Chapter 22
The embassy is bustling in preparation for my father’s departure.
Marines move through the foyer, carrying equipment cases, while radios crackle constantly from clipped tactical vests as security teams rotate in coordinated patterns across the grounds.
A caravan of black SUVs idles in a line near the circular drive, engines humming softly beneath the gray afternoon sky.
Storm clouds gather low overhead, turning everything silver and heavy.
I stand near the front entrance, twisting the ring on my finger anxiously while my father finishes speaking with Hawk near the doorway.
Their voices stay low and serious, words like “perimeter,” “convoy,” and “checkpoints” drifting through the room in fragments that only tighten the knot in my stomach.
This isn’t just overprotective paranoia; this is real. Real enough that my father needs an armed convoy to attend political meetings.
Dad finally turns toward me, exhaustion pulling heavily at the corners of his face. He looks older lately, the past few weeks having carved stress directly into him.
“Call me every night,” he insists.
I huff softly. “You’re literally leaving me with an entire military operation.”
“Call me, anyway.” Despite everything we’ve been through, how strained our relationship can be, warmth flickers quietly through my chest. I step closer while he adjusts the collar of my shirt like he used to when I was growing up.
“You’ll stay inside the residence unless Damon or Gunnar clears it first,” he continues.
“Yes, Dad.”
“And no wandering into restricted areas.”
“That happened one time.”
“One time too many.” I roll my eyes softly, and his expression softens slightly. “Be good for them.”
My eyes betray me, flicking briefly over Dad’s shoulder toward Damon, standing several feet behind us near the door, and heat creeps up the back of my neck. His gaze catches mine immediately, and warmth flashes in places it shouldn’t while I talk to my father. “I plan to be,” I muster.
Dad exhales heavily before pulling me into a hug, arms wrapping tightly around me for several long seconds. “I hate leaving you during this.”
I close my eyes briefly against his shoulder. “I know.”
“Your mother would lose her mind if she were still here.”
The mention of her still hurts. I swallow hard and hug him tighter. “Be careful.”
His hand smooths once over my hair before he finally steps back. The moment I’m out of his embrace, security teams start readying to leave. A Marine opens the front door for him while radios confirm their departure.
Dad gives me one final look before disappearing into the storm-gray afternoon, his motorcade pulling away minutes later. The black SUVs disappear beyond the iron gates beneath the drizzling rain. I stand near the doorway watching until the last vehicle is out of sight.
I close the heavy front door with a deep echoing thud that reverberates across the otherwise silent foyer.
As I turn around, my heartbeat stumbles when I nearly collide with Damon, not realizing he was so close.
The look in his eyes immediately sends a rush of warmth racing down my spine, the air between us shifting now that we’re alone.
Or as alone as two people can be inside a heavily guarded diplomatic embassy crawling with Marines.
Damon closes the tiny bit of distance between us, wrapping his arms around my waist before pulling me against him hard enough to steal my breath away.
“Oh,” I gasp softly, my palms flattening against his chest as he backs me toward the wall near the foyer archway, his broad body pressing close enough for his warmth to radiate through both our clothes.
Every nerve ending in my body sparks awake as his hand slides beneath my jaw gently, his fingers curling under my chin while he tips my face upward toward him.
My pulse goes feral, expecting him to kiss me again.
The anticipation alone nearly incinerates me.
His eyes narrow slightly, and he asks, “Did you skip lunch?”
I blink, my entire brain malfunctioning because I clearly just lost my ability to comprehend English. We’re finally alone, and he’s asking me about… lunch?
“Yes,” I admit cautiously. “I was busy studying, and I wasn’t hungry anyway.”
Damon’s jaw tightens, the muscles ticking beneath his jaw before he steps back from me.
“Come on.” He turns and begins walking toward the kitchen.
I stare after him in disbelief. “Wait… You really aren’t going to kiss me?”
He glances back over his shoulder, his gaze darkening as it settles on me.
“No.” His voice stays calm and devastatingly controlled as he keeps a brisk pace. “You had two cups of coffee and half a slice of toast for breakfast. I’m going to take care of you first.”
I hurry after him while trying unsuccessfully to ignore the way warmth keeps blooming beneath my ribs every time he says things like “take care of you.” This man is going to psychologically ruin me.
The kitchen is quieter now compared to the earlier chaos.
Rain taps steadily against the windows while soft yellow lighting glows warm across marble countertops and polished wood cabinets.
Damon moves through the space, like he belongs here, heading straight for the refrigerator and pulling out ingredients with practiced efficiency, while I hover awkwardly near the island.
Turkey.
Cheese.
Lettuce.
Tomatoes.
Bread.
This man is actually making me a sandwich.
“You’re serious?” I ask incredulously.
“Very.”
I lean against the counter, studying him. His sleeves are rolled to his forearms, tattoos flexing beneath his tanned skin every time his hands move. Dark hair falls slightly messy across his forehead as he works. It’s unfair how attractive he is.
“How is it possible to look that good at making a sandwich?” One corner of his mouth twitches faintly as he spreads mustard onto bread with maddening concentration for another moment before he finally asks, “Okay, what gives? What’s your fascination with feeding me?”
His eyes lift briefly to mine. “You’re a smart girl, trouble. Why do you think?”
I shrug slightly. “Is it because I skip meals?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it?”
Damon sets the knife down carefully before turning toward me fully. “No,” he replies quietly. “You spend too much time neglecting yourself.”
Rain continues tapping softly against the windows while the weight of his attention fully settles over me.
“You forget to eat when you’re stressed,” he continues.
“Living on caffeine and anxiety. You convince yourself you’re fine when you’re exhausted.
” He scowls slightly, unable to hide his disapproval.
“And half the time, you’re so focused on everyone else’s needs and comfort that you ignore your own completely. ”
My chest tightens unexpectedly, because that’s all alarmingly accurate
“I promised to protect you,” Damon states simply. “That includes protecting you from yourself. And from now on,” he adds more softly, his gaze steadily holding mine, “I expect you to take care of that big, beautiful body of yours properly. That means eating.”
Warmth spreads slowly through me, because it’s been a long time since someone has conveyed that taking care of me actually mattered.
“And if I don’t?” I brat. The spark in his eyes darkens instantly, like he recognizes exactly what I’m doing.
Damon slides the finished sandwich onto a plate before carrying it over to me. “Then there’ll be consequences.”
Heat rushes up my spine and burns the back of my neck. I eye the turkey sandwich suspiciously as he sets it in front of me before pushing the plate slightly toward him. “What kind of consequences?”
His gaze drags slowly over my face, then slowly up and down my body. The look alone nearly makes me combust. “The kind with my hand landing firmly across that gorgeous backside of yours.”
“You wouldn’t,” I hiss, knowing damn well he would.
Damon pushes the plate calmly toward me. “Try me.” The challenge in his voice sends another dangerous wave of heat coursing through me.
I stare at him for one long second before finally letting out an exaggerated sigh and picking up the sandwich. “This feels manipulative.”
“It is.”
I snort softly, despite myself, prior to taking a bite, finding it to be really good. “You going to be this bossy about everything?”
“Probably.” He smirks, borrowing my steadfast, bratty answer. Damon leans one hip lightly against the counter across from me, his arms folding over his chest while he watches me eat with infuriating patience. “You going to be this difficult about everything?”
“Probably.” I sass, taking another bite, as his lips curl into a smile.
We talk while I eat, and by the time I finish the sandwich, my stomach feels pleasantly full, instead of hollow and anxious like it did earlier.
Damon takes the plate from me without asking.
“You know,” I start softly from my spot at the island, “you are a very confusing man.”
Damon glances back over his shoulder from the sink. “How so?”
I gesture vaguely toward him. “One minute, you’re lecturing me about eating properly like some overprotective health coach, and the next you’re threatening to leave handprints on my ass over a sandwich.”
A low chuckle rumbles out of him when he turns the faucet off. “And yet you still finished your lunch.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks immediately, hating him being right. “That’s not the point.”
His mouth twitches slightly as he dries his hands on a dish towel. “Seems like it worked pretty well to me, trouble.”
Damon folds the towel and places it on the counter before turning toward me, the soft playful edge of his expression transitioning into a darker, hungrier one.
My pulse starts racing as he crosses the kitchen in a few measured steps until I’m trapped between him and the wall beside the pantry.
He presses his body against mine and plants his hands on the wall, caging me in, and every breath leaves my lungs at once.
His beard drags along my jaw, and he murmurs, “So impatient earlier.”
“You noticed that?”
A low rumble in his chest absolutely does not help my situation. His fingers dust over my shoulder and wrap lightly around my throat just beneath my jaw. “Haven’t you realized? I notice everything about you.”
He tightens his grip, holding me in place as his lips feather over mine, and my heart thumps so hard it physically hurts. When he finally kisses me, it’s deep, slow, and devastating. It steals every coherent thought directly from my brain.
His free hand runs along the length of my body as his lips move against mine with controlled intensity that leaves my knees weak.
I melt into him shamelessly, moans spilling out of my mouth and into his.
As the kiss turns hungrier and more consuming, my hands clutch desperately at his shirt while his fingers run along the waistband of my jeans.
I make a soft sound against his mouth that earns a feral growl from him.
When he finally pulls back, both of us are breathless.
My lips feel swollen, and I don’t know whether I’m capable of a full thought.
Damon’s lips run over my jaw and down the length of my neck before traveling to my ear.
“Daddy rewards good girls who listen,” he whispers.
“And you’ve got a whole day to show me what a good girl you can be. ”