Damian’s lips curved in amusement. “So much confidence, Miss Elfhorn?”
“I’m not like the women you usually deal with.” I sipped and set the glass down.
“What makes you so sure? Every woman I’ve been with swore she was different—special—one of a kind. None of them were.”
“I’m not here to please you or to profit from your wealth. I’m here because I love my work—and because you practically forced me into it. And besides, no one becomes as successful as you by being empty. Somewhere inside, there’s something that drives you, something that makes you burn. That’s the only reason you’ve made it this far.”
“Passionate, yes. But not in a romantic sense. Do you remember what you told me a few hours ago on the couch? That you didn’t want me to hold back?”
“Yes.”
“Do you really think you’re any different? That you won’t fall for me just like every other woman? I could have you. Right now. And the only reason you’re not already naked on this table is because I’m keeping myself under control.”
Damian’s eyes glinted like those of a predator.
Something coiled tight inside me, but I refused to look away. “That may be true. You’re attractive, and you know it. You’re aware of what you stir up in women. And yes, maybe I would weaken. But that doesn’t mean I belong to you—that you have control over me.”
His mouth curved with quiet amusement. He raised a brow. “Oh no?”
“No.”
“I got you to sit with me on this plane.”
“You’re paying me for it.”
“Then you’re for sale.”
“That’s out of context. It’s part of my job. But let’s be honest—everyone is for sale, in one way or another.”
Damian poured the last of the wine into our glasses. “I like you, Daisy. I really do.”
A few hours later, the plane began its descent. Damian invited me to rest with him in the sleeping cabin. The bed was wide, draped in silk sheets and soft pillows, the lighting dim and warm. An elegant nightstand with a discreet lamp stood on one side. Motorized curtains could darken the windows at a touch.
He stretched out beside me and putThe Wolf of Wall Streetback on the TV so we could finish watching it. He picked up his drink from the nightstand. The flight attendant had offered us more cocktails, but I’d only wanted gum and a glass of water.
“Want to try?” he asked, lifting his glass.
I nodded. But before handing it to me, he raised it to his lips and drank—slowly, deliberately, as though showing me how he tasted.When he finally offered me the glass, I ignored his hand and leaned in—so close I could smell the whiskey on his tongue. Then I kissed him. No warning. No restraint. My lips found his. I let my tongue glide softly over the spot where the sparkling taste of the alcohol still lingered.
Damian froze. A low, guttural sound—half growl, half hunger—rose from his throat.
I drew back and licked my lips. “Not bad.”
His pupils were blown wide, his jaw tight.
“Daisy,” he murmured, my name edged with warning. “Don’t do that.”
“What?” I asked with feigned innocence, lifting the glass from his hand. I drank—not because I was thirsty, but to show him I wasn’t afraid. Not of him. Not of what I saw in his eyes. The alcohol burned down my throat, spreading heat through my chest, a tingling bloom in my stomach. Then I leaned over him, letting myself brush against the solid heat of his body for the briefest moment before setting the glass on the nightstand beside him.
Damian’s hands shot to my thighs. With one rough pull, he yanked me toward him. I landed on my back, and before I could draw breath, he was straddling me. His fingers clamped around my wrists, pinning them into the mattress. I gasped, my pulse hammering.
“I don’t like being toyed with,” he said.
Violence hummed beneath his skin. His mouth crashed into mine—wild and unyielding, like a storm ripping through walls. There was no softness in him. Only hunger. Only claim. A moan slipped from me, caughtsomewhere between need and surrender, though I couldn’t tell if I wanted him—or if I’d simply lost the power to stop. He broke away, just slightly, his gaze dark and dangerous.
“You drive me insane,” he rasped. “I want to wrap my hand around your throat and fuck you so hard you forget who you are. I want you to scream, to tremble, and for me to be the only thing you can still feel.”
A sharp breath tore from me. Fear—or desire? I couldn’t tell.
