Page 36 of The CEO

I take his arm, acutely aware of the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his tuxedo. “Lead the way.”

I’m no longer certain which version of Damien Knox frightens me more. Or which I’m more drawn to.

Thunder crashes outside as Damien leads me through the crowd, his hand possessive at the small of my back, his carefully constructed world closing in around me like the petals of one of his rare flowers.

And despite every warning, every red flag, every single instinct for self-preservation . . . I find myself leaning into his touch, curious to discover what darkness waits at the center of Damien’s world.

* * *

Even hours later, I wake tangled in my sheets, my body slick with sweat, heart hammering against my ribs. The dream clings to me like a second skin, too vivid to shake off.

I was in his greenhouse again, but this time, something was different. Damien stood surrounded by his deadly collection, a knife gleaming in his hand. Blood stained his pristine white shirt . . . but whose blood?

The rational part of me screamed to run, to get as far away as possible. But instead, I walked toward him, drawn by something darker than fear pulsing inside me. My feet moved of their own accord, each step bringing me closer to what should have terrified me but somehow didn’t.

His eyes tracked my approach like a hungry predator. The knife glinted in the greenhouse light, but I couldn’t look away from his face.

“Eve,” he said, my name a command on his lips. “Come here.”

And I obeyed without hesitation, closing the distance between us until I stood just inches away, feeling heat radiating from his body. When he wrapped his free arm around my waist, I didn’t resist. The cold metal of the blade pressed against my spine as he pulled me flush against him like a terrifying, thrilling reminder of the danger I was willingly embracing.

And then . . . his mouth claimed mine in a searing kiss that tasted of danger and desire, metallic and sweet all at once. I melted into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer despite the blade at my back. I wanted more. I wanted all of him, even the darkness . . . especially the darkness.

I sit up in bed, pushing sweat-dampened hair from my face as I try to slow my breathing. My body throbs with need, the space between my thighs slick and aching from a fantasy that should terrify rather than arouse me. I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to block out the lingering images, but they persist.

Damien’s hands on my body, his voice in my ear, the threat and promise intertwined in his touch.

What kind of woman dreams of a predator and wakes up wanting him? What does that say about me?

I fall back against my pillows, staring at the ceiling as disturbing realizations crystallize in the darkness. It wasn’t just Damien’s world I was drawn to investigate—it was Damien himself, with all his dangerous edges and controlled violence. The most frightening part isn’t what I’ve discovered about him, but what I’m discovering about myself: that the darkness in him calls to something hidden deep within me—something I’ve never acknowledged until now.

Something that wants to be consumed by his shadows.

Chapter8

Damien

The surveillance footage plays across the screens on my study wall, Eve’s expression captured from multiple angles throughout the night. I pause the image of her in the greenhouse. I’ve replayed the sequence six times now, analyzing every microexpression, every shift in her posture. I see the moment she lowers her guard, revealing genuine fascination despite her fear.

“Why aren’t you frightened?” I observe aloud, studying her eyes as they study me back. Even when I practically admitted to whatever it is she thinks I’m doing . . . she didn’t flinch. While I don’t know the specifics of her accusations, I can guarantee it’s so much worse than she can imagine.

“She should be,” Foster says, stepping forward out of the shadows, his expression showing his unease. “Unless she isn’t taking those warnings seriously.”

“Eve Thorne isn’t like most people, Foster. You know that.” My eyes are fixated on her. Even through an image on a screen, I can feel her. “She understands darkness in a way others can’t—she just doesn’t realize it yet.”

“Or she’s an excellent actress, playing along until she has the evidence she needs and you’ve let your guard down.” Foster’s practicality remains one of his most valuable, and occasionally irritating, qualities. “Maybe she’s just waiting to find your weakness.”

“Of course she is.” I can’t hide my smile at the thought. “I’d be disappointed if sheweren’tplanning something.” I turn from the screens to face him directly. “Did you complete the security sweep after the guests left?”

“Yes, sir. Two listening devices were discovered.” His professional mask is back in place. “Chinese manufacturers, likely placed by the Hanover Group.”

“Vivienne’s doing, no doubt.” I make a mental note to address this breach with The Heiress personally. “Have them left in place but fed selective information. The usual disinformation protocols.”

He nods, hesitating before continuing. “Sir, regarding Miss Thorne . . . The Vigilante is aware of her taking photos on her phone. He’s requesting permission to retrieve it and any evidence she might have gathered.”

The suggestion pisses me off, and a white-hot rage starts to bubble up. I keep my expression impassive. “Denied. Eve’s investigation continues, only monitored by you or me.”

“With respect, she’s documenting things that could compromise more than just your safety, sir. The Shadows’ security is also at play here, and with some of the connections she’s making . . .”

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