Damien
Istare at Ezra’s retreating back as she slowly walks off toward the bathroom.
I fucked up.
I let my guard slip, and she got a glimpse of the side of me that I’ve kept buried for a very, very long time. Sleeping with her was a mistake—I knew that going in, but I couldn’t stop myself. I’ve never allowed myself to get that intimate with anyone ever. I’m a ‘fuck them up and leave them’ kind of guy. I always have been. However, with Ezra—she’s doing something to me. She’s making me need things I never have before.
Intimacy. Affection.Commitment.
I have to slam on the brakes because that can’t happen. This is retribution. I need to keep reminding myself that she’s nothing but a ploy in my scheme to destroy her father, and I will bring him and his fucking kingdom to its knees even if that means she gets caught in the onslaught.
I couldn’t afford to care. I’ve lost too much already, my oath is all I have, and I intend to keep my word to my family.
I know that my words cut her deep. I saw the confidence I helped her embrace drain away from her face. That’s not what any girl wants to hear after she trusts you enough to give you her most sacred possession—her virginity. I keep telling myself that I didn’t have a choice, that my agenda was far bigger than her, and I couldn’t risk losing focus for anyone, including her. So why do I feel like someone just twisted a fucking knife into my gut? What is this overwhelming need I have to go after her, pull her back and tell her I was sorry about being a bastard to her back there?
I need to get a grip. I got what I wanted from her. This feeling–whatever the fuck it is— will pass. Our sexual chemistry should diminish now we’ve had sex.
Or at least, I was hoping it would, but if my all-consuming desire for her this morning was anything to go by, I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.
I busy myself while she’s in the shower. I was tracking Zane while I eat the omelet Ezra thoughtfully made me earlier and kept it in the warmer, waiting for me to wake up. It was delicious. I sip my coffee and make a mental note of his address so I can pay him a little visit later. I pull up the article about Ezra and my marriage and read through it. Hugo must be spinning trying to figure this out. I’m sure he’s looking into my background as we speak. It gives me great satisfaction to know his blood is boiling with anger right now. Much like my own does when I see his fucking mug in another magazine.
I lose my train of thought when Ezra walks past me dripping wet, in nothing but an all too short towel exposing the curve of her beautiful ass. An ass I would bust my left nut to be eating right now. I don’t even bother trying to avert my gaze when she looks back at me, her dark brows knitted. “Do you mind?”
I resist the urge to smirk and keep my face straight. “No. Please, as you were.” I say, gesturing with my hand for her to continue. Ezra glares at me, and if looks could kill, I’d drop dead right there and then.
“Turn around, Damien!”
I scowl.
“Ezra, we woke up naked in bed together this morning. I think we’re way past the whole coyness of being naked in front of each other.” I tell her blankly, and she crosses her arms over her chest and cocks an eyebrow at me.
Mmm, very sexy.
“That’s beside the point. You can be a heartless asshole. You can play the villain all you want, but don’t take away a girl's dignity. Don’t be that guy.” She tells me evenly, scoops up her clothes, and walks toward the bathroom.
“Hurry up, we have things to do,” I respond coolly, and she casts me a side-glare as she passes by me. It amazes me how quickly she can go from lusting to hating me. Though I must admit, I do make it easy for her.
* * *
A little overhalf an hour later, she finally comes back dressed and ready to go. She’s wearing a short denim skirt and a top that only covers her breasts and shows off way too much skin. I know it's summer and all, but Jesus, give a guy a break. “Where are we going?” She questions, avoiding my gaze.
“You’ve been complaining about not having your stuff, so we’re going to get your stuff.” She stops fidgeting with her cell phone and looks at me, all color drains from her face.
“You’re…you’re taking me home?”
“Yes, as soon as you change out of that bandage you’re wearing instead of a top.” Ezra blinks and looks down at her top, then at me again.
“What’s wrong with my top?”
I walk over to her, and she retreats. “Where’s the rest of it?”
Ezra bites her bottom lip, exhales slowly, and places her hands on her hips before she glares piercingly at me. “Listen to me, you brute. Let’s get something straight here.” She steps closer, speaking slowly. “You may be able to control most aspects of my life. Who I see, who I speak to, but I’ll be damned if I let you—” She pokes my chest with her finger, anger edging her tone. “—Or any man for that matter, tell me what I can, and cannot wear!” I grab her wrist and yank her close to me.
“You’re not even wearing a bra. I can see your fucking nipples.” I growl, and she tries to pull her hand from my grasp, but I only squeeze tighter, and she winces, but her fiery gaze remains locked with mine.
“I can see yours through your shirt too…” She claims while her free hand lifts, and she brushes her fingers over my pecs. I grab her other wrist and pull it away from my chest and drop it. “Will you change as well then?”
“Is it the same?” I question irritably, and she shrugs.