The first thing Zara felt was warmth.
Not sunlight.
Not the blanket.
Him.
Damon's chest pressed against her back, steady and slow.
His arm curled around her waist, fingers splayed protectively over her abdomen.
His breath warm, unguarded brushed the back of her neck.
She opened her eyes slowly.
For a moment, she allowed herself to feel it.
Safety.
Heat.
Stillness.
A moment she had never allowed herself to imagine.
But then reality crashed into her like a hammer.
She was in his hotel suite.
In his bed.
Wrapped in his arms.
After the most intimate night of her life.
Her heart started pounding.
She inhaled too sharply.
That tiny movement woke him instantly.
Damon's grip tightened, pulling her even closer.
His voice rumbled softly against her shoulder.
"Don't run."
Her eyes fluttered closed.
"I'm not running," she whispered.
He nuzzled closer, lips grazing her bare shoulder in a way that sent heat flooding through her.
"Lie to everyone else," he murmured. "Not me."
Her breath trembled.
He smelled like cedar, warmth, and something that felt like sin wrapped in silk.
She needed to leave.
She needed space.
She needed to breathe without inhaling him.
Carefully, she shifted out of his hold.
He let her.
But his eyes opened instantly.
And the way he looked at her made her breath catch in her throat.
Slow.
Dark.
Soft.
Possessive.
Not the gaze of a man who'd had sex.
The gaze of a man who'd had intimacy.
Connection.
Surrender.
"Good morning," he said.
His voice was rough with sleep warmer, deeper, intimate enough to shatter her.
She pulled the blanket around herself, sitting at the edge of the bed.
"Morning."
He pushed himself upright, leaning on one arm.
Her eyes betrayed her she looked.
The way his skin glowed in the dim light, the way the sheets draped low on his hips, the quiet strength in his shoulders…
He was beautiful in a way that made her angry.
He studied her with an unreadable expression.
"You're thinking too much," he said softly.
"I always think."
"And I told you last night… you don't have to think with me."
She exhaled. "That's exactly why you're dangerous."
He smiled faintly.
Not cocky.
Tender.
"Come back," he said.
Her chest tightened painfully.
"I can't."
"You can."
"I shouldn't."
He swung his legs off the bed and stood.
Zara's breath caught again.
He didn't reach for her.
He didn't touch her.
He simply stood in front of her, bare-chested, rain from last night dried on his hair, eyes fixed on her like she was the most fragile and most important thing he'd ever seen.
"If you walk out that door pretending last night meant nothing," he said quietly, "you'll be lying to yourself, not me."
She swallowed hard.
"Damon"
"No," he murmured, shaking his head once. "Don't do that. Don't run."
"I'm not"
"You woke up in my arms."
His voice dropped.
"You didn't pull away until you realized you felt safe."
Her lips parted.
He lowered his voice further.
"And that terrifies you."
She closed her eyes.
"Stop."
"Look at me."
She didn't.
He sat beside her slowly, close enough that she felt the heat radiating from his skin, but not touching her.
"Zara," he whispered. "Last night was not lust."
She whispered, "Please don't."
"Then look at me and tell me what it was."
Her throat tightened painfully.
She couldn't.
She wouldn't.
If she looked at him, she'd stay.
She'd stay and lose herself.
So she stood abruptly, gathering her blouse from the floor.
"I need to go."
He rose instantly.
Not blocking the way.
Not grabbing her.
Just watching her like she was slipping away with something he couldn't let go.
She buttoned her blouse with trembling hands.
He stepped forward once.
"Zara."
She froze.
His voice wasn't soft this time.
It was low.
Protective.
Possessive.
"Come here," he said.
Her breath stilled.
She turned slowly.
He held his breath.
She took one step toward him.
He exhaled sharply relief, need, desire.
He reached out slowly and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers.
Her eyes closed.
That one gentle touch nearly broke her.
He whispered: "I want to see you again tonight."
Her stomach twisted.
She shook her head. "We can't.:"
"We will."
"Damon…"
His thumb brushed her jaw, coaxing her eyes open.
"You're trembling."
She whispered: "I don't know how to do this."
He stepped closer.
"Then let me show you."
Her breath caught.
"I have a life," she whispered. "A career. Responsibilities."
"So do I," he said softly, lips brushing her hairline. "We don't stop being who we are because of this."
"This is reckless."
"It's real."
She swallowed.
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
Devastating.
Tender.
Dangerous.
"You don't have to be afraid with me," he whispered.
"Then why am I terrified?"
He exhaled, jaw tightening.
"Because you're starting to feel what I feel."
Her heart slammed painfully.
"And what do you feel?" she whispered.
His eyes were dark and unguarded.
"More than I planned."
Her breath hitched.
He leaned in, lips brushing hers barely.
A ghost of a kiss.
A promise.
A warning.
"See you tonight," he whispered.
Her pulse flipped violently.
"No, Damon."
His lips grazed her jaw.
"Yes, Zara."
She inhaled sharply.
He stepped back.
She left.
He didn't stop her.
But as the elevator doors closed, she heard him whisper:
"This is only the beginning."
She didn't breathe properly until she stepped onto the rainy street.
Her chest ached.
Her pulse wouldn't slow.
Her skin still felt his touch.
She climbed into a taxi.
Her phone buzzed.
She didn't have to look.
She already knew.
DH: I meant what I said. Tonight.
She closed her eyes, heart crashing against the cage of her ribs.
She typed nothing.
She didn't trust her fingers.
She didn't trust herself.
By noon, the ethics committee meeting was underway.
Zara sat at the table, immaculate, composed, silent.
Damon entered late.
Every head turned.
Zara didn't.
But her body felt him.
He wore a charcoal suit and a tie loosened just slightly, suggesting he had put it on in a rush or that he didn't care.
His eyes scanned the room.
Found hers.
Held her.
Her breath caught.
She forced herself to look away.
He smirked.
He took the seat beside her.
Too close.
Intentionally close.
Heat radiated from him.
Her skin prickled.
She felt the way his knee brushed hers under the table.
She did not move.
Neither did he.
Lord Davenport spoke for ten minutes straight.
Zara heard none of it.
At one point, Damon leaned slightly toward her, voice barely audible.
"You look tired."
"Don't."
"You left without eating."
"Damon"
He murmured, "You didn't sleep."
Her breath hitched.
He continued, voice low, intimate, dangerous:
"You should have stayed."
She swallowed hard.
"Stop."
He leaned closer, lips near her ear.
"Tonight," he whispered, "you won't leave early."
Her fingers tightened around her pen so hard it threatened to snap.
Lord Davenport called a break.
Zara stood immediately.
Damon grabbed her wrist.
Not harshly.
But firm enough to say he wouldn't let her run from this again.
"Come with me," he murmured.
"No."
He raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"Damon, this is insane."
He took a half-step closer, lowering his voice.
"This morning, you let me touch you."
Her breath stopped.
"You let me hold you."
She stared at the carpet.
"You let me kiss you awake."
Her knees weakened.
"And you looked at me," he added softly, "like you'd never wanted anything more."
Her eyes burned.
"Don't say things like that," she whispered.
"Then don't act like it isn't true."
She tried to pull her wrist free.
He let her.
But he stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
Not forcefully.
Just enough to make her look at him.
"Lunch," he said quietly. "Come with me."
"No."
"Zara."
"No."
He leaned in, voice changing deeper, slower, darker.
"Say you don't want to," he murmured.
Her chest tightened.
Her lips parted.
Nothing came out.
He smirked faintly.
"That's what I thought."
She didn't agree to lunch.
She didn't say yes.
But when Damon walked toward the private conference room, Zara followed.
He opened the door and stood aside.
She walked in.
He closed the door quietly behind them.
Silence filled the room.
Thick.
Hot.
Tense.
Zara stood by the window, trying to pretend she wasn't trembling.
Damon walked toward her slowly, loosening his tie as he approached.
Her pulse skyrocketed.
"Damon "
He stopped inches from her.
"I'm not touching you," he said.
"But I want you to look at me."
She swallowed and lifted her gaze.
He looked lethal.
Dark.
Focused.
Heat simmering under restraint.
He placed one hand on the glass beside her head not trapping her, but closing the distance.
His breath touched her cheek.
"Do you regret last night?" he whispered.
Her lips parted. "I… don't know."
He nodded once.
"Honest."
He lowered his head slightly.
"Do you want it again?"
Her pulse convulsed.
"I can't "
His voice dropped.
"Zara."
She whispered: "Yes."
He inhaled sharply.
His eyes darkened.
He leaned in
Then stopped.
Barely an inch between their mouths.
"No touching," he murmured.
"Not yet."
Her breath shook.
"Then why?"
"Because I need to hear you say it," he murmured. "I need to know you want me as much as I want you."
He moved his face closer their lips almost touching.
"This isn't a game," he whispered.
"This is obsession."
Her knees weakened.
"And obsession," he added softly, brushing his nose against hers, "doesn't go away."
Her voice broke.
"Damon…"
He pulled back, just enough to breathe.
"We will meet tonight."
"That's not a question."
"No," he said. "It's not."
She exhaled shakily.
"This will ruin us."
His eyes softened.
"Then let me ruin with you."
Her chest cracked open.
He stepped back slow, controlled, disciplined.
"We're done here," he said quietly.
She stared at him, breath uneven.
"Tonight," he repeated.
And this time
Zara didn't say no.
She didn't walk away fast enough.
She didn't convince herself.
She didn't lie.
Tonight was already decided.
She could feel it in her bones.
She wanted him.
She feared him.
She needed him.
She would go to him.