Chapter 5 Daisy #3
“I’m not here to please you or to profit from your wealth.
I’m here because I love my work—and because you practically forced me into it.
And besides, no one becomes as successful as you by being empty.
Somewhere inside, there’s something that drives you, something that makes you burn.
That’s the only reason you’ve made it this far. ”
“Passionate, yes. But not in a romantic sense. Do you remember what you told me a few hours ago on the couch? That you didn’t want me to hold back?”
“Yes.”
“Do you really think you’re any different? That you won’t fall for me just like every other woman? I could have you. Right now. And the only reason you’re not already naked on this table is because I’m keeping myself under control.”
Damian’s eyes glinted like those of a predator.
Something coiled tight inside me, but I refused to look away. “That may be true. You’re attractive, and you know it. You’re aware of what you stir up in women. And yes, maybe I would weaken. But that doesn’t mean I belong to you—that you have control over me.”
His mouth curved with quiet amusement. He raised a brow. “Oh no?”
“No.”
“I got you to sit with me on this plane.”
“You’re paying me for it.”
“Then you’re for sale.”
“That’s out of context. It’s part of my job. But let’s be honest—everyone is for sale, in one way or another.”
Damian poured the last of the wine into our glasses. “I like you, Daisy. I really do.”
A few hours later, the plane began its descent.
Damian invited me to rest with him in the sleeping cabin.
The bed was wide, draped in silk sheets and soft pillows, the lighting dim and warm.
An elegant nightstand with a discreet lamp stood on one side.
Motorized curtains could darken the windows at a touch.
He stretched out beside me and put The Wolf of Wall Street back on the TV so we could finish watching it. He picked up his drink from the nightstand. The flight attendant had offered us more cocktails, but I’d only wanted gum and a glass of water.
“Want to try?” he asked, lifting his glass.
I nodded. But before handing it to me, he raised it to his lips and drank—slowly, deliberately, as though showing me how he tasted.
When he finally offered me the glass, I ignored his hand and leaned in—so close I could smell the whiskey on his tongue.
Then I kissed him. No warning. No restraint.
My lips found his. I let my tongue glide softly over the spot where the sparkling taste of the alcohol still lingered.
Damian froze. A low, guttural sound—half growl, half hunger—rose from his throat.
I drew back and licked my lips. “Not bad.”
His pupils were blown wide, his jaw tight.
“Daisy,” he murmured, my name edged with warning. “Don’t do that.”
“What?” I asked with feigned innocence, lifting the glass from his hand.
I drank—not because I was thirsty, but to show him I wasn’t afraid.
Not of him. Not of what I saw in his eyes.
The alcohol burned down my throat, spreading heat through my chest, a tingling bloom in my stomach.
Then I leaned over him, letting myself brush against the solid heat of his body for the briefest moment before setting the glass on the nightstand beside him.
Damian’s hands shot to my thighs. With one rough pull, he yanked me toward him. I landed on my back, and before I could draw breath, he was straddling me. His fingers clamped around my wrists, pinning them into the mattress. I gasped, my pulse hammering.
“I don’t like being toyed with,” he said.
Violence hummed beneath his skin. His mouth crashed into mine—wild and unyielding, like a storm ripping through walls.
There was no softness in him. Only hunger.
Only claim. A moan slipped from me, caught somewhere between need and surrender, though I couldn’t tell if I wanted him—or if I’d simply lost the power to stop.
He broke away, just slightly, his gaze dark and dangerous.
“You drive me insane,” he rasped. “I want to wrap my hand around your throat and fuck you so hard you forget who you are. I want you to scream, to tremble, and for me to be the only thing you can still feel.”
A sharp breath tore from me. Fear—or desire? I couldn’t tell.
“I want to own you. Not just your body. Everything. Your thoughts. Your breath. Your damn will. I want you to love me while I tear you apart.” His hand slid from my wrist to my throat. Testing. Gentle, but only barely.
And I saw it then—the battle inside him. Him against himself. Against what he was. Suddenly, he let me go. He pushed off the bed, dragging both hands through his hair. His chest rose and fell like he’d been running.
“Damn it, Daisy! You have to stop this!”
I was one racing heartbeat, one frantic pulse. “Stop what?”
His eyes burned into me. “What is that scent?”
I blinked. “What?”
“The whole damn room smells like you.”
“It’s just… face cream.”
“It’s driving me insane. You’re driving me insane!” He grabbed the glass, drained it in one motion, and slammed it onto the table before storming out.
I didn’t move. My body was still trembling, still caught between heat and confusion. What the hell had that been? Why was he holding back? What was stopping him from finally breaking?
He never came back. At some point, exhaustion claimed me.
I woke to a knock. The door eased open and a flight attendant peeked inside.
“Miss Elfhorn, we’ll be landing in thirty minutes. You’ll find everything you need in the washroom—towels, toiletries.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, dragging myself upright. A few minutes later, I slipped into the washroom.
When I returned, Damian sat again, tapping something into his laptop. If he noticed me, he didn’t show it. I sank into the seat beside him and watched.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, eyes never leaving the screen.
“Yes,” I said softly, searching for his gaze. He didn’t look.
Then, abruptly, he did. His face came close enough to steal my breath. My heartbeat roared in my ears. I thought he might kiss me. Instead, his hand moved—down to my waist. A shiver bolted through me. I was strung so tight with wanting that I could barely breathe.
His fingers slipped beneath my arm, fastening me in with an ease that felt almost mocking.
The belt clicked softly. I sat there, strapped in—confused, feeling foolish.
He tugged it tighter. Not rough, but firm.
His eyes locked on mine, but there was distance in them, as if I were just something to secure.
An object. Then he leaned back, closing his eyes, silent as stone.
And I sat there like a live wire, buckled and trapped, heart pounding far too fast for someone who hadn’t just been kissed.
The hotel was breathtaking. Tall marble columns and sparkling chandeliers lit the lobby. The staff waited in immaculate uniforms.
“Mr. Miller, welcome back,” said the concierge with a polished smile.
The familiarity struck me. He’d been here before. Many times.
“Please take my companion to her suite,” Damian said. “And show my security team to theirs.”
“Of course, sir.”
Admiration twisted inside me. Everything about this place was commanding, opulent—and I felt small in the midst of it.
The ride from the airport had been silent, crowded with all the words we hadn’t said.
Damian had withdrawn; the only thing he’d offered was a single, detached question about whether I wanted a drink.
Now, in the soft light of the foyer, his eyes caught mine. “I need to take care of a few things—check in, make arrangements. I’ll come to you later. Tonight, we’ll walk the city and have dinner. Tomorrow we visit the Vatican Library.”
I nodded as the staff led me to my suite, which was every bit as luxurious as the lobby promised.
“Mr. Miller has the suite across from yours,” the concierge explained. “If you need anything, call room service. We are available around the clock, Miss Elfhorn.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the key card.
The man nodded and left. I sank onto the soft bed and checked my watch.
The streets outside were already dark. Almost half past nine—European time.
I typed quick messages to Jenn and my mother to say I’d made it safely to Rome.
Then I unpacked a few things and chose my outfit for the night: a short white dress, a light blue denim jacket, and ballet flats. After that, I showered.
At 10:15 p.m., a knock sounded at my door.
When I opened it, Damian stood there, leaning against the doorframe with his phone pressed to his ear.
His gaze locked on me, a faint smile curving the corner of his mouth, dimples cutting deep.
He wasn’t in his usual suit but in blue jeans and a white shirt, the top buttons undone.
His hair looked freshly washed, slightly mussed, as if his fingers had just combed through it.
A trace of something woody and masculine drifted toward me.
“All right, we’ll handle the rest tomorrow,” he said into the phone, never breaking eye contact. Then he slid the phone into his pocket. “Ready?”
I nodded, irritated at myself. I snatched my bag, closed the door, and followed him down the hall to the elevators. Every movement he made carried effortless grace. Damian was a prism of a man—every angle catching the light in a new way, every facet sharper and more dangerous than the last.
The elevator doors opened and we stepped inside.
“No cardigan tonight?” he asked, pressing the button for the lobby.
“No. Not tonight.” My reply came clipped.
The elevator started its descent. Silence fell, broken only by the low hum of the machinery.
Then Damian shifted. He turned toward me, stepped closer, and braced his hand against the wall beside my head.
Not rough, not rushed—calculated. His breath brushed my cheek, cool with peppermint.
My body locked in place while everything inside me burned.
“Do you know what the biggest problem is, Daisy?”