Chapter 13 Damian
Five days since Woodstock. She'd spent the night at my hotel and, early the next morning, still in a bathrobe, I drove her to Jenn. The rest of the day she’d been with her friend, probably reworking the story of her dress.
I should have snapped her ex’s neck. I knew how sick that sounded.
I didn’t care. The thought of anyone else touching her lit something feral inside me.
Daisy already meant too much. That terrified me. My head screamed at me to keep away, that nothing good could come of this, especially if my friend ever found out. But desire drowned reason.
She knelt before the shelf, pulling boxes out one by one with that tense, quiet persistence only she had.
If she turned around now, she’d see what she does to me—and I’d never stop.
I watched the tilt of her shoulders, the way fabric pulled across her back when she leaned forward.
Every millimeter beneath her skin begged for my hands.
Her neck, slightly reddened, unguarded, exposed, flared in my mind like a target.
My hands belonged there. Not gentle. Not tentative.
I wanted her to hold still beneath my grip.
Her braid had come half undone, wild and unruly—like everything about her. Yet she tried to keep things in order, as if she didn’t know she had become the chaos itself.
I pictured grabbing that braid. Hard. Suddenly. Pulling her back without warning, forcing her to meet my eyes and hold them until she understood what she was doing to me. Not because I had to, but because I couldn’t stand it otherwise.
I took a step and stopped. I knew what would follow if I didn’t. I knew how it would end if I touched her now.
My fingers twitched for just a second. I could have done it. Grabbed her, shoved her against the shelf. She would have let me—that was the problem.
But then I would have stopped being human.
Heat pressed under my ribs like a living thing. She knelt there, disheveled, focused, unsuspecting. I stood behind her like a shadow: too many thoughts, too little control, and a woman who could destroy me without a word.
I dropped my gaze and curled my hands into fists. A few breaths. Just long enough for the pressure to ease so I could breathe again without picturing what she’d look like if I took her.
Daisy half-turned, glanced over her shoulder without breaking the search. “It would go faster if you helped me,” she murmured, casual.
I leaned against the doorframe with calculated calm, let my eyes trace her on purpose, and crossed my arms. “I’d rather watch you work.”
She snorted, fighting a smile.
“There it is,” she said minutes later, pulling a box free. “Who’s the buyer?”
“An unknown collector in Europe. He has a taste for rare Greek pieces.”
She eased the lid back and revealed an ancient statuette. Her fingers skimmed the carved surface with reverence. “This is incredible.”
“It is,” I said. “He’ll prize it—one of a kind.” I stepped closer until I stood directly in front of her, lifted a hand, and placed it against her cheek. “Just like you.”
The weight of that landed on her. She raised her head and met my gaze. God, she was beautiful. Too beautiful for whatever I might do. Not because I wanted to. But because I didn’t know how to keep someone like her without breaking them.
“I want you with me this weekend.”
Her brows flicked up. “Where to?”
“To my brother and his wife in the Catskills. They have an estate. It’s a good place—maybe it would do you good.” I had reasons for wanting her there. I didn’t need to say them.
She blinked, off guard. Her eyes slid from my mouth to the floor as she twisted the sleeve hem between her fingers. “Actually, I was planning to go to my mother and her boyfriend’s ranch in Greenwood Falls this weekend.”
“We could split it. One night with your family, one night with mine.” The words came out before I could stop them, before I could clamp down on my own tongue.
What the hell was I doing? I wasn’t the man who arranged weekend getaways.
I was the man parents warned their daughters about.
And now I was offering a domestic option, like I belonged in it.
That was dangerous. For both of us. The more she saw of me, the more she'd think I had something like a heart. The more she believed it, the worse it would end
Still, I didn’t take the words back. Because deep down I wanted to know if she’d say yes.
“You… and me?”
I let a faint smile slip. Smiling wasn’t a tactic. It was soft. I wasn’t soft. I was cold, calculated, the sort who moved first so others couldn’t. And yet there I was, trying to please.
Pathetic.
She looked at me like I wasn’t Damian Miller—the man people feared—but someone worth holding. Her gaze softened, and something I’d locked away stirred. It wanted warmth. It wanted closeness.
I knew how it ended. Whoever got too close lost themselves first, then everything else. Eventually I’d lose too—her, myself, whatever scraps of humanity I clung to.
“Uh… I don’t know, Damian.” She scratched her head. “I never thought you’d suggest something like that.”
I tilted my head. “Isn’t that what you want from me?”
Daisy nodded. “Yes… but…”
“Good.” My voice came out harsher than I meant, maybe because it felt like handing her something she could take away. “Pack a bag. Dawn.”
I didn’t invite her. I summoned her—and she didn’t even notice. A fleeting smile touched her lips. My heart kicked. Pathetic. Fragile. And still—I let it happen.
I guided the car along the winding road toward Greenwood Falls.
The map of trees and fields opened into wide pastures glowing in the afternoon sun.
Daisy had cracked the window, letting in the rural air.
I heard her inhale, and a quiet calm smoothed her face—a peace I’d never seen on her.
It suited her better than anything else.
As the Greenwood Falls sign came into view, I caught her smile from the corner of my eye. Rooted. Warm. Family. Things I had never been built for. I wasn’t sure I could ever show her what lived inside me. Or if she would even want to see it.
“Your friend… Jenn. She seems important to you,” I said, breaking the silence. Maybe I just needed to drown out my own head.
“Yes. We met before college. We’ve been best friends ever since.”
“It’s good to have someone like that. Someone you can trust.” My reason shouted, but my voice sounded calm. Too calm for the storm inside me.
“Do you even have friends, Damian?” Daisy asked, glancing sideways. “I mean real, best friends?”
I shrugged. “There are only a few people I trust. Bodyguards, for example.”
“I mean friends. People you laugh with. Spend time with.”
“I do that with plenty of people.” The answer snapped out—automatic, cold.
“You spend time with people who either admire you or want something from you. But is there no one who’s just a friend? Someone outside the business?”
What could I tell her? That I couldn’t remember the last time I confided in someone without calculating the cost? That trust in my world was a liability? That I could sit in a crowded room and still suffocate? I kept my mouth shut. Silence was safer than truth.
“One person,” I said finally. “Joseph Pikston. College friend. We studied together. I trusted him. We even shared a room.”
“And then?”
“We drifted. He chose a different life. I chose mine. Last I heard, he’d moved to Tuscany.”
“You never tried to reach him? Write? See him?”
“No.” Cold and flat. “I don’t have time for friendships.”
“Nonsense. You make time. And your brother? Tell me about him.”
“Christopher. Eight years older. He walked away from banking. Lives with his wife on an estate in the Catskills. Quiet life. He takes small jobs from home.”
“Are you close?”
“We are. Different people.”
“Does he have kids?”
“Two. Both at university in New York.”
“Beatrice said you have a sister.”
“Veronika. Artist. Runs a gallery in Paris.”
“Do you keep in touch?”
“We write now and then. I visit sometimes.” Saying it felt exposed. Closeness meant surrender. I pushed the spotlight back to her.
“Do you have siblings?”
“No.”
“What’s your mother like?”
“Free spirit. A rancher of sorts. You’ll see. Her boyfriend, Chase, is great.”
“Sounds like the next two days might be interesting.”
We turned onto the long drive. The ranch unfolded: a sprawling wooden house, wide pastures, an old barn, a front garden spilling with color.
I parked. Daisy stepped out, breathing the air like she’d been starving for it.
I scanned the property. Before I could lock the car, a woman was already striding toward us. No question—her mother.
Her hair shimmered gold and brown, dreadlocks threaded through, catching the sun like liquid amber. A flowing dress clung loose to her frame; bare feet pressed into the earth. Sun-warmed skin. Wheat-brown eyes that radiated a natural warmth.
“Daisy, my darling!” she called, sweeping her daughter into a fierce hug.
“Hi, Mom.”
She turned to me, curious, assessing.
“This is Damian Miller,” Daisy said. “My boss and—”
“Daisy’s boyfriend,” I finished, extending my hand.
“I’m Claire,” she said warmly, taking it. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Miller.”
Daisy shot me a sharp sidelong glance.
“You never told me you two were together,” her mother said.
A tall man stepped out of the house—bronze skin, long black hair, features carved, eyes soft with welcome.
“Hello, Daisy,” he called, raising a hand. “Be right with you. Folki’s stuck her head in the fence again.”
“Folki?” Daisy asked.
“A goose,” Claire said. “Keeps shoving her head through the gap.”
We laughed. Claire ushered us inside. “Chase will grab your bags.”
“I can manage,” I said.
“I assume you’ll share the guest room?” Claire asked, looking between us.
“Yes,” Daisy said quickly, giving me a crooked look.
Chase joined us, hand extended. “Name’s Chaseka. Most call me Chase.” His grip was calm, solid. He carried an easy certainty.
“Welcome to the ranch,” he said.