The heavy oak doors of the ballroom swung shut, cutting off the jazz music and the murmurs of the elite. The silence of the corridor was instant and cool.
Damien was marching, his hand gripping Aria's tightly, his stride eating up the floor with the intent of a man who wanted to put as much distance between his wife and his family as possible.
"Damien," Aria said, pulling him to a stop.
He turned, his brow furrowed, adrenaline still humming under his skin.
Aria stepped into his space, went up on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his.
It was soft and gentle kiss. A quiet seal of gratitude in the middle of a war zone.
She pulled back, smiling up at him.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For defending me." Her face flushed as she continued, "I'm not used to having anyone on my side."
Damien's expression softened, the hard lines of his rage melting into something darker and more possessive. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
