Chapter 15
In an instant, I’m aware of my mistake, aware of who I’ve just let slip through my fingers.
“Shit.”
I’m frantic as I turn in circles, looking for any trace of him, some clue to which exit he’s gone toward.
I’m reminded of how I’ve been protecting him, withholding pertinent information from Chief that could make a huge impact on the case. On too many occasions to count, I’ve dropped the fucking ball.
“Shit!”
As I spiral, I’m starting to earn the attention of a few onlookers, but I don’t care. I have to find him, have to finally do what’s right and turn him in. Deep, erratic breaths surge into and out of my lungs, but just when I think I might hyperventilate… I spot him.
Not rushing toward an exit or watching his back like someone might think. In fact, from where I’m standing, he doesn’t seem the least bit frazzled, oozing arrogance as he saunters toward the VIP section where he leans toward one of the bouncers and whispers. A moment later, he’s finished speaking and ascending the steps.
Even in heels, I’m nimble on my feet, moving with urgency. It feels like I don’t blink the entire walk over, fearing that even a short, passing moment without eyes on him will result in him slipping away again. I reach the bouncer and clear my throat, keeping track of Damien the entire time.
“Hey, I know you’ve got a job to do, and you’re not supposed to let just anyone in, but…”
“Are you Layla?”
The guard’s question throws me off.
“I’m… I am. Why?”
He arches a brow, then shoots a look toward Damien settling into a dimly lit booth in the corner.
“I’m paraphrasing, but he said that if a knockout named Layla with dark hair and a gold dress came looking for him to let her up. So…”
He reaches toward the green velvet rope, unlatches the clasp, then nods toward the steps for me to go through. I’m not sure what to say or think, but as I storm toward Damien, I know I have to get closer despite knowing who and what he is.
“Is this a game to you?”
I toss the crumpled napkin at his chest and a swell of anger churns in my gut when he smirks again. As calmly as if I’d walked over to take his drink order, he places the napkin aside.
“I should call the cops and have your ass arrested. Right here. In front of everyone.”
With one painstakingly slow motion, he spreads his arms across the back of the booth, their span nearly stretching from one end of the curved seating to the other.
“What’s stopping you?”
The question is spoken calmly, but there’s a challenge buried within the words. With how I’ve kept vital information out of the right hands, he doesn’t even believe me now. And honestly, I’m not sure I believe me now. I’ve all but given him an invitation to misbehave, continue using this city as his personal playscape of pain and carnage.
“Sit with me.”
My feet stay planted, and he holds my gaze, never blinking.
“How’d you even know I’d be here?” I hiss. “Oh, right. You’re a fucking stalker.”
His tongue slips out, wetting his lips before one corner of his mouth curves upward.
“Layla, admit that my being here tonight was a good thing. If I hadn’t been, who knows what might’ve happened. I protected you.” His expression darkens. “And I think we both know I’m the only one who seems to take that seriously.”
His words bring the taco joint on the seedy side of town to mind again, and the fact that I’ve been here alone for forty-five minutes now. No sign of Martinez. No sign of anything from him but excuses. Then, my thoughts shift to John, the malice barely hidden in his eyes. However, I won’t give Damien the satisfaction of knowing he might be right. But only on this point. Nothing else.
“Sit with me,” he beckons again, and I hate how badly my body wants to obey. How badly my feet want to walk in his direction, bend to his will.
He seems to notice I’m at war within myself when his eyes briefly roll toward the ceiling.
“Tell you what,” he says with a sigh. “Join me, and I’ll answer two questions of your choosing. Within reason, that is.”
“Three.”
He holds my gaze. “Fine.”
At first, I’m channeling my father’s stubbornness, standing my ground. But then Damien’s offer becomes just a little too tempting. Hence the reason why, only a few seconds later, I’m scooting into the booth beside him. I’m keenly aware of where his arm remains across the top of the seat, behind me now, close enough to touch me if he decided to be so bold. His heated stare never leaves me.
“Question one, what’s your real name?”
“Damien,” he answers quickly. “I’d never lie to you.”
There’s a lump in my throat, and then a heaviness that sits in the pit of my stomach like a brick. All because, despite myself, despite knowing his nature, I believe him.
“Why me?” I ask, jumping right into the next question.
“It’s simple, but I’m not sure you’d understand.”
“Try me,” I shoot back, and my eyes are drawn to his throat when he swallows.
He hesitates, and I find that fascinating. Until now, everything he’s done has been brazen, steeped in arrogance.
“It’s always been you, Layla.”
Now, I’m the one who can’t stop staring. I focus on his eyes, only to regret it because… damn. It’s like he’s got me under some sort of spell.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
His gaze drifts lower, to my lips, then back to my eyes. “It means… we aren’t what you think we are.”
I think of a short list of everything I know the two of us to be, then I ramble it off. “Strangers? Polar opposites? The embodiment of good and evil?”
The last analogy is almost impossible to say, knowing I’m definitely no angel. But by comparison, considering all he’s done, I don’t correct the mistake.
“Yes,” he says plainly, as if that’s the collective answer to each of those options. “We’re not nearly as different as you think we are, and… we’re not strangers.”
My eyes narrow at him, filled with suspicion, I’m sure. But then he reaches toward me again, like he’d done at the bar, and I nearly lean into the warmth of his palm when it rests on my cheek. I’m unsettled when a rush of familiarity flashes through me.
“It’ll come back to you,” he says. “And when it does, I’ll be right there, helping you make sense of it all. Right there to make sure you regain everything that was taken from you.”
I’m not sure if it’s the two drinks I’ve had that are finally going to my head, but his riddles are dizzying.
“Why aren’t you afraid I’ll turn you in?” I ask, stating my final question with far less force than the others. That word comes to mind again. The one that sums up everything about him.
Disarming.
Staring, his eyes half closed, he gently bites down on his lip. Then, he leans in as his hand falls away from my face, and I’m frozen.
“Because I think we both know I’m far more valuable to you free than I’d ever be behind bars,” he says, and I don’t move, don’t speak. “Every time I look at you, even though you have no idea I’m watching, even though you have no idea why you can’t shake the feeling that we’re connected… I see it in your eyes, Layla. You’ll never be able to just… let me go.”
He finishes, and a mixture of heat and conflict races through me. He leans in, and I don’t move, don’t scream or protest. Not even a little. Not even when he’s close enough that heat from his breath breezes over my skin.
“You’re my obsession, Layla. My dark angel. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” he whispers, my heart matching the thunderous rumble of bass as the volume in the room seems to climb higher and higher, consuming me in its vibration.
Warmth awakens the side of my neck, and I’m shocked by the feeling of being kissed there. Not only do I not pull away, but I’m fighting the urge to let my eyes fall closed and completely drown in whatever this moment is.
“Once you finally let go, you’ll feel it too,” he whispers. “The madness. The obsession. I promise you that.”
Something in his voice makes me believe him. Makes me believe all of it. And that point is proven when he pulls away to remove his suit jacket, gently placing it over my lap. His mouth clasps to the side of my neck again, and my heart beats wildly when I realize why he decided to cover me.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, gripping the edge of the seat as he reaches between my legs.
“Giving you a taste of what we could be,” he whispers against my skin, pulling my underwear out of the way. “There’s nothing you could ask for, nothing you could ever need that I wouldn’t give you.”
Beneath the covering of his jacket, his fingers easily slip into me. As he discovers just how wet our sordid conversation has made me, he sighs.
“That’s it, angel. Let me take care of you. Let me give you what you need.”
A breath shudders from my lips. “But people are looking.”
He chuffs a quiet laugh that makes my nipples harden just a little more. “My only concern, the only thing that matters right now,” he rasps, “is making you come.”
He pushes his fingers deeper, and I whimper, fighting the urge to touch him, to feel his hardening cock in my hand.
“Do you have any idea how often I think about your pussy? How soft and wet it must be? How it would grip my dick as I let my hot cum pump into you?”
I squirm on the seat, adopting his fantasy, imagining every filthy detail.
He churns his fingers in, brushing my clit with his thumb, sending me into a full-blown mental spiral. His kills flash into my thoughts, one by one. But then I pause on the last, the one he likes to think we designed together. The librarian’s stare is emblazoned in my memory, and it’s as though she’s watching, knowing what we did together, knowing what we’re doing together. Immediately, I feel dirty and ashamed. But it surprises me how much of a fucking turn-on that is.
I push against Damien’s hand, causing more friction when the need to orgasm nearly makes me black out. My eyes are fixed on the crowd, sweat-soaked bodies grinding together beneath colorful lights. From VIP, looking down on everyone else, I can see everything. And it’s as though they feel our sexual energy seeping into the room, feeding their own lust as we quench ours. At the thought of it, I feel myself getting closer.
So close it takes a moment to register that a familiar face has just come through the entrance.
A gasp leaves me, and the side of my neck cools when Damien stops kissing me. His fingers never miss a beat, though. Not even when he follows my gaze straight to Martinez.
“Hmm,” he groans, and I’m not sure how to read the sound. “Do you want me to stop?”
His voice is low and even, so calm I don’t feel an ounce of panic as Martinez—flanked by two of his friends—searches the room for me, craning his neck in all directions as he scans one face after another. Eventually, he reaches for his phone, and half a second later mine vibrates in my clutch.
“Should I stop?” Damien asks again. This time, sterner than before.
I weigh my options, considering the fact that Martinez could easily spot me up here, with a gorgeous man’s hand wedged between my legs. Or… we could keep going.
I don’t answer Damien’s question with words. Instead, I open my legs wider in invitation.
A satisfied grin curves his lips just before they press to my ear. “That’s my girl.”
Within seconds, I feel the butterflies. In my stomach, lower. When my pussy clenches around his fingers, and I turn into the crook of his neck to whimper, he knows I’m coming. For him. Just like he wanted.
“You feel so fucking good, Layla. So fucking wet and tight. Do you have any idea what I’d do if you let me have my way with you?”
The question flutters into my thoughts as a million tiny fireworks detonate behind my eyelids. Just as I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve ever had an orgasm that lasted this long, it finally begins to subside, releasing me from its chokehold.
There’s this sense of mourning that I mask when Damien slips his fingers out of me, giving my inner thigh a quick squeeze. And then he does possibly the single-most sexy thing I’ve ever experienced in my life, a simple gesture that will probably linger with me far longer than anything else. Before removing his jacket from across my lap, he discreetly tugs the hem of my dress down to protect my modesty.
What’s left of it anyway.
My eyes settle on his, and the act of chivalry also feels like he’s staking his claim, protecting what he believes to be his.
He stands, and my eyes follow him to full height. On our call, he stated that he’s six-foot-four, but he somehow seems even taller than that. Watching him slink into his jacket in this suave, unhurried way is a major turn on. He wears a suit well. Very well, actually. I’m also trying not to focus on the bulge at the front of his pants where a very persistent erection is barely kept in check by his underwear. But by the time my eyes flit to his again, he’s already smiling, which means I’ve been caught.
“Just say where and when, angel. Whatever you need from me, whatever you want from me… I’m more than willing to give it.”
I clear my throat as a rush of embarrassment probably has my cheeks turning bright red.
He finishes adjusting his jacket, then extends his hand, helping me out of the booth and onto my feet. I’m still a bit off balance, but I do my best to hide it.
Martinez is still searching, dialing me again, but I’m feeling surprisingly disconnected from him now. Even more so than I’ve already felt lately.
Damien casually slips one hand into his pocket, and the other warms the small of my back. My nipples harden against the satin lining of my dress when he leans in to whisper.
“I’ll see you soon.”
I’m slightly more sober-minded than a moment ago, so I give an answer that sounds more like me.
“This cannot, and will not, happen again.”
Despite my stern tone, he flashes that cocky smirk again. “Whatever you say.”
His mouth warms my jaw when he kisses me there, and before he pulls away, Martinez’s stare lands right on me, taking in our body language, our closeness. I swear fire flickers in his eyes just before they turn dark and angry. Damien pulls away, once again following my gaze. Considering how territorial I’ve come to learn he can be, I’m not surprised to see a slow smile spread across his soft, full lips. It’s as if he wants Martinez to read between the lines. Wants him to know there was much more to this interaction than this glimpse he’s just caught.
“Well, then. I suppose I’ll leave you to settle your business.” He pauses after speaking, and I hold my breath. “Unless… you’d like to go with me.”
My heart thunders, and I consider it, abandoning this place with him. But deep down, I know I’d only be delaying the inevitable.
My lack of a response seems to be all the response he needs.
“Good night, Layla,” he rasps, and a moment later, I’m staring at his broad shoulders and tapered waist through the well-fitting suit jacket. He saunters toward an exit sign only accessible from VIP, and I’m undoubtedly about to have the most uncomfortable conversation of my life.