14. Chapter Damian
I have a confession: I may or may not have arranged for us to share a suite together. I could have easily made separate rooms happen. While I want to keep my distance from her, because of my irrational decision making and all, some possessive caveman instinct took over me.
I shouldn’t be surprised by now that I made yet another idiotic decisio n —but yet, here we are. Questioning my every step.
In my sick mind, I figured if we share a suite, she won’t get any bright ideas to bring anyone here. Even though I know this trip is strictly business, the possibility drives me insane, and I prefer to live in fucking peace. I’m not above scaring any potential dates she brings here, even though the logical part of me knows she won’t. Though, nothing is stopping her from going someplace else, but she wouldn’t be that unsafe… or so I’m hoping. I’m going to assume the best because I can’t afford to think otherwise. The last thing I want to do is make any other rash decisions.
This is fucking ridiculous. I barely recognize myself anymore. Business is my thing; never allowing personal matters to interfere. With her though, it's as if my carefully constructed walls are starting to crumble. I want her close, near enough to sense her presence, but far enough to maintain the illusion of professionalism. That sounds so goddamn backwards, but I have zero fucks to give.
I’m officially losing my mind.
After we arrived at the suite, I didn't see much of her for the rest of the day. She's avoiding me, that much I’m sure of, and I can’t lie, it stings a little. For the better part of the day, I'm engrossed in work, catching up on emails and rescheduling in-person meetings that were disrupted by this sudden trip. I even reached out to my mother to arrange dinner. Anything to keep my time occupied and away from Aria, because two can play at this game. If she’s avoiding me, that’s fine by me. It’s not like I was expecting a magical time or anything.
Why does it bother me so much that she’s fucking avoiding me?
As it nears seven o’clock, my stomach grumbles, and I realize that I haven't eaten since we boarded the plane. My usual sense of organization has been shaken by her presence, leaving me scattered. Leaving the confines of my room to grab something quick to eat, my phone demands my attention as always, so I'm absorbed in it as I enter the kitchen area. It isn't until I glance up that I see Aria standing in front of the open fridge, lost in thought. She has her hair pulled up into a messy bun, and an oversized sweatshirt that sparks a tinge of jealousy in me; clearly, it’s men’s clothing—from an ex, probably. The thought of that pisses me the fuck off. Even knowing that, she manages to look beautiful. The kind of beauty that stings. I make a mental note to make that sweatshirt disappear and hopefully replace it with one of my own, because I rather she looked beautiful in my clothes—not from some random stupid ex.
Yes, Damian, because that’s extremely appropriate to do. Normal boss and employee relationship.
Maybe if I say it enough times, I can convince myself it’s okay and perfectly normal.
Why am I lying to myself? In what scenario would it be ok to burn a piece of her clothing and replace it with one of mine?
“Hey,” I rasp.
She jumps at the sound of my voice. “Jesus, you scared me,” she says with a nervous chuckle, her voice soft. “I'm starving but don't know what I'm in the mood for. I was thinking cereal, or maybe a—”
“Aria,” I interrupt.
“Yes?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to hide my laugh. “You're rambling, Darling.”
“Sorry. I tend to ramble when I’m exhausted,” she confesses, amusement dancing in her eyes. “I'll get out of your way.” She turns to walk away, heading for her room.
We’ve barely seen each other since we arrived this morning, and while I know spending time with her; talking with her; and being in close quarters is a stupid idea, it doesn’t mean I want it any less. She brings this sort of relaxation when I’m near her, like I don’t have to be Damian the businessman around her. I can just be me. The thought should be jarring—and in a way, it still is—but I could indulge in it once in a while.
“I'm hungry too,” I say. “I'll make us something.”
She looks at me like I've grown three more heads. “No, that's okay. I can eat tomorrow. I'm beat anyway.”
“Aria…” I hesitate for a moment before I decide to be more assertive. “Sit. Now .”
With a dramatic roll of her eyes, she lets out a sigh but obediently takes a seat at the kitchen island.
Good girl.
I meet her gaze briefly before turning my back to start on the food. She remains quiet, the air charged with that same familiar tension that hangs between us whenever we're in close proximity. We remain quiet for the most part, both of us probably a little too exhausted to keep up with the banter.
As I’m finishing the plating, Aria walks up to the fridge and takes two bottles of water, then sits back down as I place one of the finished plates in front of her.
She nods. “A grilled cheese and tomato soup? Consider me impressed.”
I nod and take a bite myself, savoring the simple, yet delicious, flavor. “I love grilled cheese,” I admit before taking a sip of water.
She picks up the grilled cheese and dips it in the soup, and with an appreciative groan, she takes a generous bite. “Not sure why, but this is the best grilled cheese and tomato soup I've eaten.” She closes her eyes, savoring the taste.
Bowing sarcastically, I say, “You're welcome.”
There's something about her that I admire. She has a way of making the simplest things appear like a ray of sunshine. Who knew someone could look so beautiful eating something so simple? I’m engrossed in her beauty, the way her eyes roll every time she takes a bite and the way her lips hover over the spoon.
Fucking beautiful.
It seems that my eyes linger to the point that she notices.
She wipes her mouth with her thumb. “Do I have something on my face?”
She doesn’t, but I nod anyway as I get close to her and run my thumb across her perfect lips, a zip of electricity runs from my thumb to my cock. I shake my head and scoot backward suddenly, feeling startled by the spark. Her back stiffens, and her cheeks change to a light scarlet color, leaving a trace of red that emphasizes her beautiful freckles.
After our meal, she loads the dishwasher as I focus on cleaning the rest of the kitchen. Once she's finished, she starts the dishwasher and perches herself on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs back and forth. “Who knew you were such a good cook?” she teases.
I stand in front of her, rolling my eyes playfully. “You're hilarious. It was just grilled cheese and canned soup,” I reply, my tone dry.
She chuckles. “I can barely make eggs.”
“I can teach you.” My words come out before I have a moment to think.
Why am I looking for more ways to spend time with her? Seriously, what is wrong with me?
She perks up. “Really? You have time?”
Her eyes gleam with excitement, and that simple look tugs at my heart; grabbing hard and refusing to let go. How could I say no to her? She has no idea I’d do anything to see that smile more often.
I pick up a hand towel and dry my hands as I shrug. “Anything for you, Darling.”
She blushes and mumbles something along the lines of God and killing me .
“Well, thank you for offering. I’ll take you up on it. Also, thanks for the food. It was really, really good.”
“So you said after groaning with pleasure,” I note with a hint of amusement.
She quips, “What can I say? I'm a sucker for good bread and cheese.”
As we chat and laugh, our proximity changes. She’s given me space to get closer, and I’ve moved into her space without even realizing it. The shift is gradual, but when we finally become aware of how close we are, a charged silence falls between us. I look down and I notice how her thighs are slightly open, giving me the space to get in between her legs, which apparently my subconscious took the offer of. Closing my eyes, I exhale to calm my breathing. A beat passes and I open my eyes, my gaze locking between her legs— again —and noticing her lacy underwear.
Her deep, red, lacy underwear.
God fucking dammit, I curse internally.
My cock seems to like the sight of her underwear, because it automatically comes to life at the most untimely moment. Our eyes lock, hers showing the temptation; the longing; the wanting. The attraction is undeniable, eating me alive. My body tingles with a growing need and I can slowly feel my physical desires taking over, leaving my rational mind out of the equation. All I want to do is kiss the fuck out of her. Crash our lips to the point of no return. To drown myself in her lips; her curves; her thighs .
“Aria,” I murmur, my hand reaching the back of her neck and closing in the little gap that’s left between us. My gaze drops to her parted lips, and I hover my own over them. The feel of her soft plush pink lips makes me swallow back a groan. I’m holding by the smallest fucking thread right now, holding on for dear life to not do what my body is screaming at me, begging for me to do. “Tell me to stop.”
She breathes a reply, her words colored with need. “Don’t you dare stop.”
My ability to hold the little control I had snaps at the sound of her sweet voice. As our lips are about to fully— finally —meet, the hum from the loading dishwasher snaps me back to the crashing reality, shattering the moment. She startles and pushes me away as she hops off the counter.
“Uhm, well…” she begins, attempting to regain her composure. “I'm exhausted, so I'm going to bed. We have so much to do tomorrow, and we should probably catch some sleep, and—” She pauses and meets my eyes with a flustered look, realizing she's rambling again.
Trying to gain my composure, I ask, “Tomorrow, work lunch to go over the meeting notes?”
She nods quickly without another word, then walks to her room and closes the door.
Click.
The lock of her door mocks me for royally fucking up, once again. And just like that, the intense moment of temptation dissipates, leaving me standing alone in the kitchen with the need to go after her. But I know better—that is the last thing I should do. Even if all the bones of my body scream at me to go after her, I won’t.
I can’t.