The city woke grey and heavy the next morning, as if London itself sensed something irreversible had shifted in the world overnight.
Zara felt it too.
She stood in the shower that morning with her forehead against the cool tile, letting the water rush over her skin while her pulse tried to remember how to beat normally.
But the problem was
Her body remembered everything from last night.
The heat of Damon's mouth.
His hands gripping her waist.
The way he'd breathed her name like it was a confession he never meant to make.
She touched her lips once just once and then pulled her hand away like she'd been burned.
This could not continue.
This must not continue.
She repeated it like prayer.
Like denial.
Like a woman lying to herself.
By the time she arrived at chambers, she looked perfect.
Hair pinned.
Suit immaculate.
Makeup seamless.
No one looking at Zara Bennett would know she'd kissed a man she was supposed to hate in a hotel suite last night.
No one would know she had barely slept.
No one would know her heart felt like a live wire.
Her assistant greeted her.
"Morning, Ms. Bennett! The ethics committee rescheduled today's meeting to three. You have three client calls, one consultation, and"
Zara held up a hand.
"Coffee first."
The assistant nodded quickly.
Zara entered her office, closed the door, exhaled then froze.
Her phone buzzed.
Her stomach dropped.
She didn't need to see the name.
She felt him.
Still, she checked.
Unknown Number: We need to talk.
Her breath hitched.
Another message:
DH: I'm outside.
Zara's heart slammed painfully.
She stormed out of chambers faster than she'd ever admit, heels clicking sharp and angry.
Outside, a sleek black Mercedes was parked at the curb.
Damon leaned against it.
Black coat.
Black turtleneck.
Black gloves.
Every inch of him looked expensive, dangerous, and infuriatingly calm.
He straightened when he saw her.
But she spoke first.
"What are you doing here?"
His eyes locked onto hers.
"You left without hearing the rules."
Her pulse skipped.
"That was the point," she replied.
"No," Damon said, stepping closer. "It wasn't."
She backed up a step instinctively.
He saw.
He smirked.
"You're avoiding me again."
"I'm working."
"You're shaking."
She snapped, "Because you keep showing up!"
He swallowed.
She had never seen Damon Huxley swallow anything but scotch.
He stepped closer.
"Zara, last night… you walked away before we finished what we started."
Her breath trembled.
"We agreed to stop," she whispered.
"No," he murmured. "We agreed we should stop."
He leaned in, voice lowering.
"That's not the same as wanting to."
Her body betrayed her with a full-body shiver.
She hated him.
She wanted him.
She hated that she wanted him.
He opened the back door of the car.
"We talk," he said simply. "Nothing more."
She hesitated.
Then sighed and climbed in.
He slid in beside her, leaving just enough distance to pretend they were rational adults.
The partition closed.
The driver pulled away.
The air between them went electric.
Zara folded her arms. "Say what you want to say."
Damon exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
"We need rules," he said.
Zara looked out the window. "You said that last night."
"And you ignored me."
She turned on him. "You told me to leave!"
"And you didn't want to."
She froze.
His voice softened.
"I could feel it," he said. "Every second."
Heat crawled up her spine.
She hated how seen she felt.
She forced composure. "Rules, Damon. Not feelings."
He nodded.
"Rule one," he said. "No one can know."
"Agreed."
"Rule two. This stays separate from committee work."
"Of course."
"Rule three."
His eyes darkened.
"No feelings."
Her chest tightened.
"Agreed," she said.
But her voice cracked.
He heard it.
He felt it.
He almost reacted.
But Damon wasn't done.
"Rule four," he added quietly, "You don't get hurt."
She blinked.
"That's not a rule," she whispered.
"It is for me."
Her breath caught.
His knuckles brushed her knee.
Barely.
But it felt like fire.
"And rule five," he murmured, "You walk away whenever you want. I won't stop you."
She swallowed.
"But I won't walk away," he finished softly.
Her lips parted.
"Damon…"
He leaned back, jaw tight.
"Your turn."
"My turn?"
"Your rules."
Zara inhaled.
Her voice shook when she spoke.
"No attachment. No expectations. No future."
Damon flinched just barely.
She didn't miss it.
"I'm serious," she said. "This ends the second it interferes with my work."
He nodded slowly.
"And what if it interferes with mine?" he asked.
"It won't."
He gave a humorless laugh.
"It already does."
She looked away.
He studied her profile.
Then…
"You almost didn't open the door last night."
She didn't answer.
He asked another question.
"Did you want me to kiss you again?"
Her fingers curled into her skirt.
"I'm not answering that."
"That's a yes."
She glared at him.
He smirked faintly.
The air thickened.
Finally she whispered: "Is this even a good idea?"
"No," Damon said honestly. "It's the worst idea either of us has ever had."
Her lips twitched.
"But," he added quietly, "I can't stop."
Her chest tightened painfully.
"I don't want to stop," she whispered before she could stop herself.
Damon inhaled sharply.
Something inside him broke.
He reached for her hand slowly like approaching a wild animal that might flee.
"Zara," he murmured. "Tell me to stop."
She didn't.
He slid his fingers over hers.
Her breath trembled.
Their hands intertwined.
Her body lit up like fire.
Damon exhaled, head falling back against the seat.
"Jesus."
Their intertwined hands sat between them like the most intimate thing either of them had done.
Her voice was fragile.
"This is already too much."
He shook his head.
"This is nothing," he whispered. "You don't know what too much feels like between us yet."
Her pulse raced.
The car pulled up to the Parliament annex where the committee was meeting.
Photographers stood outside.
Zara inhaled sharply.
"I'll go first," she said, pulling her hand away.
His jaw tightened…hard.
He hated how that felt.
She grabbed the door.
But before she stepped out..:
A young committee aide walked past the car and saw her.
"Ms. Bennett!" he said, smiling too eagerly. "Good morning."
Zara nodded. "Morning."
The aide flushed. "Um… you look… well."
Damon's eyes snapped to the man.
His entire presence changed.
He went from warm restraint to a dark, silent warning that wrapped the car in tension.
The aide noticed Damon inside and stiffened.
Damon leaned forward just slightly.
Enough to make the aide pale.
Zara frowned.
"Don't," she whispered. "He's harmless."
Damon didn't blink.
"He looked at you like he wasn't."
Her heartbeat flipped violently.
"You're being irrational."
"No," he murmured.
"I'm being honest."
Heat shot down her spine.
She opened the door quickly before he could say anything else.
But before she stepped out, Damon caught her wrist. Softly. Gently Deadly.
"Zara."
She turned back.
He stared into her eyes with something that felt like possession.
"Tonight," he whispered.
Her breath caught.
Her eyes widened.
He smiled faintly.
"Don't pretend you won't think about it all day."
She swallowed.
She hated that he was right.
She stepped out of the car and walked quickly into the building.
Damon watched her go, jaw tight, breathing uneven.
She didn't look back.
But her hand… the hand he held…
Would not stop trembling.
He didn't drive away.
He watched her disappear through the security doors.
He didn't even blink.
His driver finally asked:
"Sir… shall we go?"
Damon's eyes remained on the doors.
"No."
"But sir"
"I said no."
He sat there, pulse pounding, fighting the unfamiliar sensation crawling up his chest.
Jealousy.
He'd never felt it before.
Not once.
It felt ugly.
Possessive.
Raw.
He didn't like it.
But he couldn't stop it.
"That boy looked at her," Damon muttered under his breath. "As if he had the right."
His driver said nothing.
No one spoke to Damon Huxley when he sounded like that.
He sat in silence for several minutes until the doors opened again and Zara walked past the entrance windows toward the inner briefing room.
Damon's chest loosened just slightly.
Just enough for him to breathe again.
Inside, Zara tried to act normal.
She tried to sit.
To listen.
To take notes.
To contribute.
But her body was buzzing.
Her hand still tingled.
The place where Damon had held her wrist felt warm.
Her mind kept drifting back to the way he whispered:
"Tonight."
Her chest tightened painfully.
She couldn't let this continue.
She couldn't survive it.
She picked up her pen.
Her handwriting shook.
Lord Davenport spoke.
Zara didn't hear a word.
One thought pulsed in her mind like a heartbeat:
I'm already in too deep.
At 8:17 p.m., as she exited her chambers building, her phone buzzed.
She looked.
DH: Room 48. Top floor. No pressure.
Her breath caught.
She closed her eyes.
Rain started again, soft at first, then heavier.
Her taxi arrived.
She opened the door.
Paused.
Hesitated.
Her heart beat hard.
Faster.
Faster.
She closed the taxi door.
And walked back into the rain.
Toward the hotel.
Toward the man waiting for her.
Toward whatever this was becoming…
obsession
addiction
desire
danger
him
She reached the hotel lobby, drenched.
Entered the elevator.
Pressed the button.
Her reflection stared back at her.
Wet hair.
Shaking hands.
Eyes full of something she didn't want to name.
The doors opened at the top floor.
She stepped out.
Her heartbeat roared.
She walked to Room 48.
Paused.
Inhaled.
Raised her hand.
Knocked.
The door opened instantly.
And Damon stood there.
Eyes dark.
Breath shallow.
Looking at her like she was the only person left in the world.
"Zara," he whispered.
And she stepped inside.