12. Chapter Damian
I pick up Aria at seven o’clock sharp, just as promised. I’m still exhausted from the past three sleepless days, so I decide to have my personal driver take us to the airport.
It’s only Monday, and this week has already been shaping up to be the shittiest week. I’m so pissed that someone stole from under my nose. All I know is that whoever did this is going to pay for it painfully. I will fucking make sure of it.
On top of it, I haven’t stopped thinking about my almost kiss with Aria. Which is funny considering all I did was work nonstop all weekend, and somehow, I still found time in my day to think about her. And now, the fucking cherry on top —a two-day trip with her. Deep down, I’m equally concerned and excited to be alone with her. I’ve been wanting to get alone time to sort through these annoying feelings I can’t seem to place. I’m an art enthusiast; of course. So I’ll treat this situation the same way I study a piece of art. Scrutinize it. Understand it. Find the meaning behind it. Find out why this woman, with her fiery personality and all, has filtered her way through my thoughts; becoming the center of my attention. I want to know what makes her happy; sad; mad; her . But, of course, my inability to stay the fuck away from her doesn’t help this situation.
This is bound to be nothing but a challenge. Losing my focus and making rash decisions—like punching a guy—will probably keep happening. Honestly, no regrets; I’d do it again just to have the satisfaction of breaking the nose of any guy who dares touch her.
Fuck. This is going to be a long trip.
It irritates me to no end; the inability to keep my emotions in check around her. My mind just takes all rational decisions out of the picture and makes my heart take over.
But it’s okay. I just have to remind myself this is just another challenge I need to conquer. And I love challenges . I’m Damian fucking Romano. The last thing I do is let emotions get in the way.
Yet, that’s all you’ve been doing.
I can and will control myself.
Can you really, though ?
The car ride has been silent, and tension has been building up between us since this morning when she walked in through all the chaos. It’s not that I don’t trust her. I do—really—I trust her more than I do most people, but there wasn’t any point of ruining her weekend. There wasn’t anything she could have done to get the painting back.
She did make this meeting possible, though.
Honestly, I’ve been kicking my ass for not calling her. She… well; I’ve come to learn that she wears her emotions on her sleeves. She was clearly hurt that I didn’t ask for her help, and that made me feel like shit.
Ha. Hilarious. Here I thought I wasn’t capable of emotions.
The ruthless businessman isn’t. But this man she brings out of me like it’s her calling? This one does. The emotions I’ve kept buried over the years just slip; pulling my mask away. Doesn’t matter how hard I hold on, they just… fight back. For her. For what it could be.
I welcome the silence between us, because what I’ve been doing this whole time is stealing glances here and there, admiring her from afar. She’s wearing a basic hoodie, leggings, and white sneakers. Knowing this girl, she always opts for comfort. Her face has no makeup, making her natural gold freckles shine on their own. There’s something about her natural looks that just makes her more attractive, more… her .
I wonder how her skin would feel beneath my touch, how it would feel to explore every inch of her, or how her pouty red lips would feel on mine. The power she holds over me is maddening, and she doesn’t even know it.
“I can't believe you're wearing a whole suit for a red-eye flight,” she remarks, pulling me from my thoughts.
I smirk, asserting with extreme confidence as I wink at her. “I'm Damian Romano. I have to be ready at all times.”
She rolls her eyes, making me relish in the familiar push and pull of our dynamic—an endless game—that leaves me feeling a slight thrill and frustration.
Heading to Italy makes me nervous. When my father passed away and I inherited the business, my mother decided to stay permanently in Italy by herself, wanting to be close to what my dad loved. Though Italian by birth, I was raised in Chicago, where my father pursued his version of the American dream.
My conversations with my mother are frequent, and I support her financially out of gratitude for how she raised me. But every time I see her in person, she has this natural talent to bring up my father. She has always had a guilty conscience over my strained relationship with him, even though there’s literally nothing she could have done. It wasn’t her fault; that much is clear. My father was simply an asshole, and I always got the short end of the stick.
Snapping back to reality, I ask, “When's the meeting?”
“In two days,” she mutters while deep in thought, looking at her phone and typing.
I snap my fingers in front of her face, drawing her gaze to mine. “What are you doing that's so important?”
She looks at me with a hint of irritation that always seems to appear when she’s upset with me.
My favorite kind of look.
“I’m writing some notes for the meeting; it has to go well. We have no other option.”
“Forget about that,” I counter. “We can work on it tomorrow over lunch. You work too much,” I say as an excuse, when in reality, all I want is her attention.
She raises an eyebrow, her gaze unwavering. “Look who's talking, the guy wearing a suit because he 'has to be always ready’”
I laugh, running my tongue over my teeth, trying to contain a witty comeback. The bickering between us is a game that only fuels the intensity of my attraction toward her. Call me a masochist if you will, but I fucking love how she challenges me, opinions be damned. I can’t deny I would love nothing but to shut her mouth with my cock, or have her scream my name as I fuck her into oblivion.
So much for controlling yourself, Damian. Fucking seriously. Where the fuck did that thought come from?
We arrive at the airport, and my team swiftly grants her clearance as we make our way to my jet.
She glances around, visibly impressed. “Nice jet, boss ,” she playfully taunts, her eyes dancing with amusement.
I chuckle, shaking my head but choosing not to respond. It took me five years to invest in my own private plane. Even though I make billions of dollars a year with the various companies I own and invest in, it’s hard to spend money. Sometimes it feels as if I don’t deserve it, even though I worked my fucking ass to get to where I am. Deep down, in the back of my head, I’m still like that worthless little boy my father despised so much. The one that’s too compassionate to make it into the real world.
She walks around, surveying the spacious interior of the jet before settling on a corner to claim as her own.
“Not there, that's my seat,” I state firmly.
She shoots me a look, a mix of challenge and incredulity in her hazel eyes.
I raise an eyebrow, my amusement at her audacity growing. Fake coughing, I casually slip one hand into my pants pocket, a sly smile playing on my lips. I meet her gaze with an air of seriousness that only heightens the tension between us, and she continues to hold my gaze, her defiance clear. As always, she decides to take the high road, because this is what we do and sits on the plush leather with a smug smile on her face. This is our own version of a fun game, one I’m more than willing to play with her every chance we get .
With calculated intent, I slowly approach her, taking my time to place my bag neatly under one of the seats. Then, in one swift motion, I place my hands on her hips and I lift her as if she weighs no more than a feather.
She gasps. “Damian, put me down right now! Are you crazy!?”
I scrunch down to place her in the plush leather seat next to mine, glancing at her. Her cheeks redden, making her freckles pop. There is little to no space between us, and as she’s getting herself comfortable in the seat, her gaze meets mine as she licks her lower lip. My eyes involuntarily travel to her lips, and I lick my own without thinking. Her fucking lips are just calling my name, begging for me to take them, and I have little resolve left in me to keep my distance. My eyes travel farther down, noticing her chest rising and falling, her breathing becoming sloppy. She wants me to kiss her. I know it. The air crackles with that familiar electric intensity. If I move just a few more inches closer, I could close the gap between us and grab her by the nape of her neck and give myself a delicious taste. Her sweet strawberry scent is intoxicating, making me dizzy and clouding my thoughts.
Somehow, I manage to snap back to reality, and I abruptly get up. She looks the other way without a word, admiring everything about the space, refusing to look back at me. Taking a seat next to her and pulling out my phone, I start typing away emails .
She grabs her bag and goes to stand up, but I grab her arm and stop her. “What are you doing?”
She looks back at me confused. “I’m moving to another seat so I can be out of your space.”
I shake my head and pat the seat next to mine. “Sit. I just wanted my regular seat, that’s all.”
I’m particular about these things. I always sit in the same seat. It’s the little things I’m always a control freak about. It’s a hard habit to break.
Her eyes flicker with that fiery resolve and she replies, “No, thank you. There’s enough space for me to sit somewhere else.”
“Do you want me to grab you like a sack of potatoes and drop you on this seat? Was once not enough?”
Her back stiffens and she replies, “You wouldn’t dare.”
Raising an eyebrow, I go to stand up but she quickly places a hand on my shoulder to stop me, then sits down next to me with a huff. “I can’t believe you were going to do it again.”
“I’ll never reject a dare.”
“Yes, I can see that now.”
I smirk and get back to my phone. The tension in the cabin is palpable, and I savor the electrifying atmosphere between us, knowing that this trip to Italy is going to be anything but ordinary.