click, Ference opened the limousine door, his gaze sharp. Rick hefted my luggage into the trunk.
“Good morning, Miss Elfhorn,” the driver, Bastian, said with a polite smile as I slid into the leather seat. Ference settled beside me, while Rick took the passenger seat up front.
For a while, we drove in silence toward the airport. I bent over my phone, fingers flying as I texted my mother and Jenn about the trip to Rome.
“And how was your evening at the NYX?” Ference asked quietly.
I smiled. “Very interesting.” Leaning toward him, I added, “By the way, I didn’t mention you to Mr. Miller. Thanks again for letting us in.”
He inclined his head. “I appreciate your discretion, Miss Elfhorn.”
“Daisy,” I corrected. “Call me Daisy.”
His lips tugged faintly. “Gladly, Miss Daisy.”
“Will you be coming to Rome?”
“Karl—he’s with Mr. Miller now—Rick, and I will all be on your flight.”
“That’s good to hear,” I admitted. Because even if they were Miller’s bodyguards, Ference gave me a steadiness the others didn’t.
The car rolled to a stop before a gleaming private jet, its polished fuselage catching the sun. Miller’s crew greeted me as the guards moved to secure the area. When the jet door opened, I stepped into a world of luxury unlike anything I had ever known.
The cabin radiated elegance—soft beige leather, polished wood gleaming under the lights, wide windows cut open to the sky. A bar and dining area stood in perfect order, every surface gleaming with cultivated precision. Slim vases of fresh flowers completed the picture.
In one corner sat Damian Miller. Typing briskly on his laptop, he looked up when I entered and gave a curt nod. “I have important work to finish,” he said shortly, then returned to his screen.
A flight attendant guided me to a couch beneath a mounted TV and display cabinet. “Please make yourself comfortable, Miss Elfhorn. For takeoff, just fasten your seatbelt. After that, I’ll bring drinks and breakfast. Blankets, pillows, and a bed are available if you wish to rest.”
“Thank you.”
The staff and guards withdrew, leaving the cabin hushed. I sank into the couch as the doors sealed shut, tension coiling inside me. I couldn’t decide what unnerved me more—the flight to Rome or hours locked in with Damian Miller.
The screen offered endless films. While my chosen movie played, breakfast arrived: fresh fruit, Greek yogurt with honey and granola, a warm croissant, savory rolls, steaming tea, coffee, orange juice.
I tried to focus, but my eyes kept straying to Damian bent over his work. The air seemed charged, though nothing stirred but the engines’ low hum.
Halfway through, my eyelids grew heavy. In that haze between wake and sleep, warmth brushed near. When I blinked, Damian was on the sofa beside me.
“Wolf of Wall Street… a good choice,” he murmured.
I straightened. “It’s fascinating.”
“Entertaining, yes. But also a portrait of power and greed. DiCaprio nails it.”
“Sometimes real stories are more unbelievable than fiction.”
His mouth curved faintly. “What do you say we drop the formalities, Miss Elfhorn?”
“Gladly.”
Conversation flowed—power, greed, the unraveling film. At one point, Damian reached for the fruit bowl. He plucked a strawberry and held it out.
I accepted, my fingers grazing his. The fleeting contact tingled across my skin. I bit into the berry, its sweetness bright on my tongue, while his eyes stayed locked on me.
He chose one for himself, slid it past his lips. My breath caught. Time thinned into silence, his cologne—wood and wild earth—closing around me.
Another berry between his fingers, his gaze turned playful, deliberately seductive. He lifted it toward my mouth, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
I raised my hand to take it, only for him to pull it back. The teasing motion stalled me. In that pause, he leaned down—closer than safe.
“What are you doing to me, Daisy?” he murmured, voice low, edged with a growl. “Not even an hour on this plane and I can barely hold back.”
He lifted the fruit to my lips. They trembled at the touch.
For a moment, I thought of turning away.
The strawberry felt absurd between us—a flimsy mask over something darker.
But slowly, I parted my lips, letting him place it inside.
His fingers lingered, brushing against my mouth with a touch too soft, too intimate.
“I told myself a thousand times to stay away from you. But you make it impossible.”
“You’re my boss.” The words came thin, a shield that couldn’t hold.
“I don’t care about that. There are other reasons that forbid it.”
What reasons? The thought spun, unanswered.
“But I want you so badly,” he murmured, the air thickening around us.
Then, without hesitation, he bent and kissed me—gentle but certain, like a tide rolling in only to sweep everything away.
Electricity crashed through me. His mouth was firm yet tender, hunger and passion bound together.
I tasted strawberries on his tongue, mingled with something darker, more dangerous.
My thoughts dissolved, lost in the heat of him.
A rush of arousal surged through me. My hands fisted in his shirt, clinging as the kiss deepened.
The world blurred at the edges. Without breaking away, Damian set the bowl aside.
In one fluid motion, he seized my wrists, pinned them above my head, and leaned over me.
His mouth claimed mine with a determination that shook me to my core. His hardness pressed against my thigh.
“I’ve wanted you from the moment I first saw you. I want you only for myself. I want you to belong to me.” He kissed me again.
Almost instinctively, my body arched toward his, driven by a craving I couldn’t fight. The heat of his skin, the rough strength of his fingers—it overwhelmed me. I didn’t understand why I reacted to him so fiercely, only that I did.
Then, as suddenly as he’d started, he pulled away.
“Fuck!” The curse tore out of him, raw and strained. He dragged a hand through his hair, shut his eyes, and I saw the battle raging inside him. “He’s going to kill me,” he muttered.
“Who?” I asked.
Damian shook his head. Slowly, he straightened, his shoulders squaring. “I’m anything but steady when it comes to you.”
“I’m not either,” I admitted.
“But I’m the one who has to control himself,” he said, voice tight, as if the words cut him.
“But what if I don’t want you to?”
I knew I was playing with fire—one that could burn me alive—and I still didn’t stop.
He stared at me, as if trying to process what I’d just said.
“What?” His voice was soft, yet edged like a threat.
“What if I don’t want you to control yourself?” I repeated, meeting his gaze with quiet defiance.
Time froze. His response was wordless—just a heavy breath, as though I’d awakened a beast he could barely contain.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” His eyes darkened. “I’m not built for sweet little romances. Power is the core of my life, not just business.”
His words unsettled me. I didn’t fully understand, but I felt the warning in them. Flames, daring me closer.
“I sleep with women, but I don’t do relationships. And when I want someone, that person is mine. Completely.”
A shiver ripped through me. Any sane woman would have run screaming—though on a plane, that was impossible. Instead, I wanted more. I wanted to know everything about him—what shaped him, why he was this way, what it would feel like to belong only to him.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I don’t want to drag you into something that will destroy you. You want something real, something deep. I’ll never be that man. I can’t give you what you need.”
“You don’t even know what I need.”
“I might know more than you think.” He brushed his thumb over my cheek. “If I pull you into my darkness, you’ll lose and break, and I’ll be a dead man.”
The words chilled me. Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. He rubbed a hand over his face, as though trying to erase the torment—but it stayed in his eyes.
“We still have a few hours ahead of us,” I said finally. “And if we want to keep this from turning unbearable, I’d suggest we talk about the artifacts in your shop. I know you inherited them from your parents, but have you examined every piece? I don’t think you realize the full value.”
Damian raised a brow, faint amusement flickering at the idea of me lecturing him—the expert.
Without a word, he picked up the two glasses of champagne from the table and handed me one.
Something unreadable glinted in his eyes as he lifted his glass.
Then he draped an arm casually along the back of the couch.
The relaxed gesture softened him. For the first time, he seemed almost human.
Approachable. And that, strangely, steadied me.
“I’m all ears, Miss Elfhorn.”
“And he really just left you sitting there?” Damian asked, pouring me another glass of wine and shaking his head. “What a coward.”
I let out a short laugh. “Exactly. That’s what he did.”
“And you just stayed?”
“I stayed in the villa alone. We’d already rented it. It was only our third day in Italy. We’d spent the afternoon at the beach and had planned to go out to a small restaurant that evening.”
“And then this soft-hearted fool just left because his ex needed him?” Damian’s tone sharpened with disbelief.
“He said he had to leave immediately and even asked for the money he’d set aside for dinner. Then he packed up, called a taxi, and was gone. I never saw him again.”
“Incredible. And what did you do with yourself all alone?”
“The best thing I could—I made a list of every historical site and museum nearby. Each morning I set out early to explore.”
Damian took a bite of meat and leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “What did you see?”
“First, Pompeii. I spent the entire day wandering the ruins, imagining what life had been like. The houses, the streets, even the frescoes on the walls—it was surreal.”
He listened with an attentiveness that surprised me.