Chapter 14
Killian
It’s been hours since I fell into a trap equipped with two saws designed to take my life, and my body remains on high alert.
Every unexpected sound is a sign of danger.
Each figure looming at the edge of my vision might be an assassin, but Damen remains at my side, and his presence makes it all more bearable.
We did hold hands since the painful conversation in the kitchen, but he’s been respectful and hasn’t tried to woo me back into his arms. I’m happy with that.
Or so I keep telling myself whenever he makes little romantic gestures for the sake of his family.
He hasn’t pushed for me to change my mind about dissolving this partnership after Christmas, nor for keeping up our sexual relationship until then.
Like a gentleman.
He’s done exactly what I asked for, so why am I disappointed?
Is it toxic of me to have expected him to put up more of a fight? Happy would have.
Well, Happy might not be the best example, since he attacked me with a baseball bat for not wanting to sleep with him again, but there were others before him, who refused to be rejected this easily.
Is it really so bad that I hoped Damen would go against my explicit wishes and fight for me, proving that his desire is so much greater than reason?
I guess a guy like him doesn't need to beg and plead with a street rat like me. As long as I'm his fake husband for the holidays so he can take part in the stupid hunt, he's happy to let me go later.
When he leans down to kiss me, I’m ready to fall right back into his arms. I don’t care that the gesture is only for the sake of our company, and that our marriage is a sham, because his soft lips are everything I want in this moment, and I might have even held on to his sweater when he attempted to pull away.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
That’s what I am.
And if it wasn’t for the shame of having a panic attack in front of all these men, I would have said the whole day after almost dying was quite successful.
We spend the afternoon with Damen’s sister’s family and his mother, and they aren’t even weird or homophobic about our relationship. I get to play with the kids (not in the maze), and that makes me feel normal for a while.
Dinner is a tense affair, but with so many more people at the giant dining table, some of the heat is off us. I’m not surprised that we’re seated far away from Damen’s father, but Damen still holds my hand, passes me food, and acts like the perfect Prince Charming.
When Titus shows up with a shaved head alongside Bree, who looks as if she swallowed a fart, I have to look away to not burst out with laughter. Aspen doesn’t have such qualms and when he spots my barely held-back smile, he asks Titus whether he managed to wash the ashes out of every crevice.
After dinner, the family divides into smaller groups, and most of the men go back to the smoking room where the drama unfolded earlier.
I wouldn’t say holding a knife-throwing competition when half the participants are drunk is a good idea, but I’m only a guest here after all.
The older guys tease me about not mastering the skill of tossing a blade at a target at my age, but they shut up when Damen steps in, teaching me all about it, romcom style.
Resolve to keep him at arm's length is leaving my body, but the gay vibes must have angered Titus because he breaks our moment by coming up with a bet, demanding Damen and I stop kissing in public if he wins.
I hate the fucker so much. Damen seems confident though when he accepts, and wagers on Titus wearing some ugly Christmas blazer made by no one other than Aunt Lydia.
Long story short—Titus loses to my (fake) husband. I can’t wait to find out tomorrow just how hideous the jacket is, but kissing in front of him while knowing how much it pisses him off is even better.
Have I been secretly waiting for this moment? Yes, but when my lips meet Damen’s, and an intense longing curls in my gut, I start feeling sorry for myself.
I want him.
I don’t want him.
Though if I’m to be honest with myself, it’s only his family I don’t want in my life, because if he came solo, I’d be making sure he has sandwiches for work every day, and his sweaters are thoroughly lint-rolled. I’d be the one doing crazy stunts to keep him.
Damen pulls away with a smirk and strokes my nape. “I think my husband’s had enough excitement for the day, so we will be bowing out of the next round.”
Titus glares at both of us, but while we’ve been getting curious looks from the other men all night, no one has any nasty comments.
Only Aspen chuckles, and I can feel something stupid headed my way before I even hear it. “Planning to continue the knife play upstairs?”
“I have something better to play with upstairs,” Damen calls back and pulls me close, leading the way out of the smoking room and then up the stairs while my brain scrambles with questions.
Was that comment meant to aggravate Titus? Or is he being serious and plans to ignore our agreement from earlier by throwing me on the bed and ravishing me while all the Trojan soldiers watch?
Would I allow it? Would I cry no no no! while thinking yes yes yes!?
I try to keep my breath even and not make unnecessary assumptions, but when his hand descends to the small of my back, I become pretty certain I wouldn’t put up a fight if he broke his promise now.
My mouth’s dry when the bedroom door opens and he lets me through like the gentleman he is.
But as soon as we’re inside, his fingers pull away from me, and I wonder whether two whirling saws covered in old blood really are that bad.
And that’s how I always end up in shitty situations, so I take a deep breath and step away. I will be a man about this.
“So… should I build a pillow wall?” I joke to break the tension between us because it’s so thick those saws would lose their teeth on it.
Damen’s gaze darts to the bed big enough to host an entire orgy, but then he’s back with me: tall, handsome, and so irresistible I’m surprised I’m not on my knees yet.
“No, that might be too tempting for us both,” he says and gestures at the couch taking up the other side of the room. “I’ll sleep there, and you take the bed. It’s only fair.”
Is it though? It is his room. But I am the guest.
I let him be the gentleman about it, because he’s right. If we slept in one bed, by morning, that pillow wall would be on the floor, and I’d be on top of him, cuddling, rubbing my cock against his—
No. I’m not getting a hard-on right now.
Deep breath.
“Okay. But we could swap tomorrow if you want…”
“No. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Damen says with a shake of his head and pulls off his sweater. Underneath is a thin white T-shirt, and I find myself fantasizing about the warm skin it's hiding, about each of the beauty spots I wish to commit to memory forever.
I must have been obvious in my staring because he catches my gaze as the T-shirt is halfway up his chest, revealing his abs like he’s a living Calvin Klein ad. “Oh. Should I change in the bathroom?”
My eyes grow wide and I take my own sweater off in a rushed panic.
“No! That’s silly. We’re both guys.” I can only hope my laughter doesn’t come off as too nervous.
It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. I licked that chest this morning.
I’m perfectly capable of seeing all of him and not being weird about it.
Excuses. You just want to see him naked, the voice of truth whispers in my head, but Damen has to take me at face value and pulls off the garment, exposing his firm back.
He has scars—a large cut on the side and a round, puckered one at the back of the shoulder.
I feel the urgent need to ask about them while he’s here, so close I could touch him.
So close I could lure him to bed now, breaking all the promises I’ve made myself, but if I’m not staying, I have no right to his secrets.
“How are you feeling?” Damen asks out of nowhere, facing me in a pair of pants that hug his hips as if they’d been sewn onto him.
I’m caught with my pants down (literally). I stare back at him and take a deep breath. “I… wow. What a day, huh? I guess I’ve calmed down, but why do you have death traps in the maze?”
I don’t miss the way his gaze descends to the front of my underwear, only to roll back to my face, as if it never happened. “They’re for enemies.”
That’s it? What the hell does that mean? And is there even a scale between an enemy worthy of contempt and one belonging in a surprise death trap? Do they give their enemies hope of escape just to take it away?
Seeing my confusion, Damen adds, “My grandfather was a bit of an amateur-engineer.”
And a psychopath, apparently.
Damen changes into long silk pyjama pants which prompts me to do the same as I pretend not to glance at his sculpted legs and ass. He walks over to the fireplace and scoots by to light it.
I watch his beautiful back, trying not to drool, and sit on the bed. “And that scar you have on the side… Is it from one of his traps?”
The wood catches alight, and Damen glances over his shoulder to meet my gaze. I can almost see the crack of his ass in this position and make myself look elsewhere as he rises to face me.
“No. I never fell into any of the traps. It’s actually pretty old, this one,” he adds and trails his fingers along the raised groove of flesh and traces it all the way to his hip.
I realize we have matching pyjama sets. Dark green silk with a discreet Christmas tree pattern. It’s silly, but it makes me all warm inside.
“Did you kill whoever did it?” I whisper, feeling a little bloodthirsty, because anyone who dares lay a finger on Damen deserves to die.
Heat rises to my cheeks as he walks over and sits next to me on the edge of the bed, in the warm glow of the fire.
I immediately smell him. The aroma of his cologne—grapefruit, sandalwood, and gunpowder—is now faint, but the musky scent of male flesh is there for me to enjoy, and I curl my toes in an attempt to calm myself.
I can’t leap into his arms right after forcing him to agree that he does let me go after Christmas, and no longer fucks me. That would be laughable.
Ridiculous.
I am a clown.
“I did,” Damen says, his knee pressing against mine as he leans forward, resting his elbows on top of his thighs. “But it was luck. I could have died that night, and then, we wouldn’t have met,” he adds, peeking at me with a small smile. “I’m glad we did and I got to help you with Happy.”
I lick my lips and slouch, staring at my lovely dark nail polish, the manicure he treated me to instead of trying to change me. “I think he would have killed me back there, so am I a bad person that I don’t feel sorry for him?”
“No,” he whispers, taking hold of my chin and making our eyes meet.
His touch is like an embrace, so warm and soothing I barely remember being held like this by anyone.
“Of course not. You should never feel sorry for those who try to hurt you, baby.” He blinks and lets go.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—It just makes me so angry that someone so undeserving thought he had any rights to you. ”
He swallows and pushes his fingers through his short waves as I watch him, mesmerized and already so very deep in his grasp.
“It feels good to have someone who knows those secret things about me. After I got captured and they cut me trying to force information out of me, I couldn’t tell my then-partner what really happened.
He got upset. Called me a liar, and then packed his things and left. ”
My heart drops and I stroke his arm in a way that I hope is just friendly support, even though we made love on this very bed in the morning. “I’m so sorry, Damen. That must have been so hard. To be wounded and then left on your own.”
“That’s my curse,” he admits, rubbing his face. “Nobody ever got to see the real me. Nobody until you.”
I stare into his hazel eyes, knowing I might be falling in love in this very moment. There’s nothing I want more than to be special to someone. To be the apple of their eye. Or I’m just too horny for my own good, which has always been my downfall.
“And I’m guessing your parents didn’t know about him?”
Damen shakes his head and looks at me with eyes so intense and soulful I’m about to lean in for a kiss. But then he’s up, padding toward the couch where he’s planning to sleep instead of staying at my side, where he belongs.
“No. I always thought that when I do come out, I’ll just bring over the right guy. But clearly, it’s difficult for me to have everything I want,” he adds and unfolds the blanket resting on one side of the couch.
Be still my heart. Not now.
The chasm between the bed and the couch grows to the depth of the Grand Canyon.
I want to hug him so badly. Not just because he’s hot.
I now see so many other facets of him. He yearns for love.
He’s a good uncle. He loves art. He’s protective, and a gentleman who’ll sleep on the couch even though he’d surely rather be here with me.
“You will get it. You deserve it all,” I say in a soft voice, even though thinking about another man sharing this room with him makes me homicidal.
He rests on his side and covers himself with the blanket while I hog his massive bed. “Thanks. I needed to hear that today.”
The light from the fire illuminates his handsome features as I lie down facing him.
The hum of the saws resonates in my mind like some sudden-onset PTSD, and my stomach clenches.
I made the right choice.
I really did.
No, really.
I did.
“Goodnight,” I whisper.