Chapter 4 Daisy #3
“If I told you I recognized you instantly—couldn’t look away from the moment I walked in—would you believe me, Miss Elfhorn?”
I should have laughed. Maybe I should have screamed. Instead, I stood, chest heaving. His words stuck to my skin. My heart hammered, testing if I could run. I could not. The distance between us was a lie—this man was already under my skin. I didn’t know why I let him in.
Slowly—too slowly—he stepped closer, like a shadow swallowing light. I should have moved away, made space, broken the tension. There was nowhere left to retreat. My back hit the door. He kept advancing, step by step, not walking but claiming.
My pulse thundered, slamming against my ribs. My body screamed escape, yet a deeper current pulled me to him. Every cell rang with alarm and desire at once. Beneath that sat a smaller, dangerous wish—that he would touch me.
Then he was there. So close I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.
I didn’t dare blink. Damian lifted his hand, brushed two fingers along my temple, caught a strand of hair, and tucked it slowly behind my ear—as though he were taking possession of my face.
Too tender for the darkness in him. Too precise, too controlled for the hunger in his eyes.
The touch burned like a promise that could never be undone. His hand braced beside my head, a silent command.
“I saw you disappear upstairs with Santares.” His voice dropped, low and dark—ready to drag me under. “And I didn’t hesitate to follow.” He leaned in; his mouth hovered by my ear. His words didn’t whisper. They bit. “Would you believe me?”
My heartbeat dove. I wanted to say something, to carve space with words—anything—but my voice jammed. I was a trembling contradiction of lust, terror, and the wild heat pooling between my thighs.
The air between us thickened, sticky and slow. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to run—but also to have him press me against the door and silence the questions with his touch.
“No,” I whispered at last.
“Then let’s say it was intuition,” he said.
I turned toward the door. His hand stayed firm and unyielding—a wall of flesh and force. My fingers curled on the handle, but I didn’t press it.
“Miss Elfhorn,” he murmured. The sound of my name on his lips froze the blood in my veins.
“When you’re this close to me…” He paused long enough for the air between us to hum.
“…I wonder how you sound gasping for breath. Beneath me. Begging me to let you come.” His words were a knife, slicing through my defenses.
I cracked the door. Fresh air slammed in like a scream. Before I could slip through, his hand closed over mine on the handle. The door thudded shut.
I froze.
“Not yet” he said—soft, and nowhere near gentle.
“Mr. Miller—I—”
“Shhh.” His breath seeped into me like a touch. “You can’t just walk away. Not now. Not anymore.” His hand left mine only to trail up my arm, each move unraveling my control. “It’s not that simple, Daisy.”
My name fell like a curse. Or a vow. His fingers slid over my hips, then lower, testing the edge of my dress, tugging as though figuring how fast he could strip me.
He pulled me into him, hand slipping under fabric—slow, obsessed, memorizing skin.
As if to tell me: You belong to me—even if you don’t know it yet.
A low, guttural sound escaped him. My body betrayed me, answering with an ache I couldn’t deny.
Just when I thought I would shatter, he withdrew. Slowly. Deliberately. Torturously.
“Look at me.”
I couldn’t. I didn’t dare.
“Daisy.” His tone snapped, commanding. My body obeyed before my mind could. Slowly, I raised my eyes to his.
His gaze hit like a storm—no softness, only hunger, control, a madness he no longer fought. His hand gripped the back of my neck, firm and unrelenting. His eyes devoured me. “You’re driving me insane.”
Before I could form a sound, he closed the gap. His lips crashed over mine with a force that stole the floor from under me. He tasted like forbidden fruit—dark, deep, impossible to forget.
It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claim. A command. A storm. His grip tightened on my neck, anchoring me as the last of my boundaries dissolved. My head screamed. My fingers clawed at him as if he were keeping me alive.
This would destroy me. And still, I wanted more. More of him. More of the exquisite addiction swallowing me.
Then he tore away, breath ragged, chest heaving. “Damn it,” he cursed.
I trembled, burning.
“Go,” Damian rasped. “Go before I change my mind.”
I reached the handle like a drowning woman grasping air. I opened the door, his gaze heavy on my back. As I walked away, the scorch of his lips lingered—an unerasable brand.
I told myself it was over.
The lie tasted sweet—for a second.
Jenn and I stood on the platform. The cold morning air swirled around us.
The station was already crowded, people moving with practiced urgency.
Some stared into their phones, others barked into calls.
A few skimmed newspapers while weaving through the crowd with coffee cups in hand.
Many wore headphones, sealed off in their own worlds.
Yet despite the constant rush, in that moment it felt like Jenn and I were the only two people there.
“The weekend was really nice,” she said.
“And now you have Richard’s number?”
“For the moment, just as friends.”
“Who knows what other crap Mike might pull.”
Jenn took my hand, her face turning serious. “I’m so sorry about what happened at the club the other night. I should’ve kept a closer eye on you.”
I shook my head. “You couldn’t have done anything. I just shouldn’t have drunk so much.”
“Lucky for you, Damian Miller was your knight in shining armor.” She winked, then her expression sharpened. “I know he helped you, but still—be careful. That world you’re stepping into is full of power-hungry people. Not all of them are harmless.”
Her words cut too close to the truth. I nodded. “I’ll be careful. Promise.”
The announcement for Jenn’s train echoed overhead. We hugged tightly.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said. “And if anything happens, you call me. Right away. No matter what.”
“I will. Thank you.”
The train pulled in. We let go. With one last smile, she stepped aboard. I waved until the train disappeared, and then the loneliness pressed in. I stayed a moment before finally turning toward the exit.
My phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
08:10 – Unknown: Your friend escorted safely to the station, Miss Elfhorn?
08:10 – Daisy: Who is this?
08:11 – Unknown: Ouch. I thought after last night I’d earned a place in your contacts. Damian M.—your knight in shining armor?
My heartbeat quickened when I read the name.
08:12 – Daisy: Are you following me, Mr. Miller?
08:12 – Damian: Only out of purely professional interest. Very pure. By the way… shouldn’t you already be at work?
08:13 – Daisy: I have flex time, if you must know.
08:14 – Damian: Then you’d better flex yourself to your desk within the next two hours. An assignment’s coming in. Check your email.
08:14 – Daisy: I’ll be there in thirty minutes. That should be enough.
Smiling, I slipped my phone away and headed for the bus stop. Once on the bus, it buzzed again.
08:20 – Damian: How are you? Recovered?
08:20 – Daisy: More or less back on my feet. Thanks again for yesterday.
08:21 – Damian: Let’s just say I rarely do things without ulterior motives. Is your friend coming back next weekend?
08:21 – Daisy: No, why?
08:22 – Damian: I have a project that needs… attention. Your expertise is required.
08:22 – Daisy: What’s it about?
08:23 – Damian: I’ll tell you at the shop. Sometime this week. Prepare yourself.
A treacherous tingling spread through me, butterflies tumbling inside my stomach, throwing everything into chaos.
I bit my lip, reading his message again, but the grin creeping across my face couldn’t be stopped.
Damn. Was it the project? Or was it him?
Probably both. And that was exactly what scared me.
I put my phone away. My heart was pounding. Too fast. Too loud. What was it with this man? A few messages and my mind was mush, as if he’d flipped a switch in me I could no longer find.
He was a black hole. Pulling everything toward him. Dangerous. Unfathomable. And I knew that once I got caught in it, I would never get out again.
That Thursday afternoon, I was buried in work, carefully cleaning an ancient Greek statue with a soft brush.
The client was due in less than ten minutes, and I was determined not to damage even the most fragile carvings.
The piece depicted a goddess, astonishingly well preserved, each curve and line speaking across centuries.
When I was satisfied, I placed the goddess in a velvet-lined box, securing her against harm. At my desk, I pulled up the corresponding file and printed the transfer documents—every step precise, every movement deliberate.
It had been four days since I last heard from Damian Miller, and still my mind kept circling back to our encounter. What had I been thinking? How could I have let it happen? Seeing him again would be unbearable. Would he pretend that kiss never happened? Or would he do it again?
The thought alone sent a sharp rush through me, my pulse thundering in my veins.
It was a restless collision of fear and desire I couldn’t shake. But what if he regretted it? What if I had been nothing more than a lapse in judgment, a mistake already forgotten? The not knowing ate at me, wore me thin, unsettled every hour of my day.
For days I had tried to block it out, to lose myself in my work, but the memory burned into me, seared there like a brand. Again and again, I felt his mouth on mine—the pressure, the heat, the consuming intensity that eclipsed the world.
I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, but the image came roaring back. That kiss had not been a question. It had been a demand—one my body obeyed without hesitation.