Chapter 2 #2
The estate is peppered with lights and cameras; one can only hope, right?
How else can they ensure the space is secure?
Based on my initial observations, this doesn’t look like the place of two people madly in love.
The estate is beautiful and well taken care of, but no one seems to want to live here.
“Oh… Spooky,” I say, rubbing my arms as a swirl of goosebumps swirls across my skin.
I should go back, yet I linger a little longer. It’s hard not to.
White pillows that look like marshmallows rest on the lounging chairs. A small table sits nearby, oh, so inviting.
This place would look great with glasses of wine and people chatting.
What’s up with Henrietta?
No one seems too concerned about her absence. For sure, not her husband, which makes me think this is something she does often. Getting married. Getting bored. Doing other stuff.
She practically mastered it.
She nailed it with my father.
What exactly does she do? Separating men from their hard-earned cash?
Oh.
What if she’s a sentimental crook compelling men who don’t know any better to change their lives for her?
I laugh at the not so crazy idea, missing the moment when two tattooed hands slide on either side of me on the handrail, caging me in.
My eyes dip and my heart tumbles before racing in my chest, engulfed in a surge of panic.
I almost have a hard attack as I jerk back and hit the man’s hard chest, when a shrill shoots from my chest.
He easily slides a hand over my mouth, making me go quiet.
“Chill, woman. I didn’t know you’d get so easily spooked.”
“I didn’t know you were in the house, Demon,” I say as he slides his hand away and makes room for me to swivel and face him.
“Damon. Damon West,” he corrects me, amused.
And he goes nowhere from there, pinning me with his eyes, which are now glinting with a devilish smile.
“You’re having fun?” I shriek, tempted to hit his chest, knowing it’s inappropriate.
So are his arms on either side of me. I make an honest effort to move away from him.
He vetoes my idea down, widening his stance and blocking my retreat.
His smell is insanely powerful. It moves fingers over my face and lips.
I almost taste it.
It’s strong, memorable, and corrupting.
It makes me think about inappropriate things, like the things he does to me right now.
Keeping me hostage.
A gust of wind blows a strand of hair over my face.
“Lila Skye,” he murmurs, looking down, peering at me through the curtain of hair moving over my face. “Are you a good girl or a bad girl?” he asks, deftly brushing my hair away from my face and over my shoulder so he can see my eyes.
I stare at him, dumbfounded.
“What kind of question is that?”
He slowly moves the edge of his teeth over his bottom lip, his eyes sliding slowly over my face as much as mine move over his.
He’s breathtaking.
This isn’t only about nature taking its time to come up with a set of fascinating eyes, a strong jaw, chiseled cheekbones, dark eyelashes, lips that must feel like an inescapable spell against one’s skin, a smile that could get a woman naked at the drop of a hat, and thoughts that orbit around the dark pits of some unexplored remote planets of passion.
This is about overpowering power. Power that breathes through this man’s pores. Power that makes the room spin with me, and strips me of the most basic survival instincts.
The power imbalance between us is so obvious that I don’t even try to refute it.
And then… A pestering thought makes me take a better look at him.
Is this really someone’s new husband?
Knock me over with a feather.
This is the last man I would imagine as anyone’s husband.
What if he and Henrietta are in this together?
What if they’re a team and have some kind of understanding? What if they worked together to bamboozle my father?
Is that too hard to believe?
I don’t know.
Can he be her accomplice?
Hard to tell.
She never mentioned someone like him when she lived with my father.
“It’s a question like any other question,” he says, lowering his eyes, and studying me with interest.
Sweet tension grows in my body.
Somewhere below my navel, a delicious pull reminds me that this man is playing with me a little, testing my resolve.
“You know who I am.”
My direct answer makes him lift his gaze to my eyes.
“I surely do, Lila Skye Evans. You’re Henrietta’s late husband’s daughter.”
“Then you must know why I have to live with you and her during the summer.”
“I know that, too.”
He lifts a finger and wags it at me.
“You didn’t show up at my wedding.”
“And you were upset?”
“I cried for days,” he says seriously, joking of course, and I chuckle.
He studies me, entertained.
“She didn’t say you were beautiful.”
“You’re such a player. And I’m not beautiful.”
He bites his lip, as he ponders an answer before he elevates his hand again, and this time he splays his fingers over my cheek, lowers his mouth to my ear, and practically inhales me, experiencing every bit of tension moving through my body.
“Yes, you are. You’re just not aware of it,” he breathes slowly over my sensitive earlobe, and I stop drawing air in for a second, trying to calm my racing heart.
I take a long breath, struggling to compose myself, while he straightens and looks at me with a famished grin on his face.
“Listen, Demon. Damon.” I clear my throat.
“Mr. Damon. I don’t want to get in trouble.
I’m not beautiful. I’m just someone you haven’t seen before.
Not beautiful at all. Just a regular person.
I’ll be living in your house. We don’t have to talk to each other, okay?
Don’t have to know about each other, either. ”
He tilts his head to the side, as if he’s so damn amused by the silly words peeling off my lips.
“Seriously, now,” I go on. “I can eat in my room. Get into the pool when you’re not home. Go to work when I find a job.”
His finger goes up again.
“About that. I might have the perfect job for you.”
My eyebrows wiggle up.
“Oh.” I murmur, with a hint if irony. “You were interviewing me for a job just now?”
I swat ah his hand to let me go. He doesn’t move.
“What kind of job is it?” I ask. “Does it involve paid sex?”
He gives me a quiet wolfish laugh.
“It might if you’re up for it.”
“Seriously now.”
“Seriously. You can work a few nights a week at my club.”
“As what exactly?”
“All the bouncer positions have been filled.”
“Haha.”
“What are you studying?”
“In school?”
“No. In your room.”
I wave him off.
“Criminal psychology.”
His playful expression shifts, replaced by a kernel of curiosity.
“Are you serious?”
“Have never been more serious. I can’t wait to graduate, get my diploma, and start examining criminal minds.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
The truth is, I’m not, but I find it amusing that something about me has made him pay attention.
“Not in the slightest.”
“What made you pick this?”
“Nothing in particular. I always liked psychology. And lately I’ve been drifting toward this. I find it fascinating. What? You no longer think I’m qualified to work for you?”
His expression changes again.
“You’re more than qualified. The pay is good. I could drive you home at night.”
It’s my turn to ask.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. I’m looking for women like you.”
“Are you sure it doesn’t involve paid sex?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Do I need to dance or something?”
“No. You’ll be a VIP server.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“You need to be presentable and distract our special guests.”
“Uh-huh. So, I’d be a waitress.”
“Call it as you wish. It pays more than waiting tables. You wear a nice dress, heels, and make the patrons look at you. No one’s touching you, unless you want them to touch you, of course.”
I scrunched up my nose.
“This is not what you said it would be.”
“You’re not selling sex.”
“What exactly am I serving? Please don’t tell me it’s drugs.”
“No drugs. Just drinks. That’s it.”
I ponder his offer for a moment, enjoying the fact that I have him waiting for an answer.
“What about we do this? I’ll look for a regular job. One that I’ve done before. If things don’t work out, I’ll reconsider your offer. Would that work for you?”
A faint smile colors his stare.
“Yes, it would.”
Finally, he releases me, and I’m tempted to walk away when I realize he needs to step away from me. This is my room.
“I need to get ready for sleep,” I say.
“Uh-huh. Didn’t you just take a nap?”
My mouth opens.
“Did you check my room?”
“I didn’t need to. The pillow left an imprint on your cheek.”
He points to the cheek he just brushed his fingers over.
I try to dismiss him with a flick of my hand.
“You know too much about me.”
“So do you,” he replies, turning around to leave, making me regret that our conversation has drawn to an end.
My eyes dip to his hard ass as he walks toward the door.
“Welcome to my place,” he tosses over his shoulder before he steps into my room, and I’m more compelled than ever to follow him inside and ask him something else.
“Hey,” I call just as he is about to walk out of my bedroom.
He has his hand on the doorknob as he glances over his shoulder.
“Damon. You can call me Damon when no one is around. You call me Mr. West when other people are around.”
“Damon…”
It takes me a moment to push out my most burning question.
“What kind of marriage do you have?” I ask, painstakingly noticing every detail of his face.
He lets his head slide back a little, studying me as well, pondering the degree of honesty he can afford to express with me.
“The regular kind, nothing fancy,” he says with humor. “You’ll see it in action.”
His eyes glint with amusement for another second before ice moves over them, as if another man has just taken up residence in his body.
“By the way, we’ve never had this conversation,” he says. “And I have another piece of advice for you. Keep it to yourself in this house. Henrietta is not your friend.”
A gust of wind unsettles the drapes as he tilts his chin in a clipped goodbye and leaves the room as if he’s never been here with me.