Page 85 of The Contract

He takes in the scent of my perfume in an almost reverent way.

“Damien.” I gasp his name, and it doesn’t come out as the warning I intend. It’s a breathy plea that sounds dangerously like a cry for more—for those lips to place kisses along my neck, behind my ear. To mold to mine as a public claim of who I belong to.

A rumble in his throat sends a wave of chills down my body.

“Be careful saying my name like that,Trouble, when you look as beautiful as you do.”

He sets me upright again, a triumphant gleam in his stare that looks almost boyish—carefree.

“Thank you.” The smile that comes to my face is a real one. “You look quite handsome yourself.”

My hand runs up his chest to the piece of his lapel that is tucked under, out of place.

I correct it, my mind going back to the evening at Ember & Ash.

“There. Perfect.” The last word is a whisper, and he takes in a sharp breath, stepping closer to me.

“Elena,” he starts, catching my wrist as it retreats—just like he did when he asked me to stay with him. The moment stretches, pulling tight between us, and I’m afraid if one of us doesn’t break it soon, my rules will become nonexistent.

His eyes move to my mouth, and I know he’s thinking the same thing.

Wondering what will happen if he pushes through the invisible barrier of my rules to taste me again.

Our savior comes in the form of Margo. Her voice cuts in smoothly, distracting us both.

“I do love a couple who knows how to dress in sync,” she muses, sipping her champagne.

Damien doesn’t release my wrist right away, his thumb brushing once against the delicate skin before he finally lets go. But he doesn’t step back. Instead, he turns slightly toward Margo, his expression shifting into something effortlessly composed—though the heat behind his gaze doesn’t fully disappear.

His hand drifts down to my lower back, resting there in a way that feels both protective and possessive.

“When something”—he pauses, his eyes flicking back to mine—“orsomeoneis meant to stand beside you, things tend to align naturally.”

Margo, ever perceptive, lifts a knowing brow, pleased by the sentiment.

But I know the words aren’t for her.

They’re for me.

And the slow, deliberate way Damien’s fingers trace the curve of my spine before finally falling away tells me—he knows I know it too.

The guests have begun to mingle, the hum of conversation blending seamlessly with the soft notes of the live string quartet playing in the background.

With Damien momentarily pulled into a discussion with Mr. Calloway, I find myself drifting, my eyes scanning the candlelit terrace—until they land on James and Marcus.

The two of them stand a few feet away, glasses in hand, watching me with the kind of amused smirks that make my stomach tighten.

I narrow my eyes at them in silent warning, but their expressions only deepen in mischief as they approach.

Marcus reins in his smirk, joining Damien and Mr. Calloway. James leans in, his voice low and teasing. “That little display back there? The way Damien couldn’t take his eyes off you? Yeah, we saw it. And we’re not buying your act for a second.”

I give his arm a playful smack. “It’s all part of the gig,” I whisper back, my eyes darting to make sure no one heard.

James lifts his brows in mock disbelief, while Marcus simply takes a sip of his drink, the glint in his eyes making me roll mine.

“Sure it is, sweetheart.”

My cheeks warm, and I turn away, cursing them both under my breath as we’re called to dinner. “Behave yourself,” I scold, but it’s all in good fun.

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