Page 37 of A Taste like Sin
wake up and force him to tell me the truth?”
“If only I could.” He laughs, but it’s muted compared to his usual rich chuckle.
And I hate the fact that he’s on edge around me. Wariness doesn’t suit a man like him the way it does
my father. Heyworth merely pretended to care; I see that now. But Damien?
He’s too damn calculating to put on such an act. So what is his aim?
Watching him, I can’t tell—and I do so for so long that my mug feels cool to the touch when I startle
back to awareness.
“What can you do?” I whisper, recalling his question. “You taunted me once for being sheltered,” I
remind him. “Pathetic. Weak. A prude.”
Not his exact words but close enough. The point was all the same.
“My father kept tabs on me,” I admit. “Every fucking mention of my name, he collected from the
tabloids, obsessing over them. My every move is cemented in ink, but that woman? She feels like a
stranger. I…”
I stand and take a tentative step in his direction. My tongue flits along my lower lip as I process just
how twisted my reality has become in only a few short days.
My father is lying in a hospital bed. He may be dying.
Yet I’m in the lair of Damien Villa, and for some reason, he seems to be the one damn person
unwilling to treat me like a goddamn idiot. So what does a sheltered heiress do with her dangerous,
masculine lifeline?
Test the hell out of him.
“Do you remember what you told me about the women at your club?” I ask. “That they have all the
power?”
“Sí, I remember.” He frowns and I can almost see him wrestling with the idea of humoring me or not.
Indulgence must win, the cause of the slow smile that shapes his mouth. “Those women… In their
hands, the obsessive attention of others is a weapon. They hone it sharp to their advantage. But few
are brave enough to wield the same amount of control.” His heated tone sends my blood racing. It’s
like he’s invaded my mind again, goading me to voice my naughty desire out loud and in the open. “If
you are curious, Ms. Thorne, I will ask you to admit as muchpor favor.”
Holding my head high, I try. “So tell me, Mr. Villa. How…how does one feel in control like that?”
My cheeks catch fire. I’m cringing at the raw vulnerability exposed by such a question.
