When he pushed into me with his finger, I gasped. My body tensed—against will, not against want. He withdrew, and my knees nearly folded. I almost clung. Instead, he pulled my hand free.
“I at least need to taste you once.”
He lifted my finger to his mouth. His tongue closed around it—warm, wet—and the sensation spread through me. His stare was indecent, hungry. He savored every tremor, every betrayed reaction.
I could have looked away. I could have pulled back. I didn’t. Couldn’t. Desire made it impossible.
When he drew my finger from his mouth, his eyes pinned me. “You taste like heaven,” he whispered to my skin. “I wonder how you’ll taste when you come in my mouth. How you’ll look when I make you beg for my name.”
The image seared. I shut my eyes—and in that dark there was only him. I was a spark on dry ground, ready to burn. I hated myself for it.
“But I can’t. Not now.” His voice fell to a murmur as he pulled a book from the shelf and crossed to the couch.
I stood rooted. Damian Miller took one last sip of tea, then headed for the stairs. “Tomorrow morning at seven, my driver will be outside to take you to my plane.”
I nodded, speechless, lungs tight. He descended and left the shop.
I cursed myself for letting him that close, for letting him touch me. And I was honest with myself: in that moment, the only thing I wanted was more of him.
What did he mean he couldn’t? Some rule about employees? A boundary I should have known? I wasn’t normal around him. Or was there something else?
His touch and words had lit a fire I couldn’t snuff. Dangerous. Irrational. He knew it. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing.
Chapter 5 Daisy
With a muted click, Ference opened the limousine door, his gaze sharp. Rick hefted my luggage into the trunk.
“Good morning, Miss Elfhorn,” the driver, Bastian, said with a polite smile as I slid into the leather seat. Ference settled beside me, while Rick took the passenger seat up front.
For a while, we drove in silence toward the airport. I bent over my phone, fingers flying as I texted my mother and Jenn about the trip to Rome.
“And how was your evening at the NYX?” Ference asked quietly.
I smiled. “Very interesting.” Leaning toward him, I added, “By the way, I didn’t mention you to Mr. Miller. Thanks again for letting us in.”
He inclined his head. “I appreciate your discretion, Miss Elfhorn.”
“Daisy,” I corrected. “Call me Daisy.”
His lips tugged faintly. “Gladly, Miss Daisy.”
“Will you be coming to Rome?”
“Karl—he’s with Mr. Miller now—Rick, and I will all be on your flight.”
“That’s good to hear,” I admitted. Because even if they were Miller’s bodyguards, Ference gave me a steadiness the others didn’t.
The car rolled to a stop before a gleaming private jet, its polished fuselage catching the sun. Miller’s crew greeted me as the guards moved to secure the area. When the jet door opened, I stepped into a world of luxury unlike anything I had ever known.
The cabin radiated elegance—soft beige leather, polished wood gleaming under the lights, wide windows cut open to the sky. A bar and dining area stood in perfect order, every surface gleaming with cultivated precision. Slim vases of fresh flowers completed the picture.
In one corner sat Damian Miller. Typing briskly on his laptop, he looked up when I entered and gave a curt nod. “I have important work to finish,” he said shortly, then returned to his screen.
A flight attendant guided me to a couch beneath a mounted TV and display cabinet. “Please make yourself comfortable, Miss Elfhorn. For takeoff, just fasten your seatbelt. After that, I’ll bring drinks and breakfast. Blankets, pillows, and a bed are available if you wish to rest.”
“Thank you.”
The staff and guards withdrew, leaving the cabin hushed. I sank into the couch as the doors sealed shut, tension coiling inside me.I couldn’t decide what unnerved me more—the flight to Rome or hours locked in with Damian Miller.
