“Yeah,” I tell him, crossing my arms, to keep from showing him just how nervous I am.
Without a word, Damien closes the distance between us, and the air thickens with hunger. It’s as if he can devour me with merely a glance. His hands grip my hips, and he holds me steady. One of his hands releases me, and with that, he tips my chin, so I’m looking into those cerulean orbs.
“Where is it?”
“You’ll see it tomorrow.” My voice is a failed attempt at sounding confident. I’m met with a smirk, dark and devious, just like he wants.
“If you’re showing any skin tomorrow, I will punish you, and this time, it most certainly won’t end with you coming all over my hand.” His promise is laced with lust—rabid and feral.
“I don’t doubt it,” I tell him, attempting to sound calm, but my hands are shaking like a leaf in a summer breeze. I want to turn away, to sit down, but I’m suddenly hoisted up against Damien’s rigid body, and he walks us over to the bed where he sets me down.
Seconds later, he’s reaching behind him and pulling a small black velvet box from his pocket. He hands it to me before saying, “I got you something that I want you to wear.”
My heart is thudding wildly, and I’m thankful he didn’t drop to one knee when he pulled it out because I may have fainted from the sweetness of his gesture.
I flick open the lid. Inside, nestled on the darkest velvet, is a gold rose with small thorns adorning the stem. The shimmering ruby that sits in the center of the bud is beautifully carved, fitting strikingly in the setting. Attached to the rose is a sleek choker that I tug from the cushion.
“This is exquisite. But I don’t know if I can wear it.”
“Why?”
I glance up, meeting his questioning stare. “It’s too much, Damien.”
“You’re a Thorne, but you’re also a rose. My wild rose.” He watches me intently, his eyes boring into me like they always do, but this time those flames that usually dance only with desire, now offer more.
Affection.
Caring.
And an emotion I’d rather not voice, even to myself.
But then he says, “My rose.”
28
Damien
With a quick glance at the clock, I sigh, knowing we’ll be late if she doesn’t come down the fucking stairs in the next few moments.
I didn’t think Nesrin would be here for long. I figured she’d just turn around and head back to the city because that’s what she grew up with. City lights and streets paved with dreams.
She has certainly changed my mind about her. Since the first day I saw her, I had an idea in mind as to what she was like. But she’s not only offered me a calm and solace I never thought I’d have. Nesrin has also tormented my demons, dragging them to the forefront, calling them to come out and play.
Tonight is a test. She knows about the dance, but she doesn’t realize that, afterward, if I really want to claim her as mine, this town doesn’t like anything they deem forbidden. They don’t like rules being broken. And Nesrin and I are going to make them talk.
Even though my plan is to head to England when Daddy Dearest returns, I want to ensure she’s safe. Her being here alone doesn’t sit well with me. But the thought of dragging her across the ocean, that might work.
I wanted to fight my feelings for her. I should’ve fought my attraction, but I knew the girl who watched me in the greenhouse the night of our parents’ wedding reception would be mine.
She is everything I craved, and she gives me everything I need. I think back to the night of the party when she was talking to Creed. Her laugh echoed across to me, and even then, I knew I would kill him before I allowed him to have her.
But she doesn’t know the truth. And I’m going to have to tell her everything. Perhaps not tonight. Maybe I can delay it till tomorrow.
Suddenly, Nesrin appears at the top of the staircase. Her hair has been curled around her shoulders, which are bare. The halter neck of the dress is bound, holding up the sleek material, which seems to be painted to every curve of her body.
The moment she takes a step, her left leg bares itself to me, as the slit opens from her ankle, all the way up to her smooth, slender thigh.
Jesus fucking Christ Almighty.
“You’re not wearing that,” I bite out, as raging jealousy courses through me. I take a step, but she lifts her hand and stops me as she reaches the bottom of the steps.
“I’m a grown woman, Damien. I am yours, but I also have my own mind. If you can’t trust me,” she says, squaring her shoulders, “then we may as well go separately.” Her chin tips upward, and that familiar fire in her gaze dances wildly, challenging me to argue.