Damien
Istood rooted in my spot, staring at a photo on the wall. Two men caught my attention. Zane and Aaron. Those faces were etched in my brain forever. The bastards that pulled the trigger and killed my parents.
Aarons dealt with…Zane is up next. I’ll be coming for you real soon, asshole.
“Damien?” I jerk back to reality when I hear Ezra’s voice calling my name. “Are you okay?” I look at her, force myself to nod, and allow her to pull me into her bedroom. “Take a seat. I’ll get the first aid box and clean you up,” Ezra walks out of the room, and I look around her bedroom. Pearly white walls, a king-size bed in the middle of the room neatly made with turquoise satin sheets.
A dressing room/walk-in wardrobe had her designer handbags, designer shoes, and clothes all lined up neatly in rails color coordinated and a full-length mirror to the left of the room. Left of the room an ensuite bathroom with a walk-in shower. I find myself mesmerized by the professionally taken photo above her dresser. She’s lying on a white sandy beach, clear blue ocean behind her, wearing red bikini bottoms and her arms modestly covering her breasts. Her beautiful azure eyes— almost as blue as the ocean— gazing alluringly into the camera lens, biting her bottom lip sultrily.
“That was taken in the Maldives two years ago. A Photoshoot for G.Q.” She voices, pulling me from the very sordid images in my head.
Everything about that photo screams ‘fuck me,’ and the more I think about random men jacking off while looking at this, the more irritated the jealous bastard deep within me got.
My cock twitches and aches against the zipper of my jeans. She’s just something else and fuck how I desire to make her mine and mine alone.
“Take a seat.” Ezra gestures to the bed bench at the foot of her bed.
“I’ll sort it,” I say, reaching for the first aid box, but she pulls it from my grasp and fixes me with an austere glare.
“Sit, Damien.” She commands and pushes me back on the bench and smiles a little when I don’t protest.
“Now look who is being authoritative.” I drawl, watching her as she rips open a sterile wipe. She nudges my legs apart with her knee and steps to stand between them, her eyes on the cut on my left eyebrow. Her fingers gently tilt my head back so she could see a little better.
“What can I say. I’ve learned from the best.” She teases, a satisfied smirk on her beautiful face. “This will sting. Stay still.” She gently presses the sterile wipe to my cut and waits for a reaction but smiles when she gets nothing and continues to wipe the blood off my face. Her face suddenly goes serious, and she frowns, “You shouldn’t have exposed yourself to my father like that, Damien. You’ve only just gone and piqued his interest in you.” I sigh and close my eyes.
“I did what I had to. We both knew your Father was going to find a way to force you to stay here. He thought he would scare me off with his armed lapdogs; this will keep him busy for a while. Let him get dizzy trying to figure me out. He won’t find anything.” I tell her and hear her exhale deeply in response.
“You’ve surprised me by agreeing to stay here. I didn’t think you would. I know how determined my Father can be when he gets his claws into something. He’s keeping us here so he can keep an eye on you; my safety is just an excuse. Those people that are after me, they’ll find me. I’ll be a sitting duck here.” She states while she gently presses a band-aid against my cut. I open my eyes and look up at her. She’s worriedly chewing her lip. I run my hands up her thighs and rub soothingly, she sighs softly, and her eyes close at my touch.
I lean closer, rubbing the back of her thighs with my thumb, “You were really convincing down there. If I didn’t know firsthand how much you hate me, I would have believed you genuinely were in love with me.” Ezra’s eyes flutter open, and she looks at me for a lingering moment. I try to decipher the meaning behind her gaze, but with a blink, it was gone.
“Right back at you,” She lets her hands fall to her side from where they were resting on my shoulders. “The way you stopped my father from slapping me, I almost slipped and believed you actually cared about me, but then I took off my rose-colored glasses and remembered you’re not capable of such a thing.” There was something about her tone that stung me. Ezra’s gaze drops from mine, and she moves away to the bathroom with the first aid box in her hand. I observe her while she washes her hands in the sink. I can see her face clearly in the reflection of the mirror, a forlorn look marring her usual soft features.
I’d give anything to be able to hear her thoughts. If she knew I was only using her to get to her father, I wonder what she would say, how she would react. I’m trying to keep my distance, but it’s becoming a real challenge not to get wrapped up in her.
It’s hard because you care about her, despite your best efforts not to—you care. She’s unraveling you, and you’re falling for her, you absolute idiot.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head to rid the voice in my mind. It’s not possible. It’s not love; it's lust. It's just sexual attraction. That’s all there is to it. It’s been a couple of days since I had any sort of release—it's sexual frustration. A light rapping on the door snaps me out of the rant I had going with myself in my head. One of the maids, I look back at her. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Sir. Mrs. Quintero wanted me to inform you that the guest house is ready for you and Miss Quintero.”
I scowl at her, “You mean, Mrs. Wolfe.”
“Thank you, Isobel. We’ll be down shortly.” Ezra comes into the bedroom, drying her hands. The maid scurries out and closes the door behind her. I frown when she shakes her head at me.
“What?”
Ezra sighs, “Stop doing that, Damien. I’ll always be a Quintero. I suggest you get used to it.” I stand up and stroll over to her. She watches me cautiously as I near her.
“I’m afraid not, sweetheart, legally you’re Mrs. Wolfe now,” I take hold of her chin and smile down at her upturned face. “I suggest you get used to it.” Ezra pulls her face out of my grasp and licks her lips.
“A piece of paper, Damien. That’s all it is. It means nothing.” She takes my right hand and holds our hands up. “Just like these wedding bands. If there’s no love, no emotional connection, it's nothing but an eternal shackle to us both.” She drops my hand and walks to the door. “Now, let’s go and pretend we’re blissfully happy, shall we?” She adds bitterly, opening her bedroom door and walking out. I follow her and catch her arm before she gets too far; she looks back at me. I lace my fingers with hers, and she looks down at our hands.
“Blissfully happy, remember?” I smirk, and she sighs, and we walk down the staircase together. “I need to go and pick up some things from the apartment, and I’ve got something I need to take care of.”
Ezra stops and looks at me with a worried expression on her face. “Right now?”
I shake my head and pull her down the rest of the steps. “Couple of hours.” We walk through the absurdly large house and stop when we see Diana—Ezra’s mother cooking in the kitchen.
“Oh, mi hija, dinner should be ready soon. Why don’t you both freshen up? The guest house is ready.” She looks over at me and smiles politely. I can see where Ezra gets her good looks. She’s a carbon copy of her mother except for the eyes, those she got from Hugo. Same smooth tan skin, same build, same color hair, it’s like looking twenty-five years into the future.