Chapter 18
Light
Oh. My. God.
I touch my lips, the feeling of them being scorched, still not fading even after hours have passed. I fear if the building manager's voice over the intercom hadn’t interrupted our moment in the elevator, I might even have blurted out the primary feeling that had suffused that moment. Love.
Just thinking how close I was to letting those words fall from the same lips he had ravaged just seconds before makes a nervous sweat break out.
I rub my hands against my black work pants and swipe at my brow.
That would have been a disaster. Damon probably doesn’t feel the same, and he's not saying it back might be the end of me. So, when he stepped back to press the red emergency button, I felt relieved. My sanity and self-preservation crashed back into me, saving me from the inevitable heartbreak of such an unreciprocated admission. That, however, didn’t mean that I hadn’t replayed the moment repeatedly.
Damon had kissed me. If that’s even what it can be called .
Sucked my soul from my body. Sent me on an out-of-body experience as if I was floating and diving all at once. What Damon did was not just kiss me but destroy me for everyone else.
It pained me to say, as I love James, but this kiss would be on a pedestal that I would use to measure any other man's worthiness in that category.
And while the list of men I had kissed in my life was limited to single digits on one hand, it felt like no one would ever compare.
I would never again have a first kiss that would knock this one from the glass cabinet I had placed it in high in the sky. It was untouchable. Transcendent.
When James and I first kissed, it was sweet—gentle and a little timid.
I thought that was how it was supposed to be.
As we shifted from friendship to a relationship, it lacked the fire and passion, which only came later, and not to the intensity I felt with Damon.
It didn’t consume me like kissing Damon did.
I hated that I might feel this way when, to him, what we did might be just a kiss—plain and simple. Especially when it raised comparisons to James, leaving me feeling guilty yet again.
“Why are you frowning?” Stacey’s soft hand on my shoulder pulls me out of my head, reminding me that I am at Sin .
“Are you sure you should be back? Damon didn’t exactly say what the issue was, but I gathered it was serious. If you need to talk, I am here.” Stacey's eyes dip down to my neck, the bruising there nearly gone. I reposition the scarf I am wearing, and then Stacey gives me a small reassuring smile.
“It’s perfect. And don’t worry. It’s only noticeable if you look really closely. And also, I am nosy. You don’t usually wear scarves in the middle of summer, so…”
I look at myself in the mirror, running the length of the bar backing, and then catch Damon's eye in the reflection. Is that concern I see in their depths?
“Anyway, let's change the subject. I can see how uncomfortable you are, so I won’t torture you further. How is it going with you and boss man?” Stacey wiggles her brows comically.
That question seemed even more torturous.
“What do you mean? Nothing is going on. We are work colleagues. That’s all.”
Stacey bursts out laughing, and I blush as she draws the attention of more than one customer, even Damon’s.
“Peh-lease. Work colleagues don’t look at each other like that.
And work colleagues definitely don’t throw each other over their shoulders and drag them to room number one for some kinky time.
Not to mention the lift to and from home, the penthouse apartment, the restricted section access, your work shifts being chopped and changed to accommodate you, and the salary being way above the starting salary.
” Stacey has her hand up, listing everything that separates me from her and the rest of the servers here.
While she doesn’t seem annoyed by it, when I look around and catch Kate's gaze, I see… jealousy? Anger? Shit.
“And it's not just that. The customers here love you. It must be that innocent act you have going on. You make way more tips than all of us combined.”
I shift on my feet, feeling really uncomfortable with everything Stacey is saying and a little affronted. I am being nothing but myself, so the fact that she and the others thought it was an act was insulting. Perhaps I shouldn’t be working here.
“Luciano's table needs a top-up.” Gael's interruption is welcomed as he slides the tray topped with drinks across the bar—but only momentarily.
Stacey leans over to take it before Gael shakes his head .
“Sorry, Stace. Luciano asked for Sienna.” I wince as Stacey drops her hands and gives me an ‘I told you so’ look before disappearing to collect glasses from a table nearby.
I take the tray, my mind racing with what has just been said and what I should do.
When I reach Luciano's table, I plaster on a smile, reminding myself I have a job to do. Even if just for tonight.
Luciano is the son of Andrea Galeio of the Galeio Oil Rigging company, the largest oil rigging magnate this hemisphere has seen in thirty years.
I know because I looked him up once after he tipped me a thousand dollars.
He was definitely the most generous tipper amongst the high-profile figures who frequented Sin .
On autopilot, I start handing out the drinks. All the men at this table have been here at least once, so I know who has ordered what.
“How do you remember what everyone drinks?” Luciano’s heavily accented voice jolts me out of my head, and when I look up, everyone at the table is staring at me. My cheeks blaze at the attention.
I look at Luciano, who is relaxed back in his chair, a cigar in one hand and the drink I have just placed on the table in the other.
“You have all been here at least once,” I say, looking around the table and then back at Luciano.
He is a handsome man. Classically handsome. With a sharp jawline, light blue eyes that remind me of a cloud-free sky in summer, and wavy black hair styled to perfection. He exudes more power than most of the men on this level. Most except one, his presence felt across the room even now.
“Still. It is an interesting talent.” I leave his words hanging in the air, not wanting anyone in this room to know I have a photographic memory.
I’m not dumb enough not to know that the documents changing hands here contain sensitive and confidential information.
They might kill me for what I have seen.
“You have not been at work.” I am getting used to powerful men making statements instead of asking a question. And their assumption that they are privy to an answer. But not answering seems foolish, so I supply the generic excuse.
“I had a family situation I was dealing with.”
Luciano assesses me, taking a drag of his cigar and then sipping his whiskey. He does not believe my story, his eyes dipping briefly to my neck scarf. I blink a couple of times, thinking I must be mistaken when his gaze lingers on my lips for a moment.
The longer I stay at the table, the more this begins to feel personal.
Luciano puts his drink down, and then his hand disappears inside the pocket of his Armani suit. He pulls out a cream card and hands it to me, his finger grazing mine briefly. Yes, this feels way too personal for my liking.
It was an invitation. To an event being held tomorrow night at The Barcelona, a fancy hotel in town. I had read about it once in a magazine. The restaurant was world-renowned and had four Michelin stars.
“It is late notice, but you have not been around. You will be there.” I look from the invitation to him and then at the men at the table, still staring at me. The demand is clear, and his tone broaches no argument.
“You will be my date.” My head snaps over to Luciano, my mouth opening and closing as I try to find the right words to decline an offer from such a man without insulting him.
Then I feel him behind me. Damon. His large hand snakes around my waist before pulling me flush against his body. I squeak in surprise, my hand flying up to muffle the sound.
His hold is possessive. Dominating. He is staking his claim for all to see. I am a feminist. Or so I thought. But my traitorous body responds to this masculine alpha action not by feeling indignant. No. She blossoms. She blooms. She leans into the man, for heaven's sake.
Luciano's eyes narrow on the contact, and then his gaze flicks up to meet with Damon’s.
“I’m afraid Sienna cannot be your date tonight as she is already going with me.”
The entire room falls silent. When I dare glance around, all eyes are on us, including the staff. Kate and even Stacey look far from pleased.
“I did not know she was taken.” Luciano’s words finally elicit the indignation that had been missing. I wasn’t some object to be owned.
“She is. She is mine .” Like a yoyo, the annoyance that should still apply fades and melts away, as do I at Damon's words. Swoon.
She is mine.
Three words. I now understand why I have always been so fascinated by dark romance books.
Those words slide over my body and then hit the little nerve between my legs.
It was so hot hearing them spoken out loud.
In a voice so dominating. By a man who holds me with such familiarity and avariciousness, it leaves no room for doubt that we have been here before. In each other's arms.
Luciano and Damon stare at each other for what feels like a lifetime before some unspoken understanding is reached. However, I get the feeling from Luciano, whose light blue eyes look at me like a possession coveted even more now that another has claimed it, that this will not be the last.
The next minute, he and his entire entourage rise, forcing us to step back.
“I will see you both tonight. Damon.” Luciano dips his head in greeting, his face a blank mask, and then they all leave in a cloud of smoke and confusion, on my part. What just happened ?