Page 35 of The CEO

He stifles a low growl that seems to emanate from deep in his throat, and I realize he’s fighting his own battle for control. The evidence of his arousal presses against me through his pants, hard and insistent, making it impossible to ignore the effect I have on him.

I’m drowning in sensation—the humid air of the greenhouse, the intoxicating scent of exotic flowers mingled with his cologne, the heat of his body so close to mine. My lips part in anticipation, tongue darting out to wet them, and his eyes track the movement with predatory focus.

“Should it scare me?”

His eyes flash dark. “Yes, it should. It’s alarming that you can’t sense danger this close when it’s breathing down your neck.”

“Like the consequences for Roberts?” I press, seizing the opportunity. “Or for the three men connected to Knox Industries whose obituaries I wrote?”

“Something like that.”

“This is too easy,” I say, aware of how much his mask is slipping with that confession. I step back, needing space to think clearly. “You’re showing me things nobody sees, admitting to things nobody knows . . . What I don’t understand is, if you’re just going to eliminate me, why admit it? Am I just the mouse in this game?”

Damien studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“Would youwantto know if you’re the mouse in my game?”

“As opposed to what? Being blissfully unaware?”

His eyes are focused on my lips, his hand snaking around the back of my neck as the other settles against my waist . . . and all thoughts of whatever we were just discussing are now gone. My lips part and my eyes flutter shut.

“Whatever you’re imagining right now,” he says against my lips as his fingers slide from my waist to the slit of my dress, “is nothing compared to the reality of what I would do to you, Eve Thorne.”

Then, without warning, a loud clap of thunder crashes just outside the glass ceiling. The sudden sound reverberates through the structure.

I practically jump into his arms without a second thought, my body slamming against his chest. His arms are around me in an instant. Rain begins to hammer against the roof—the storm that was threatening to break all evening finally hitting.

“We should return to the main ballroom,” he says without making a move to leave. At first, I still don’t realize I’m in his arms, my face flat against his firm chest, one of his hands against my back pressing me against him, the other tangled in my hair at the base of my neck. “My absence will be noticed.”

I step back, breaking the contact and avoiding looking up at him. I’m embarrassed at my reaction to the storm, but more than that, I’m all too aware of how good his arms felt around me, and the need that instantly pooled low and heavy in my belly. Plus I’m far more embarrassed at the way I turned into putty in his hands the second he touched me.

The moment stretches between us, charged with something I’m reluctant to acknowledge. Then another crash of thunder breaks the spell, and Damien gestures toward the exit.

“We’ll continue this conversation another time,” he says, the suggestion sending another pulse of excitement through me. “When we have fewer . . . obligations.”

As we make our way back through the greenhouse and downstairs, I find myself studying his profile out of the corner of my eye. Everything about Damien speaks of discipline and restraint, yet I see something more brewing beneath the surface.

A primal danger that slowly continues to pull me in.

My dress suddenly feels too warm, too constraining. I tug at the tight bodice, subtly trying to fan myself. We’re nearly back to the ballroom when Damien pauses, his hand catching my wrist gently but firmly.

“One last thing, Eve.” His voice drops lower, more intimate, as he glances over his shoulder before pushing me against the wall in a flash. His body is pressing against me, his face an inch from mine as he grabs my throat with just enough force that it slightly constricts my breathing. This time there’s no reading between the lines; his anger is palpable. “Don’t you ever fucking investigate someone like me again, you understand me? You need to be very careful about whose home you enter. Not everyone is as understanding as I am.” His gaze travels down my body, his hand tightening around my throat just a little more as his mood shifts again. “This dress was meant for you.”

His tone switches at a dizzying pace. One second, his dark eyes stare down at me like I’m a liability, then the next, it feels like he’s about to tear me limb from limb in the most delicious way. But I don’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know he’s frightened me.

“Let me guess,” I say defiantly, “your warning is anotherpromise?”

He runs his nose against the skin of my neck, followed by his lips, as his hand moves from my neck to clasp my jaw. His fingers are stretching so wide, I’m certain he could crush my skull if he wanted to. His chuckle reverberates in my chest. “It’s a warning. Chicago has many shadows much darker than mine, and they won’t think twice about devouring an innocent little thing like you.”

As his words hang in the air between us, an unexpected image flashes through my mind: Damien’s hands pinning my wrists above my head, his mouth hot against my throat, his body pressing me down into silk sheets as I willingly surrender to his darkness. The vivid thought sends a sharp pulse of arousal through me so intense that I have to press my thighs together to relieve the sudden ache.

What’s wrong with me?

This man is dangerous, a possible killer, and here I am fantasizing about submitting to him completely. The realization disturbs me almost as much as it excites me—this new self-discovery that danger doesn’t repel me but draws me in like a moth to the flame. There’s something deeply wrong in wanting a man capable of the things I suspect Damien has done, yet I can’t deny the liquid heat spreading through me at the mere thought of his dominance.

“But you won’t?” I tilt my head, bringing my own hand up to rest against his chest. He watches my movements like he’s studying them, but just as soon as I press my palm against him, he grabs my hand and removes it. Then he releases me slowly, deliberately.

“Shall we?” He offers his arm, the perfect gentleman once more, his momentary intensity concealed again behind another version of himself.

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