Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Luna
The lobby door shuts behind us, and I’m aware of nothing but Damien’s proximity.
His hand hovers near the small of my back, not touching, but close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating through my sweater.
Heat spreads outward from that point, rippling up my spine in waves that feel both thrilling and unsettling.
My girls dart up to us as if summoned, weaving their usual chaotic dance around my ankles.
Sage butts her head against my shin while Willow and Juniper compete for prime ankle-rubbing real estate.
I expect Damien to step back, maybe wrinkle his nose at the cat hair that’s about to coat his expensive suit, but he sidesteps them with ease.
The way he moves is captivating—all controlled power wrapped in masculine confidence. I find myself looking at him longer than I should.
“The family.” I work to keep my voice light despite the Olympic-level gymnastics routine my heart is currently performing. “Sage, Willow, and Juniper. They think they run the place.”
“Don’t they?”
“Pretty much.” I try not to stare at the way his lips curve when he smiles, but it’s like trying to look away from the sunset. “Even the wolves give them space.”
He leans down and rubs his fingers down Juni’s back.
I watch, transfixed, as his large hand moves with surprising gentleness over her little chubby body.
She arches into his touch, a purr vibrating through her.
Those strong fingers stroking through her fur hold my attention in a way that makes my mouth go dry.
Jesus, Luna. It’s a man petting a cat, not foreplay.
“You should feel privileged. She’s very selective about who she allows to pet her.”
He stands up, and damn, he’s tall. I have to tilt my head back to meet those blue-gray eyes.
“I have a knack for coaxing purrs out of even the most temperamental of pussies with a single touch.”
I choke on a surprised laugh. Oh my God.
Maren would be so proud of that innuendo.
But it’s not just his choice of words that affects me.
It’s the way his voice deepens, taking on an edge that scrapes against something deep inside me.
I swallow hard, my body responding before my brain can shut it down.
We reach his car, some sleek, expensive thing, and he extends his hand. “It was a pleasure, Dr. Foster.”
The formal address feels wrong, too distant after the past hour of electricity crackling between us.
“Luna,” I say, hoping my voice sounds confident even though my heart trips all over itself. “If I have to call you Damien, you have to call me Luna.”
“Luna.”
The way my name rolls off his tongue sends a familiar ripple of heat down my spine. His eyes never leave mine as he speaks, and I feel exposed, like he can see straight through to every dirty thought I’ve had about him today. And there have been quite a few.
“You have a very beautiful name.”
My pulse jumps beneath his warm, calloused fingertips where they rest against my wrist. For a second, neither of us moves, and I’m drowning in those blue-gray depths that seem to spark in the afternoon light.
I withdraw my hand first, breaking whatever spell we’ve fallen under.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He slides into the driver’s seat in one seamless motion, his suit stretching across those broad shoulders as he settles in. The engine purrs to life—because of course it does—and I stand there like an idiot, watching until his taillights disappear around the bend.
Only then do I exhale, finally able to breathe freely for the first time in over an hour.
Damn!
Damien Wolfe is probably the most attractive man I’ve ever set eyes on. How the hell did I miss it during our almost-collision?
When I walked into the lobby today and looked up at him, the air vanished from my lungs.
He was taller and broader than I’d realized outside the post office, but it was more than just his physicality that made the small lobby feel cramped.
It was him. The way he commanded attention without even trying, like gravity itself had shifted to revolve around him.
He looked distinguished in that dark gray suit that clung to his body like a second skin, managing to look both professional and casually devastating with his open collar and no tie.
But it was his eyes that trapped me, that penetrating blue-gray that locked onto me the moment he extended his hand.
Up close, they weren’t completely blue. Amber flecks like tiny sparks nestled near the pupils, adding mysterious depth that made me think of storm clouds shot through with lightning.
Eleanor hadn’t exaggerated about the silver streaks at his temples. Subtle but noticeable, my fingers itched to reach up and thread through those soft strands.
Everything about him radiated a contradictory aura of unapproachability that made me want to step back, but also an ease that made it impossible to look away.
The odd flutter in my stomach had been a pleasant surprise that quickly settled lower, becoming something altogether more dangerous when our skin touched.
Now, standing alone in the driveway, that odd flutter still pulses low in my belly. There’s something about Damien Wolfe, something familiar yet dangerous that I can’t quite place.
Maren bursts out the door like a tornado the moment Damien’s sleek black car disappears down the gravel driveway.
“You did not tell me he was that fucking hot.”
She waves her hand beside her face as if she’s trying to fan herself. “That man could make a woman come just from walking into a room.”
I give her my best disapproving look because I’m not about to admit how affected I am by him. “Maren, control yourself. You’re a thirty-two-year-old woman, not a horny teenager.”
“Eighteen, thirty-two, fifty-two. It doesn’t matter.” She fans herself more dramatically, and I have to bite back a smile at her theatrics. “That man was put on this earth to make all women within his vicinity drop their panties and say, ‘Give it to me, big boy.’”
I cringe at her breathy Marilyn Monroe imitation, though part of me, the part that’s still tingling from his touch, wants to agree with her.
“Jesus, Maren.” I look around to see if any of the volunteers are within earshot. “You can’t say shit like that at work. You’re going to get me sued.”
She waves me off. “Whatever. Everyone here saw with their own eyes that he’s a god among men.”
“He’s good-looking, but he’s not that handsome,” I lie, because she doesn’t need more ammunition.
But could I sound any more transparent? Even I don’t believe myself.
“You’re right. He’s not handsome. He’s sex on a stick.”
“Do I need to throw cold water on you?”
“No. That’ll just make my scrubs as wet as my panties.”
“Jesus,” I say again, shaking my head. “I’m going to have to lock you up when he comes back, aren’t I?”
“You might. But you can lock him inside with me. Leave the handcuffs.” She wiggles her eyebrows, and I laugh. “Eleanor wasn’t lying about those sexy silver streaks. Seeing him might have just brought out a daddy kink in me.”
“I’m telling JT how you’re behaving the next time I see him.”
Maren snorts. “Girl, even JT would drop his boxers for that man.”
Sage winds between my legs, and I lean down to pick her up. She settles against my chest, her motor vibrating.
“So?” Maren presses, not willing to let this go.
“What?”
“Aside from the panty-dropping face and body, what’s he like? Is he as pretentious as that car suggests?”
I consider how to describe Damien Wolfe. Unexpectedly generous. Unnervingly handsome. Disturbingly perceptive. And somehow, despite his wealth, power, and overall serious demeanor, I’m drawn to him.
“He’s… not what I expected.”
“Meaning?”
“He’s donating the system.”
“As he should. I told you, he’s richer than God and more beautiful than an angel from heaven.” Her sigh is designed to annoy me, and she knows it.
“He’s overseeing the installation personally. Says it’s to ‘support’ local animal welfare efforts.”
“Right…” Maren snorts. “The fact that you’re gorgeous and single has nothing to do with it.”
“It’s not like that.” Though even as I say it, the intensity of his gaze as his eyes scanned my face and the gentle touch of his thumb against my wrist still give me goosebumps.
“Honey, I saw how he looked at you when he thought no one was watching. Like he wanted to throw you over his shoulder, caveman style, take you back to his sex dungeon, and tie you up for days.”
“Not everyone is as sex-obsessed as you.”
“Yes, they are. Even you. Though I swear you’re trying to break the record for the most days a woman can go without an orgasm. With another person, at least.”
You have no idea how hard I came with another person last night, Maren.
I’m tempted to say that out loud, but I don’t. The memory of those hands, that voice, the way my body had responded—it’s too raw and too confusing.
“I think you should totally hit that. He’s gorgeous and rich and probably fucks like a beast. I’m telling you, do not let that man pass you by.”
“Alright, enough.” I set Sage on the ground and turn to head back into the sanctuary, pushing thoughts of Damien Wolfe and how he would fuck out of my mind. “What do we still have to do this afternoon?”
Maren keeps pace with me as we head toward the building. “You mean other than talk about Mr. Hottie Billionaire Sex on a Stick?” I ignore her as we enter the lobby. “Gertie needs her medicated bath, and Winston is constipated.”
“Which one do you want to take?”
“I’ll take getting drenched giving a goat a bath over giving an opossum a suppository any day.”
Of course she would.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur, but my mind wanders constantly. Every time it does, I see those blue-gray eyes with their amber flecks. I imagine his hands on my skin, his low voice whispering my name in the dark.
By evening, exhaustion has settled deep in my bones, but it’s the restless kind that comes from too much thinking and not enough resolution. After a quick dinner of reheated soup that I barely taste, I need air and space to think.
The front porch is out of the question. So, I grab my glass of wine and climb through the window to the balcony again. Shadow follows and lies at my feet as usual, but his ears remain alert, head constantly swiveling toward the surrounding forest. I follow his gaze into the darkness.
“Is he out there, baby?”
I haven’t felt my watcher’s eyes on me all day. I tell myself I’m relieved that whatever madness possessed me to respond to him the last two nights has passed. But in the quietest corners of my mind, I admit the truth.
I miss the feeling.
My thoughts drift to Damien. I received an email from him before I left the office with the security proposal he promised.
It was detailed and beyond generous. Seeing the dollar amount that was zeroed out at the bottom made my head spin, just like my mortgage and student loans had.
The system he’s proposing is worth more than I make in three years.
I grab my tablet from beside me, bring up a browser, and search “Damien Wolfe Colorado.” Results flood my screen.
Tech magazine profiles, business journal features, and charity gala photographs, where he looks devastating in black tie.
The man has an impressive digital footprint.
MIT graduate, founder of Wolfe Technologies at age eighteen, and a pioneer in surveillance systems and security AI.
Current estimated net worth: $32.2 billion.
“Jesus.”
I scroll through images of him at various events. In every photo, he commands attention, that same magnetic presence I’d experienced in person radiating through the screen. What is someone like him doing installing security systems at a tiny sanctuary in rural Colorado?
A plaintive meow interrupts my research, and Willow appears at the window, having climbed through after me. She jumps onto my lap, and I take a sip of wine as she circles before curling up.
Shadow rises beside me, growling, his posture rigid. His behavior has been so abnormal lately. From protective, to trusting of complete strangers, to deference to a man who radiates both lust and danger. My heart pounds as I follow his gaze, peering into the darkness between the trees.
“I know you’re there. You might as well show yourself.”
For one breathless moment, I think I see movement, but when I blink, it’s gone.
With a shaky sigh, I usher Willow and Shadow back through the window and follow them inside, securing the latch behind me.
By the time I finish my shower, Sage and Willow have already claimed their spots on my bed, while Juniper lies on the windowsill. Her green eyes reflect the moonlight as she stares out into the darkness.
I hesitate before closing the curtains. I know he’s out there. He’s watching, and despite everything rational in my brain screaming at me to close them and forget about last night, I leave them open.
If he wants to watch, let him watch.
Sleep comes fitfully, dreams merging reality with fantasy in ways that leave me gasping and restless.
In them, two men pursue me through endless forests.
One wears a silver wolf mask, his touch demanding and rough; the other is in an expensive suit that does nothing to hide the predator underneath.
Both with similar intense eyes that see too much.
Both wanting something from me, I’m not sure I can give.
I drift between consciousness and dreams, never fully surrendering to either.