Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Luna
Istep out of the ladies’ room after freshening up, my mind still spinning from the evening—the opulence, the people, the way Damien kept me tucked against his side all night. The way other women looked at him. The way he looked only at me.
The gala is winding down, but as host, Damien needs to stay until the end.
After our first dance, dinner was served, giving me space to pull myself together and quiet the heat still burning under my skin.
But then he asked me to dance again after dinner and kissed me a second time, deeper and hungrier than the first. When the music stopped, I fled to the bathroom, my composure hanging by a thread.
Damien kisses me like he wants to consume me. No one’s ever kissed me like that. A deep, soul-consuming kiss that leaves a person breathless and weak, trembling with aftershocks.
I can still feel it, still taste it. The man kisses how I imagine he fucks. Slow and tender. So very different from my wolf.
“There you are.”
I gasp as Damien’s lips and warm breath brush against my ear as he steps up behind me.
“I was beginning to worry. You’d been in there so long.”
I turn to find his blue-gray eyes studying me with an intensity that quickens my pulse. “Just needed a moment to myself.”
With his hand on my lower back, he leads me out of the hallway and back into the ballroom. “Did you enjoy the gala?”
“I did, but I’m not used to this world.”
“You fit in perfectly.” His lips curve into that half-smile that sends heat spiraling through me every time.
There are still some stragglers in the ballroom, but almost everyone is gone. Cade walks up to us as Damien leads me toward the coat check room.
“You two heading out?”
“Yes. You and Tiffany can wrap it up.”
Cade nods before turning to me, taking my hand. “It was lovely to meet you, Luna. Your presence made this night bearable.” He leans toward me. “And just between us, you’re way too good for him.”
His words sound teasing, but there’s something deeper, a dangerous undercurrent that seems to lurk beneath them. Damien tenses beside me.
“Yes, she is. Now, let go of her hand before I break yours off.”
Cade drops my fingers and steps back. The look that passes between the two men carries a weight I can’t decipher, some silent conversation happening in the space of a few seconds. Then Damien’s shoulders drop, tension bleeding away.
“It was nice to meet you, Cade.” I inject warmth into my voice, trying to smooth over whatever just happened.
Cade’s expression returns to a mask of professional composure.
“You two have a good night.”
Damien guides me away. I consider asking him what that was all about, but it’s none of my business.
He retrieves our coats but tosses them over his arm rather than offering me mine. He leads me down a hallway and around a corner toward a bank of private elevators, the ones that we used when we landed on the roof earlier.
“How about a nightcap before I take you home?” His voice is casual, but his eyes burn with intention. “My penthouse is on the top floor. I have an excellent view of the city.”
I hesitate. I should decline. Tomorrow is Sunday, so it will only be Maren and me, and I need to check Ricky’s tummy. But more than that, my wolf will come to my bed in just hours, and the kisses with Damien already feel like a betrayal. Is it smart to spend any more time with him?
Self-preservation screams at me to refuse and ask him to take me home.
“Just one drink,” I say instead, and Damien’s smile widens. Warmth floods my chest, pooling behind my ribs until I can barely breathe.
As we near the elevator, a metal wall-mounted pad beside it scans Damien’s eye, and the doors open.
“These only go to my private floors.” We step inside, and the doors close.
Silence wraps around us, broken only by the elevator’s mechanical hum.
My pulse kicks up, a betrayal of nerves I can’t quite swallow down.
His presence fills the small space, the mirrored walls reflecting him from every angle.
His profile, his hands, and the way he watches me as the numbers beside the door climb, each floor bringing us deeper into dangerous territory.
Maren’s words from the other day echo inside my head.
“His penthouse is in the same building. Win-win. Just head on upstairs, and I’ll let you fill in the blanks…”
Yeah, this is a mistake.
“Having second thoughts?”
Is the man a mind reader?
My hands tremble as I grip the handrail, desperate for something to steady myself against this tide of want threatening to sweep away my better judgment. Every second of silence stretches the tension tighter, like a violin string about to snap. I need an escape route, something light and safe.
I tilt my face up to meet his gaze, painting on a smile. “Just wondering if you have a spare pair of slippers. These heels weren’t designed for actual walking, and I’m pretty sure I left a trail of sequins from the ballroom to the elevator.”
His laugh breaks through the charged air between us. “Good. The place could use a little sparkle. Too much marble and steel, not enough personality.”
The elevator slows to a stop, and the doors slide open.
My breath catches as his world unfolds before me in sweeping grandeur, soaring ceilings, and an expanse of clean lines claiming the entire top floor.
He hit the mark about the marble and steel.
For all its undeniable elegance, the space carries a chill.
It’s too pristine, too perfect, like a museum where visitors aren’t meant to linger.
Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the city like a living painting, Denver’s lights twinkling against the night sky.
The snowstorm adds a dreamy quality to the view, turning the night ethereal.
Dense waves of white cascade past the glass, each flake luminous against the darkness, backlit by the city’s thousand windows that feel like glowing eyes.
“Oh,” I move toward the windows as if pulled by the sight. “This is—”
“The view makes it worth the ridiculous price tag.”
I laugh, appreciating his attempt at humility even though we both know what “ridiculous” means in Damien Wolfe terms.
“You weren’t exaggerating about the view.”
He comes up behind me, standing close. Not touching, but near enough that his warmth radiates against my back. “What’s your poison? Whiskey? Wine?”
“Whiskey. Neat.”
I follow his reflection in the window as he moves to a bar in the corner and selects a bottle, pouring two generous measures into crystal tumblers. His movements are fluid and controlled, just like everything about him.
Everything except for the moments when I catch him looking at me. In those unguarded seconds, hunger blazes raw and undisguised in his eyes, and my skin goes hot, nerve endings firing like live wires beneath the surface.
“Here.”
He hands me my drink. Our fingers brush during the exchange, and electricity skitters up my arm at the brief contact.
“Thank you.” I take a cautious sip and can’t suppress a small sound of appreciation. The whiskey is rich and complex, sliding down my throat with only a pleasant burn. “This is exceptional.”
“It should be. It’s a thirty-year single malt from a small distillery in the Scottish Highlands. Only a few hundred bottles are made each year.” He stands beside me now, both of us facing the view. “I discovered it on a trip years ago and bought their entire stock for that season.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Of course you did.”
“What does that mean?” There’s an edge to his voice now.
“Just that it’s a very Damien Wolfe thing to do. Find something rare and beautiful and then acquire it.”
He turns to face me, his expression unreadable. “Is that how you see me? As someone who collects beautiful things?”
I meet his gaze. “I think you’re someone who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.”
“And what if what I want isn’t for sale?” His voice drops lower, and my skin flushes with sudden heat.
“Then I imagine you find other ways to get it.” I take another sip of whiskey. “It’s peaceful up this high. Though I prefer my view of the mountains and forest.”
He turns to me and takes the still half-full glass from my hand, setting it aside with his empty one.
“Stay tonight.”
My heart skips several beats. “Damien—”
“The snow’s getting worse.” He nods toward the window. “I’ll take you back if it’s what you really want, but I’d love for you to stay.”
Hope lights his features, but underneath runs a current of desire and want so heavy my throat tightens.
“I have plenty of guest rooms if that’s what you’re worried about.”
But his eyes tell a different story. He doesn’t want me in a guest room. He wants me in his bed.
“I should get back. The animals—”
“Maren is there.” He reaches for my hand, and his thumb brushes the pulse point on my wrist, making me tremble. “Stay, Luna.”
I want to. God, how I want to. But my wolf will come for me tonight, and if I’m not there, there’s no telling what he might do.
“I can’t.” I hate the regret in my voice.
Damien’s gaze burns with intensity. My pulse hammers as he leans in, giving me time to pull away, and when I don’t, his mouth meets mine.
The first brush of his lips is light, a whisper of contact that makes my breath hitch.
Tentative, careful, like our first kiss on the dance floor.
They’re sinfully soft, a stark contrast to the hard body pressing close.
His chest is solid muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
My pulse roars in my ears. I tilt forward until the warmth pouring off him surrounds me and beckons me nearer.
My hands flatten against the smooth cotton of his shirt.
Underneath my palm, his heart pounds a wild rhythm, the force of it pulsing against my fingers.