“Damien,” Chloe whispered.
“My love.”
Damien effortlessly drew her into his embrace, settling her upon his lap. Chloe’s hands cradled his chiseled face, her eyes locked with his, where she found her own reflection mirrored in their depths.
“Look at me,” Damien commanded.
The King, vulnerable in his desire, tugged gently at her hand, drawing her slender form closer with a palpable longing. The silk of Chloe’s nightgown fluttered against her skin as it slipped down her frame. The curtains danced to the rhythm of the breeze blowing through the window, and the documents Damien had been studying fluttered to the ground unnoticed.
“Chloe?” As she withdrew slightly, Damien’s golden brows knit together, and his hold around her waist grew more insistent.
“Damien, I must confess something to you.”
“Go on.”
A blush warmed Chloe’s cheeks. She sensed that the moment would slip away if she did not speak now. “It is happy news to me,” she began.
“And what might that be?”
