Night in London always felt heavier after rain.
The pavements glistened, reflecting the city lights like liquid gold; the sky hummed with the aftertaste of thunder; the air smelled like wet stone and electricity. It was the kind of night that made people restless without knowing why.
Zara Bennett was restless.
She sat at her desk in chambers long after everyone else had gone home, staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes without reading a single word.
Her brain refused to cooperate.
Her heart refused to calm.
Her body traitorous, disobedient, infuriating refused to forget the way Damon Huxley's breath had brushed her lips earlier that day. The way his eyes had softened. The way his voice had dropped when he admitted he wanted to kiss her.
Her fingers touched her mouth unconsciously.
She snatched her hand away.
"No," she whispered to herself. "We are not doing this."
She stood abruptly, grabbed her coat, and left chambers before she could think her way into another panic spiral.
She needed air.
Noise.
People.
Noise that was not Damon Huxley's voice echoing inside her.
She walked aimlessly for a while past shops closing down, past restaurants glowing warm with laughter, past the river shimmering in the streetlights.
But the truth stalked her with every step:
She didn't want to go home.
She didn't want silence.
She didn't want distance.
She wanted distraction.
She wanted something that wasn't him.
Her feet stopped outside the entrance of The Savoy Hotel.
The golden lights, the warm buzz of high-end nightlife, the soft notes of jazz drifting from inside.
Zara hesitated.
Then walked in.
The Savoy's American Bar was dimly lit, elegantly old-world, and humming with the low conversation of London's elite.
Zara chose a seat at the bar not hidden, not obvious either.
Somewhere neutral.
Somewhere safe.
She ordered a whiskey neat.
The bartender raised a brow.
She ignored him.
She needed the burn.
She needed anything that wasn't Damon.
But her thoughts betrayed her instantly.
She thought of his hands.
His jaw.
His voice when he whispered her name.
The tension in his shoulders when he controlled himself around her.
Her fingers tightened around her glass.
She closed her eyes briefly.
This is insanity. Pure insanity.
She lifted the drink to her lips
And froze.
Her body reacted before her mind registered it.
Heat.
Awareness.
An impossible gravitational pull that only came from one man.
She opened her eyes slowly.
And there he was.
Standing at the entrance of the bar.
Damon Huxley.
Black suit.
No tie.
Collar slightly open.
Eyes scanning the room like a man searching for something he'd lost.
Or someone.
Her heart slammed into her ribs.
No.
Not here.
Not coincidence.
He shouldn't be
Then his eyes found hers.
The air punched out of her lungs.
Because the look on his face
It wasn't smug.
It wasn't arrogant.
It wasn't playful.
It was raw.
Relieved.
Intense.
As if he'd been walking the city looking for something he needed to breathe…
…and finally found oxygen.
He started toward her.
Slow.
Determined.
Looking like a man headed into a battle he already knew he would lose.
Zara's pulse spiked.
She looked away.
Looked down.
Looked anywhere but at him.
It didn't matter.
He reached her.
His presence wrapped around her like warmth after winter.
"Zara."
Her name left him like an exhale soft, controlled, but carrying too much meaning.
She stiffened. "What are you doing here?"
He slid onto the barstool beside her.
"I could ask you the same thing."
Her jaw tightened. "Don't start."
He tilted his head. "You look like you're hiding."
"I'm not hiding."
"You're drinking whiskey alone in a hotel bar."
Her eyes narrowed. "Are you stalking me?"
His lips curved. "No."
He leaned in slightly, voice lowering.
"But I'm not pretending I'm surprised you came here."
Her breath stuttered.
She hated how easily he read her.
How dangerous he became when he dropped the arrogance and used quiet honesty like a weapon.
She lifted her glass again.
He watched her throat move as she swallowed.
Every inch of him tightened.
"Long day?" he asked.
"None of your business."
"That's a yes."
She glared at him. "You're insufferable."
"And you're shaking."
Her fingers froze around the glass.
She placed it down slowly.
"Damon," she warned.
"Look at me."
She refused.
He spoke softer.
"Zara."
Her breath betrayed her one sharp inhale.
Damon shifted, edging closer, his knee lightly brushing hers.
Her entire body trembled.
She could smell him.
She could feel his warmth.
She could feel the heat of his attention sliding across her skin like a touch.
He lowered his voice.
"I know what you're running from."
She shook her head.
"No, you don't."
"Yes," he murmured. "I do."
He leaned closer.
Too close.
"You're running from this."
Her heart pounded painfully.
She whispered, "Stop."
But she didn't move.
He didn't either.
A soft jazz song started behind them.
Slow.
Seductive.
Patterned like their breathing.
Zara's fingers gripped the edge of the bar.
Her voice tried to sound steady.
"We shouldn't be alone."
"We aren't," he murmured.
"You know what I mean."
"Yes."
But he didn't back away.
And she didn't ask again.
Her voice lowered.
"You're too close."
"I know."
"Then move."
"No."
Her breath trembled.
He watched her lips again.
Slowly.
Hungrily.
As if memorizing them for something he shouldn't do.
And then he said the thing that broke her control completely:
"You don't want me to move."
Her stomach flipped.
She whispered, "I don't want this."
He studied her not like prey.
Like truth he didn't trust himself to touch.
"Yes," he said quietly. "You do."
She closed her eyes.
He didn't.
He watched her like worship.
She whispered, "Damon… tell me the truth."
"About what?"
"Why you came here."
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
He swallowed.
"I tried to go home."
Her breath caught.
"I couldn't."
Zara looked at him sharply.
He didn't look away.
"I couldn't go home with the way you walked out of that room today."
Her heart twisted painfully.
"And how was I?" she whispered.
He leaned in until their foreheads were almost touching.
"Beautiful," he murmured.
"And scared. And angry. And… running."
Her lips parted.
"But you didn't run fast enough," he added softly, "for me to lose you tonight."
Her chest rose and fell shallowly.
He continued.
"Zara, I don't chase women."
"I know."
"I never chase."
She swallowed.
"But I followed you here."
Silence.
Hot.
Thick.
Unforgiving.
She whispered, "Why?"
His voice dropped, deep and rough.
"Because your absence feels like noise."
Her heart slammed.
She couldn't breathe.
She couldn't think.
She couldn't move.
He didn't touch her first.
He waited.
Then her eyes lifted to his.
Soft.
Unsteady.
Burning.
It was enough.
He reached up slowly and brushed a finger under her jaw.
Just one finger.
Her body jolted.
Her lips parted.
His forehead touched hers.
"You can walk away," he whispered.
She didn't.
"You should walk away."
She didn't.
"You won't," he finished.
She exhaled a quiet surrender.
And Damon lost control.
His hand slid to her jaw.
He angled her face gently.
And his mouth met hers.
The kiss wasn't gentle.
It wasn't careful.
It was the explosion both of them had been holding back for days.
Zara gasped as his lips pressed into hers hot, hungry, consuming.
Her hands fisted in his jacket.
Her body arched toward him.
Damon kissed her like a starving man discovering taste.
Deep.
Slow.
Then deeper.
And deeper.
Zara made a sound soft, helpless and Damon nearly groaned.
He pulled her closer, hand sliding behind her neck, thumb brushing her pulse.
Her lips parted.
He kissed her harder.
Every ounce of tension they'd ignored detonated between them, turning to fire, to need, to something terrifying and irresistible.
She felt his breath, his heat, the restrained strength under his control.
He felt her trembling, her surrender, her desire fighting her logic.
He pulled back slightly, breathing hard.
Her lips were pink.
Her eyes dazed.
Her chest rising quickly.
He whispered, "Say something."
She swallowed.
Her voice shook.
"You're… you're going to ruin me."
Damon closed his eyes briefly pained, torn.
When he opened them, they were dark with something worse than desire.
Need.
"Then ruin with me," he whispered.
She inhaled sharply and kissed him again.
Harder.
Desperate.
Hungry.
This time he groaned against her mouth, his hand sliding to her waist, her body pressing into his.
Everything blurred.
Everything burned.
The bar disappeared.
The world narrowed to heat and breath and lips and need.
A glass clattered somewhere behind them.
They broke apart.
Breathing hard.
Eyes wide.
Bodies trembling.
Zara's chest rose and fell violently.
Damon's voice was rough.
"We need to stop."
She nodded.
Didn't move.
He swallowed hard.
"Zara," he murmured, "if we don't stop right now.."
She stepped back first.
Barely.
Shakily.
Her voice was thin.
"We crossed a line."
He nodded once.
"We did."
Silence.
Then she whispered, "We shouldn't do it again."
Damon looked at her like she had torn something out of him.
"Then don't look at me like that."
She blinked. "Like what?"
Damon leaned in, lips brushing her ear.
"Like you want to kiss me again."
Her breath stuttered.
She stepped away entirely.
And without another word
She walked out of the hotel.
Damon didn't follow.
He watched her go.
Hands trembling.
Jaw locked.
Breath uneven.
And he whispered into the quiet bar
"God help me… I'm already gone."