Her stomach roiled with need. She could hardly breathe as she stared at his impenetrable back while she arranged her clothes with unsteady hands.
“Damien, please explain to me. I thought you were okay with it. I don’t understand.”
“It’s very simple.” He turned, his gaze pinning her to the spot. “If you love him so much—go to him. Do not come to me. If you need him so much—go to him. I owed you for that time I hurt you, I consider that debt paid. I promised not to try to have sex with you…”
He squared his jaw, his eyes burning. “But if you ever come to my office, if you ever set so much as a foot near me, I won’t care about the promise I made to you. You come looking for me, Sydney, I’ll take it as a sign that you want to fuck me. And I’ll be happy to oblige you. In fact I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll wish you’d stayed home.”
She stared dumbly, her mind spinning in confusion and disbelief.
Because I desperately want you…
I’ll fuck you so hard…
He meant that as a threat, maybe. So why did the opposite happen? Her body wanted to melt as those words replayed in her head, but she stiffened against him. He was Damien. He was playing her, he had to be playing her. Wasn’t he?
“I’m sorry to have put you in this…spot. So don’t worry, I am not coming back. I have a man already, and he’s gentle and kind! I’m going to go all for him on Friday. We have a new exhibition and we usually have dinner from there. It’s the perfect night. So perfect. And I don’t care what you say, I’m going to go for a kiss and I’m also touching his…whatever. Goodbye, Damien.”
She could feel his angry glare as she stormed out.
seven
Hours later, heading home in the back of his car, Damien reached for a drink, his hand unsteady. “Shit.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t need this kind of shit. Sydney made him…vulnerable. He didn’t like it. He never put himself in a position to be rejected like he’d been as a boy. He’d rather bail. He’d rather not be appreciated, not be loved, cared for, wanted, even. He’d rather be alone than hear those words again.
You’re worthless—you’re as dirty as your fucking bitch of a mother—you have the blood of a drug addict in your veins— You’re not good enough to be a Knight—Don’t set foot here again—You’re not my son—You’re not wanted here.
Bile rose up in his throat, and he tossed it down with a gulp of whiskey. Sydney was a virgin. What would he do with a virgin? He had no experience with virgins. Hell, she fucking loved another man.
Did he want her to reject him?
She’d glory in it. She’d glory in tearing him to pieces just like he’d torn her.
But for him, it had been a necessity. She’d been too young. Fucking fifteen years old, for God’s sake. Asking a twenty-five year old man to make love to her. He’d had to say no or else he’d prove to his father he was as dirty and worthless as he’d painted him to be.
He’d sent her away the only way he knew he’d succeed. With harsh words, words that broke the hope in her face until her eyes lost their spark and filled up with tears.
Who cared that she scrambled his brain with her smiles? Who cared that she’d been the one good thing he’d ever found in San Francisco, the one thing that had made him want to stay just to watch her grow up?
He’d had to make her stop believing he was some sort of perfect specimen of a man for her.
It didn’t matter now that he’d been protecting her.
He’d hurt her. And she would gladly hurt him back.
Then again…he rubbed his chest and groaned. He was already hurting. He’d been all day glancing out the window, wondering what she was doing, and if now was the moment when this guy would have her s
pread open and moaning while he buried himself in a body Damien wanted to swallow up with his mouth, he wanted her so much.
That day she’d knocked on his apartment door, fifteen and a baby, he’d had his first and only girlfriend waiting up in his bedroom. He’d denied Sydney and stood at the door, trembling with the need to run after her and hold her, tell her he’d lied when he’d told her he didn’t want her and never would. Instead he’d walked upstairs, and fucked his girlfriend like he was crazy about her, and as soon as they were done, she’d broken up with him—because he’d apparently called her Sydney.
His family life had been blowing up in smoke before his eyes at the time. He had no last name, no father, and his mother had just died. He’d had to get out of the city before he broke down and sought comfort in the arm of a little teenaged girl who was not equipped to handle life yet, much less a man like him.
But Sydney wasn’t a little girl anymore. And Damien was no longer running from his past. She was a woman burning for a man. And Damien wanted her to…Burn with me.
Only me.
Not thinking anymore, he pressed the button and told his driver, “Go to the Will Morgan Art Gallery.”